Path Diverged II by hp_fangal



Summary: The Wizarding world finally knows that Lord Voldemort has returned, and the Second War has begun. As Harry prepares to enter his sixth year at Hogwarts, he is forced to deal with the trauma from his last encounter with Voldemort, the upcoming trial of Dolores Umbridge, Sirius's uncomfortable questions about his childhood, his budding relationship with Ginny Weasley, and the unknown shadow of what lies ahead as the "Chosen One" who must defeat Voldemort once and for all. This is an AU take of Half-Blood Prince following my previous story, Path Diverged.
Rating: PG-13 starstarstarstarhalf-star
Categories: Alternate Universe, Post-HBP
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2019.07.02
Updated: 2020.11.21


Index

Chapter 1: Back to Privet Drive
Chapter 2: The Realization
Chapter 3: Life in Little Whinging
Chapter 4: The Engagement
Chapter 5: Friendship
Chapter 6: Hidden Trauma
Chapter 7: No Other Word
Chapter 8: An Overdue Conversation
Chapter 9: A Difficult Morning
Chapter 10: Troubled
Chapter 11: Minefield
Chapter 12: The Favor
Chapter 13: The Locket
Chapter 14: Support System
Chapter 15: Summer at the Burrow
Chapter 16: A Proper Birthday
Chapter 17: The Trial of Dolores Umbridge
Chapter 18: A Dark Suspicion
Chapter 19: Summer's End
Chapter 20: A Memorable Confrontation
Chapter 21: Hogwarts Bound
Chapter 22: A Lukewarm Return
Chapter 23: First Day
Chapter 24: The Undertow
Chapter 25: A Gaunt Memory
Chapter 26: Breathe
Chapter 27: The Tryouts
Chapter 28: Focus
Chapter 29: The Changing of the Keeper
Chapter 30: The Defense Association
Chapter 31: The Date
Chapter 32: The Boy on the Bed
Chapter 33: Dobby's Report
Chapter 34: Steps Forward
Chapter 35: Window to the Past
Chapter 36: The King's Consort


Chapter 1: Back to Privet Drive

Author's Notes: It's the sequel!!! I hope you've already finished the first story, Path Diverged, because this picks up right where that one left off. I'm still trying to figure out the consequences long-term from Sirius surviving the Department of Mysteries, but I will say that so far, this story bears little resemblance to HBP. Then again, I have yet to get through Harry's two weeks with the Dursleys, so who knows what will happen in the end? I still don't! If you have any ideas that you'd like to maybe see come to fruition in this tale, drop me a message and we can discuss it!


Chapter One: Back to Privet Drive


“Who the hell does that man think he is, threatening me like that?”

Harry Potter glanced at his uncle, Vernon Dursley, before returning his attention to the car window in which he sat, watching as the scenery of London gradually faded into the residential neighborhoods that made up Little Whinging. His uncle continued to rant away about the conversation he’d had with Harry’s godfather, Sirius Black at King’s Cross station; Sirius was very recently cleared of all convictions making him out to be a mass murderer, which allowed him at long last to wander freely in the open and step up to care for Harry as he hadn’t been able to do before.

Of course, Sirius being free and technically Harry’s guardian had no effect on the fact that Harry had to return to the home of his aunt and uncle for two weeks’ time. Harry now understood that he had to go back every summer for his own protection due to a powerful charm Albus Dumbledore had placed on him as a baby to keep him safe from Lord Voldemort; he also learned that this charm worked through his blood relation to Aunt Petunia. Still, it didn’t make the prospect of dealing with their palpable dislike at his mere existence any easier, even if this summer was going to include daily visits from his godfather while he stayed in Little Whinging.

“And visiting! At our house!” raged Uncle Vernon, large mustache quivering. “With that long hair and – and the way he dresses –”

“You need to tell him to wear normal clothes,” Aunt Petunia piped up, turning her horse-like face to the backseat to glare hard at Harry. “He’s as bad as that – that awful boy your mother always hung around with.”

“Who, Snape?” Harry asked dully. He had recently learned, on top of the prophecy and everything else, that his Potions teacher, Severus Snape, had been his mother’s childhood friend from before Hogwarts up until he called her ‘Mudblood’ at the end of their fifth year. He’d been expressly forbidden by Professor Dumbledore, Hogwarts’ headmaster, to speak a word of what he knew to the dour teacher, but he now remembered that if his mother had known Snape as children, then his aunt must have known him, too.

Petunia glared at him. “How do you know that name, boy?”

“Touched a nerve, I see,” Lord Voldemort’s laugh echoed in his mind, and Harry grit his teeth, determined not to think about his most recent encounters with the terrible Dark wizard who sought to end his life.

“He teaches at my school,” Harry forced himself to answer. “Probably hates me more than you do, come to think of it.”

“A teacher?” said Aunt Petunia with raised eyebrows. She turned around to face forward in the front passenger seat of the car again. “At least someone at that school is treating you the way they ought to.”

Harry rolled his eyes but kept his silence, knowing better than to say anything that could raise his relations’ ire more than their encounter with Sirius and the others at the train station had already done. Ginny Weasley kissing him, for example, had made his relatives go a rather unfortunate shade of puce, so anything else could result in consequences he didn’t want to deal with. He instead glanced at his cousin, Dudley, who was resolutely staring out his window and ignoring Harry’s existence. This suited Harry just fine, though. The last thing he wanted was to have to protect himself in cramped quarters.

When at last the car pulled into the driveway of Number 4 Privet Drive, the Dursleys immediately exited the car and headed inside, leaving Harry to haul in his belongings by himself. Harry, all too used to this by now, relished the opportunity for some quiet after Uncle Vernon’s ranting for the entire drive, and started with Hedwig’s cage, carrying her safely up to the smallest bedroom in the house before returning outside for his trunk. As he pulled it from the boot of the car, grunting with the effort, a voice behind him said, “Merlin, Harry, seriously?”

Harry whipped around, heart racing, wand already in hand, but relaxed upon seeing it was just Bill Weasley, his friend Ron’s eldest brother, looking as cool as ever in his dragonskin boots with his long hair pulled back in a stubby tail with the fanged earring in one ear. Bill worked for Gringotts bank as a curse breaker, although he had been stationed in London at a desk job for the last year to help out in the fight against Voldemort with the Order of the Phoenix. “What are you doing here?” Harry asked, quickly putting his wand back in his pocket.

“Mum insisted I handle first shift of guard duty,” Bill answered easily with a grin as he reached out to shake Harry’s hand, “make sure you got back here all right.”

“You can tell her I’m fine,” said Harry, turning away to resume pulling his trunk out of the car. Bill stepped up next to him and helped him get it the rest of the way out. “Thanks,” he muttered, closing the boot a little harder than necessary and hoping his uncle hadn’t heard the loud thunk it made.

“Listen, Harry,” said Bill, “Mum told me this morning that you and Ginny are in a relationship now.”

Harry, who had just bent down to start hauling his trunk toward the front door, paused, feeling his face flush. Ginny…

About two weeks earlier, Harry had almost been tricked by Voldemort into going to the Ministry of Magic to try and rescue Sirius, whom he had believed was in danger. One of his best friends, Hermione Granger, had convinced him to check and make sure that Sirius wasn’t still at Grimmauld Place, the current Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, which was a secret organization devoted to fighting Voldemort and his Death Eater followers. His other best friend, Ron Weasley, and his sister Ginny along with Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom had become involved in a distraction they had staged to get Harry into Dolores Umbridge’s office to use her fireplace to Floo his godfather.

Umbridge, however, had seen through their deception, and she had subjected Harry to the Cruciatus Curse to try and get him to disclose whom he had tried to contact. It had been Professor Snape of all people who had stopped her and let Harry know of Voldemort’s ruse. However, after taking a sleeping potion in the hospital wing, Harry had been trapped in Voldemort’s mind and been subjected to the Dark Lord digging through Harry’s memories, threatening to rip all that Harry was to shreds. Dumbledore had been able to wake him, but then Harry had been possessed by Voldemort and taken Ginny with him into the Ministry to have him retrieve a secret prophecy about Harry and Voldemort that was located in the Department of Mysteries.

Ginny had backed Harry in retrieving the prophecy, escaping over a dozen Death Eaters, and holding their own until members of the Order had been able to rescue them. Sirius had been among their rescuers, his goal to get Harry and Ginny out of the Department of Mysteries safely, but Voldemort had instead come directly to the Ministry to get the prophecy from Harry and kill him. Thanks to Sirius and Dumbledore, Voldemort had again been unsuccessful, and he had tried possessing Harry once more, this time determined to see him dead.

Unexpectedly, Ginny had told him that he loved him, had reminded him of his feelings for those he cared about, and Voldemort had been forced to retreat, but not before being spotted by multiple members of the Ministry of Magic. Sirius had been cleared of all charges, Umbridge was awaiting trial and a potential sentences of years in Azkaban for what she had done to Harry, and Harry himself now knew the full contents of the prophecy along with Sirius, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. Harry and his friends had been interviewed by Aurors to have Umbridge put away for a long time. Most importantly, however, he and Ginny had gotten together.

Thinking he was in for it, Harry straightened up and looked up at Bill. “Yeah,” he said, bracing himself for either a lecture or a beating. Or both. “And?”

Bill raised his eyebrows. “Well, I suppose it goes without saying that you’d best not go breaking her heart. She’s cared about you for a long time, you know.”

Harry nodded. “I know,” he said. He waited, still unsure what Bill might do or say next, all the while thinking that Ginny had entirely too many brothers.

Bill eyed Harry for another moment, then smiled. “Mind you, Mum actually lectured me to go easy on you, so I think it’s obvious who she likes the best.” His smile turned to a grin, and he bent down to help Harry pick up his trunk and carry it to the front door.

“Thanks,” Harry told him when they reached it. “I can manage it from here.”

“But I haven’t seen the inside of this house yet!” Bill exclaimed brightly as they set his trunk down again. “You really should invite me in to make sure you get your trunk upstairs all right.”

“I can get it upstairs just fine on my own,” protested Harry.

“Mum says you’re still healing up from everything,” said Bill.

“So weak,” Voldemort’s voice echoed in his mind.

“I’m fine!” insisted Harry, trying not to let his own demons get to him. “I don’t need you coddling me or anything like that!”

“Never said anything about coddling,” replied Bill evenly. “Just making sure I have a good report to hand in when my watch ends.”

The net curtains in the living room window behind Bill twitched a bit, and Harry groaned. “Look,” he said, trying desperately to keep his temper in check, “my aunt and uncle really weren’t happy with… with everything at King’s Cross station, all right? I’m really tired, and I’d like nothing better than to just slip inside quietly and stay out of their way for the rest of the day, none of which will happen if they see me inviting in a full-grown wizard an – an hour after being told that Sirius is going to be visiting me every day for the next two weeks!”

Bill didn’t say anything to this at first, instead eyeing Harry speculatively. “Would they hurt you for that?” he asked bluntly.

Harry’s breath caught. “Why – why would you ask me that?” he asked, trying hard to sound confused instead of panicked.

Bill raised his eyebrows. “Ron and the twins told me about the bars on your window four years ago when they flew Dad’s car over here to rescue you,” he said calmly. “The only kind of people who would do that sort of thing to a kid are abusive people, Harry.”

Harry flushed and looked away, feeling uncertain of how to respond to this. He really didn’t want to talk about his life with the Dursleys with anyone, least of all with Bill. “We don’t like each other,” he finally managed, unable to look up at older man. “It’s always been that way. Just… tell everyone I’m fine.” He opened the door and heaved his trunk inside without another word, grateful that Bill didn’t say anything else or try to come in with him. He hauled his trunk up the stairs and into his room and shut the door, grateful to be alone at last.

Would they hurt you for that? Harry had long done his best to gloss over the more difficult aspects of his relationship with the Dursleys, but to be asked such a direct question like that really threw him. Uncle Vernon hadn’t hurt him in years – well, okay, he’d done his best to strangle Harry last summer for having his wand out after Mundungus Fletcher had loudly Apparated away from guard duty, but that was it for recent events, really…

“Such an unwanted orphan you are.” Harry pressed his hands to his face, wanting nothing more than to forget everything that had happened, to never again hear that insidious voice tearing him apart –

“Boy!” came Uncle Vernon’s voice from downstairs. Harry sighed and headed out of his room to see what his uncle wanted, only a little grateful for the distraction from his own mind.

Uncle Vernon was sitting in the kitchen as Aunt Petunia started preparing dinner. Harry could hear Dudley in the other room, laughing at a show on the telly. “Yes, Uncle Vernon?” asked Harry with forced politeness.

“Who were you speaking to out there?” his uncle asked suspiciously. “Don’t think we didn’t see or hear him, boy.”

Don’t call me that!

Harry drew in a steadying breath, knowing that the movement of the net curtains must have been Aunt Petunia spying on him, as was her way. “Bill Weasley,” he answered, doing his best to focus on the here and now. “He’s one of my friend’s older brothers. He was on… well, guard duty and wanted to help me bring in my things. I told him ‘no’, of course.”

Uncle Vernon let out a ‘harrumph’ and glowered at Harry. “I don’t appreciate your kind standing on my front door step like that,” he said angrily. “Especially that one, looking like a – a gigolo with that hair and earring.”

Harry did his best to keep a straight face. “Yes, Uncle Vernon,” he said. “Anything else?”

Uncle Vernon glared at Harry. “Two weeks and we’re rid of you, right?”

“For this summer, yeah,” said Harry. “I expect that I’ll have to come back next summer, though.”

His aunt and uncle exchanged disgruntled looks, and Aunt Petunia immediately put Harry to work making dinner, which Harry was fine with. The reality was that this kind of busy work kept his mind off of other things he really didn’t want to think about. His dinner portion was smaller than Dudley’s, as per usual, but after doing the dishes, Harry was finally allowed to retreat to his bedroom for the rest of the night. He had just sat down when –

“Harry!”

Starting, Harry looked around for the source of the muffled voice. A moment later, he could have hit himself. He quickly opened his trunk and dug around for the two-way mirror that Sirius had given him for Christmas. He still felt a twinge of guilt over not having opened the present sooner because it would have prevented pretty much everything that had happened that fateful night, but seeing as how both he and Sirius were alive and well despite everything that had happened, he didn’t have much guilt to spare.

“Hey,” said Harry, finally pulling the small mirror out from the folds of his Invisibility Cloak and seeing Sirius’s face instead of his own reflection. “What’s up?”

“I’ve been trying to reach you for the better part of an hour,” said Sirius, grey eyes looking a bit worried as his brushed his long, dark hair from his face. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” said Harry quickly. “I was just – you know, helping out with dinner.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment. “Drive home go fine?” he asked instead.

“Yeah,” said Harry. “Well, I mean, Uncle Vernon ranted about your appearance on the drive here, but that’s really nothing new when it comes to him meeting our kind.” He shrugged. “So, what time do you expect to be over tomorrow?”

“Round nine, I think,” answered Sirius. “Bill said no one helped you get your things in.”

“I was fine on my own,” said Harry, feeling nettled. “I didn’t need anyone’s help, either.”

Sirius eyed him in much the same way Bill had a couple hours ago. Harry really didn’t like it and was worried about what would come out of his godfather’s mouth next.

“Alright, I wasn’t going to say anything until I came over tomorrow,” Sirius finally said, “but back at the station, the way you stepped away from your uncle…”

“Sirius,” Harry started, but Sirius cut him off.

“He obviously scares you,” he pressed on. “Has he ever hurt you?”

“I see you got no less than you deserved every day of your pitiful life, Harry.”

“No!” Harry lied forcefully, shoving the taunts to the back of his mind. “What is it with this line of questioning today, Sirius? First Bill, now you…” He glared at Sirius’s face in the small mirror. “We just don’t like each other, we never have!”

Sirius’s face wasn’t angry or upset, but resigned, even sad. “The thing is, Harry,” he said quietly, “the only way you could dislike them was if they did it to you first.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to this, had no idea how to respond in such a way that wouldn’t reveal the parts of his childhood he wanted to forget. He heard his uncle grumbling and clomping up the stairs. “I’m tired,” he said abruptly. “It’s been a long day, I should get some sleep.”

“Harry –”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, round nine, yeah?” said Harry distractedly, moving to put the mirror on the bedside table as he heard his uncle reach the landing.

“I – okay,” said Sirius, sounding resigned. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry.” Harry placed the mirror face-down on the table as sharp rapping sounded on his bedroom door.

“Boy,” rumbled Uncle Vernon, “I expect you up at eight o’clock sharp to make breakfast, understand?”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” said Harry, sighing as he started getting ready for bed.

“And – tell your godfather –” Uncle Vernon paused. “We would prefer that you go out elsewhere in the area while he’s here tomorrow, is that understood?”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” Harry intoned again as he set the alarm clock on the bedside table.

“Good.” Uncle Vernon walked away, and Harry sighed. Two weeks. He could do two weeks. Well, he could so long as certain people stopped pressing for information that was none of their business.

Grumbling to himself, Harry changed into his pajamas, turned out the lights, and climbed into bed. He was actually very tired, but given that sleeping generally meant nightmares, it would be some time before he could give into his exhaustion. Less sleep meant less chances for the nightmares to come and overwhelm him.

Instead, he let his mind dwell, as it had for the last few days, on the prophecy. Neither can live while the other survives… How could he, a boy of not quite sixteen, be the only one who could end Voldemort’s reign of terror once and for all? Somehow, the support of those he loved was going to help him, but how could it be when the odds were stacked so heavily against him?

These questions, and more, remained unanswered when at last Harry drifted off to sleep.

Back to index


Chapter 2: The Realization

Author's Notes: Ginny and Molly POV chapter for you guys! As a mother myself, I couldn't help but want to get into Molly's headspace just a bit, and I hope you enjoy it.


Two: The Realization



Ginny settled down next to Ron in the back of the taxi her parents had rented (with Tonks’s help, Arthur still had trouble with the bits of paper money Muggles used) to drive them back to their home in Ottery St. Catchpole from Kings Cross station. It was a quiet drive for the most part. Molly and Arthur already knew much of what had happened the previous school year since they had come up to Hogwarts to sit with Ron and Ginny as they had been interviewed by two Aurors about what Umbridge had done to Harry. Thinking about it sent a rush of anger coursing through Ginny every time. She had seen Harry go through so much over the last few years, but she had never heard him scream like that and desperately hoped that she would never have to witness such a thing ever again.

Thinking of Harry, however, brought a smile to her face. Ginny had fancied Harry as a child, but it had grown into love as she had come to know him better. She had made herself move on and had dated Michael Corner for some time, but now…

Probably the most incredible part of being with Harry was that her unfortunate adventure with him in the Department of Mysteries had left her with no choice but to admit that she loved him in order to save him from Voldemort. She had thought for sure that, if he even remembered what she had said, he would simply tell her that he saw her as only a friend, and she would have settled for that; she had already been doing just that, to be honest. But no, instead he admitted that he did have feelings for her, and now…

“How long have you been telling Harry you love him?” Molly spoke up abruptly. Ginny blinked and looked over at her.

“Sorry?”

“You told Harry today that you love him at the station,” said Molly. “How long have you been saying that?”

Ginny felt her face warm and looked down. “I actually saved his life at the Ministry by admitting it,” she answered. “Voldemort was killing him, and he wasn’t –” She broke off, remembering once again how Harry’s face had been so pale, starting to turn blue at the lips as his life had… He had been running out of time, and it had been terrifying to sit there, watching him slowly ebb away and not be able to do anything about it.

Ron shifted uncomfortably next to her.

“He was dying,” said Ginny, looking up to meet her mother’s eyes. “Nothing was getting through to him, and I do love him, Mum, I’ve loved him for years, and I just remember thinking that… I had nothing else to offer, nothing else to try or to lose and –” She halted, blinking hard several times. “I couldn’t lose him,” she whispered.

“I’m glad you said it,” said Ron unexpectedly. “Honestly, I’m glad you keep saying it.” He turned to face their parents. “Mum, Dad, have you seen the way Harry looks at her?” he asked. “I’ve never seen him like that before. He’s so… happy.”

Maybe Ron didn’t really have the emotional range of a teaspoon like Hermione claimed, Ginny thought idly as her parents exchanged looks. “That’s very observant of you, Ron,” Arthur finally said.

“He’s my best mate,” Ron defended himself. “I might not be a fan of watching them kiss or anything, but the way he looks at Ginny, the way he talks to her…” He shrugged. “It was never like that when he was seeing Cho.”

Ginny smiled at her brother. “That’s probably the highest praise I’ll ever get from you, isn’t it?” she said fondly.

Ron shoved her lightly as he muttered, “Shut it, you,” but he was grinning, all the same.

When they arrived home, the house was oddly quiet. Without Fred and George about, it was almost a different place altogether. Ginny and Ron were ordered to unpack their trunks and set aside anything that needed to be washed before getting ready for supper. Ginny quickly followed her mother’s orders and went to head outside for a bit of flying before her mother stopped her.

“Ginny, dear,” she called out just as Ginny reached the back door, “come here for a moment, please.”

Molly was in the kitchen, clearly in the middle of making supper, and Arthur was sitting at the kitchen table. “Yes, Mum?” asked Ginny.

“Have a seat, dear,” said Molly, and Ginny felt the first inklings of wariness settle in. She sat down next to her father and waited cautiously.

“Ginny,” said Arthur after a moment, “we understand that you care about Harry very much –”

“Love,” Ginny gently corrected him. “Dad, I love him.”

“But you’re both still so young,” said Molly quickly.

“You didn’t even finish school before marrying Dad,” Ginny reminded her mother. “You were what, two years older than I am now?”

“Well, your father and I were obviously meant to be,” said Molly dismissively.

“And you think Harry and I aren’t?” Ginny questioned incredulously. “You can’t judge our relationship when you’ve barely even seen us together!”

“He saved your life four years ago,” said Arthur carefully, “and he worked so hard to keep you safe at the Ministry two weeks ago, but to go from just friends to telling him you love him in such a short time… we just worry that it’s just a bit fast.”

Ginny stared at her parents. “You think I’m pushing him into something that he doesn’t want,” she stated numbly. Her parents said nothing, and she leaned back in her chair. “Tell me,” she said, seizing on a sudden thought, “what do you both know about the prophecy?”

Her parents froze. “You know what it says,” whispered Arthur. “Albus told you after you left with Harry and Sirius that night.”

“Yes,” answered Ginny firmly. “We all got to hear the exact wording, and Harry and I told Ron and Hermione what it said. So, what do you know about it?”

“We know that You-Know-Who attacked the Potters because of it,” replied Arthur slowly after exchanging a significant look with Molly. “We know that he doesn’t know the full prophecy, that he sought it out to better understand why he has been unable to kill Harry after all these years. I was among those who stood guard to make sure he didn’t get it.”

“And you almost died because of it,” said Ginny. “I remember that.” She sighed. “Look, Harry was scared when we learned what it said. He still is, honestly, but the first chance he got to talk to me alone, he asked me about telling him I loved him. He… he wanted to know if I meant it, and he said…” This part still broke Ginny’s heart when she so much as thought about it. “No one has ever told them they love him before,” she finished, blinking away the tears that wanted to fall.

“I’m sure his parents said that many times,” said Molly quietly.

“He doesn’t remember that, though,” responded Ginny. “It’s just three little words, and out of all of us who care about him, I’m the first person to say those words to him? You think I don’t realize how monumental that is? Or how much it meant to him?” She shook her head. “He fought off Voldemort after I said it, Mum. He was dying, but love – the idea of it, my saying it to him, the way he felt about me and Sirius – that’s what did it, that’s what allowed him to break free of being possessed, and I wouldn’t ever take it back.” She looked up at her mother. “I love him,” she said simply.

Molly sighed. “And Harry?”

Ginny glanced at her father, who was watching her silently. “What about him?”

“How does he feel about you?”

“He does notice you, you know. Harry has always noticed you.”

And she realized in that moment just what she had done.

“I… I love you.”

She had said it to Harry, but Voldemort had been possessing Harry at the time. He knew. He’d put the pieces together in Harry’s mind about his developing feelings for Ginny, and then she’d gone and confirmed exactly how she felt. As foolish as Voldemort believed love to be, he was more than capable of using the idea of it to his advantage, like when he had tried to trick Harry into going to the Ministry to save Sirius.

“Ginny?” her mother asked as though from a great distance, but Ginny ignored her as her thoughts continued to race. Voldemort didn’t just have Harry’s love for Sirius to use against him, anymore. He had Ginny’s love for Harry, as well. He had the pieces he’d put together in Harry’s mind to see how much Harry had grown to care for her. Given that there were multiple students at Hogwarts whose parents were Death Eaters, the news of them getting together must have surely reached Voldemort by now. He probably hadn’t been the least bit surprised by it, either.

“I might as well have painted a target on my back,” she breathed in astonishment.

“Ginny?”

“Sorry,” said Ginny, coming back to herself. “Look, Harry cares about me. A lot. Maybe it’ll grow to be love, and maybe it won’t. Either way, he’s willing to give us a chance, and I’m happy with that.” She pushed away from the table and rose. “May I be excused, please?”

Her parents exchanged worried looks, but nodded. Ginny raced outside, grabbed an old broom from the shed, and was on it a moment later, soaring over the paddock as she breathed in the fresh summer air and tried not to think for a bit.

But the thoughts came, anyway.

She had unintentionally placed herself in mortal danger.

Her family was likely already a target just because they were in the Order and cared for Harry, but this… this individualized target she had managed all on her own. Had Harry realized this yet? What would he do when it occurred to him that Voldemort might deliberately target her to get to him? Obviously she would have to be more careful in the future, maybe take the same precautions Harry would be expected to take.

Most importantly, though, would be avoiding any discussion of this revelation. She knew Harry well enough to know he might do something stupid like push her away to try and protect her, but that wouldn’t change how she felt about him, and she was certain Voldemort had already realized that. No, she would do better to keep mum on this realization unless it came up somehow. Then, and only then, would she deal with it. Having decided this, Ginny was able to fly in relative peace until supper was ready.



Molly watched as her daughter practically ran away from her and Arthur, and her heart ached for the young girl. Already in love and not even fifteen years old?

“I think she’s realized what she did that night,” Arthur spoke up quietly. “You heard what she said?”

“‘I might as well have painted a target on my back,’” repeated Molly faintly. “Yes, I heard. Albus was correct that she would figure it out quickly. She’s such a bright child. But that Albus told her the whole prophecy!” she fired up. “I should never have let her leave us that night!”

“Harry would have just told her later, anyway,” said Arthur reasonably. “She admitted that both Ron and Hermione know the full contents, as well.”

“They’re all too young to have to deal with any of this!” Molly couldn’t help but fret. She looked over at her family clock. Starting from the day the Daily Prophet had officially declared the You-Know-Who’s return, every single hand on the clock now constantly pointed at “mortal peril” and only changed briefly for “traveling” when one of them was on the move. It was nerve-wracking to see that at all times and not know for sure if her babies were truly safe.

Arthur looked over at the clock, as well. “We already knew that You-Know-Who believes that Harry’s the only one who could truly defeat him,” he said, rising and walking over to his wife. “No matter how we feel about it, the man will stop at nothing to make sure Harry dies rather than he. And as much as we want to, we can’t shield our children from the horrors of war that are coming our way. Probably the only thing that could have made us any safer would have been Ron not befriending Harry.”

“I wouldn’t change that for the world,” said Molly at once as Arthur put his hands on her shoulders. She looked up at him. “He is the best thing that has ever happened to our family, Arthur.”

“I agree,” said Arthur with a small smile. “He’s been so good for Ron, and… well, the twins finally admitted to me last night that Harry gave them his winnings from the Triwizard tournament a year ago.”

“What?” Molly gasped. “But, he –”

“Insisted the twins take it, said we could all do with ‘a few laughs’ and only asked that they buy Ron those dress robes they got him last summer,” Arthur finished with a small grin. “I have to say, it was a clever and kind thing Harry did for them.”

“They are doing rather well for themselves, I will admit,” said Molly grudgingly. “I was starting to worry that maybe they were up to no good with Mundungus –”

“He probably did supply them some with some questionable ingredients,” said Arthur, his grin getting larger, “but no, financially speaking, Harry was their backer.”

“I should have realized the money came from him,” sighed Molly. “He told me he didn’t want it, that it should have been Cedric’s. The poor boy has been through so much and has somehow remained so kind.”

Arthur nodded. “I don’t think I could’ve chosen anyone better for our daughter to love.”

Molly had to agree. Harry was certainly reckless at times, but his heart was always in the right place, and she knew he’d do anything to keep her baby safe.

Dinner was as a quiet affair, Ron and Ginny having little to say about their last year at Hogwarts. Not that Molly could blame them; between Umbridge and You-Know-Who, the end of the school year hadn’t exactly been pleasant. After the food was eaten, Arthur headed outside to his work shed, Ginny settled down by the fireplace with an issue of Teen Witch Weekly, and Ron quietly joined her with a book on Quidditch. It was interesting to see them together without their other siblings around. Molly hadn’t had just the two of them home since the twins had left for Hogwarts seven years ago, and they hadn’t gotten along like this back then.

Eventually, Ron spoke so quietly that Molly almost missed him as she cleaned up from dinner. “He’s been having nightmares again. I heard him almost every night after he got out of the hospital wing.”

“I’m not surprised,” responded Ginny in an equally quiet tone of voice. “I’ve had a few, myself. I keep getting it all mixed up between what happened at the Ministry and what happened with the diary.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s just – when he possessed Harry the first time, it was still Harry’s face, but it was Tom’s expressions, instead, his body language, way of speaking… He never looks like Harry in my dreams, though, it’s always his face the way he looked back then, or sometimes the way he looks now. How Harry could look at that face and still think straight…” She trailed off for a long moment. “It was just like Harry described in the interview he gave to Rita Skeeter, but it’s worse to actually see it. I could go the rest of my life without seeing Voldemort again and be perfectly happy.”

“Do you… I know you were seeing a Mind Healer when we went to Egypt three years ago –”

“I’m fine,” Ginny cut him off.

“Now you sound just like him,” said Ron, sounding amused.

“Shut it,” replied Ginny, but she didn’t sound angry so much as sad. “I got all the help I could from her that summer, Ron, I really don’t think I need it again.”

“Harry could use it.”

“He’d never spill his guts to a stranger and you know it.”

“True enough,” sighed Ron.

There was a moment of silence before Ron spoke again. “Do you think Dumbledore will really teach Harry how to defeat him in those private lessons he’s going to give him next year?”

This was new, something Molly hadn’t heard about at all. Did Sirius know?

“I expect so,” answered Ginny. “Voldemort’s basically immortal, isn’t he, coming back from practically nothing last year and all. You can’t do that if you’re just mortal, right?”

“Yeah, I reckon so.”

“Well, there must be a way to do it, something other than the Killing curse, of course, since that obviously didn’t work like it should have.” Ginny blew air out through her lips. “Harry’s really scared, Ron, despite what he told us the other day. To know that you’re the only one capable of…” Her voice faded, and Molly peeked into the room to see her daughter leaning against her big brother.

“He’s got us, no matter what,” said Ron firmly as he wrapped an arm around Ginny’s shoulders. “Whatever he has to do, we’re with him every step of the way.”

“I know,” said Ginny softly. “And I’m sure Harry knows it, too.”

Molly retreated, blinking back tears. Somehow she had raised such incredible children who were willing to take a stand in the face of You-Know-Who’s endless determination to kill someone they cared about. Molly had to thank her lucky stars that Ron had asked Harry to share a compartment on that first train ride to Hogwarts. Harry had brought so much good into their lives, and he was worth every trouble that had come along with him, as well.

Her son now had a wonderful friend, and her daughter had chosen a very good soul to love.

Molly finished cleaning up from dinner just as Bill came home. “Hello, Bill,” she said, pulling her eldest into a tight hug. “How are you? How was Harry? Did he get home all right?”

“I’m fine, he’s fine, everything’s good, I've already checked in with Sirius to update him and everything,” said Bill with a grin as Ginny and Ron came into the kitchen to greet him. “He was actually unloading his trunk out of the boot of the Dursleys car all by himself.”

“They didn’t help him at all?” gasped Molly.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” said Ron with a scowl. Much as Molly didn’t like it, Ron was right. It was not surprising at all, but still frustrating to have to hear.

“I helped him get it up the front door,” said Bill, “but he insisted he could get into the house by himself.” He paused. “I may have pushed the issue about how they treat him, though.”

“What did you say?” asked Ginny at once, and Molly knew her daughter was feeling as fiercely protective of Harry as she.

“He said his relatives were upset with being confronted at Kings Cross station,” said Bill, looking troubled. “He just wanted to go inside and be left alone, but said that wouldn’t happen if he went and invited me in an hour after learning about Sirius coming to visit every day for the next two weeks.”

“And you said…?” prompted Ginny.

“I asked if they’d hurt him for that,” Bill admitted.

“I bet he didn’t take kindly to that,” said Ron with raised eyebrows. “You don’t pry into his life with those Muggles easily. The most I ever got out of him was that first train ride together, and when we rescued him with Dad’s flying car the following summer. Otherwise, he won’t talk about them.”

Molly remembered Ron telling her in his various letters home that first year that the famous Harry Potter was not only his best friend, but that he always wore his cousin’s hand-me-downs and had never had a proper birthday, let alone presents. Her heart had ached so fiercely for the boy she had barely met as she read those letters.

“No, he didn’t take too kindly to it at all,” Bill answered dryly. “He wanted to know why I’d ask him something like that, and I explained that only abusive people put bars on a child’s window and lock them up, and he shut down on me completely. All he’d say was that they’d never liked each other and hurried inside before I could say anything else.” He sighed and sat down at the kitchen table heavily. Molly quickly grabbed the leftovers she’d had sitting on the counter in a stasis charm and brought them over for him to eat. “Thanks, Mum,” he murmured, digging in.

“I think you might be the first person to actually use that word in front of him,” remarked Ginny, sitting down next to him as Ron joined them and absently grabbed a spare roll from Bill’s plate.

“What word?” asked Bill, fork pausing halfway between his plate and his mouth.

“Abuse,” said Ron between bites of roll. “I know we’ve discussed it before, but never when he’s around.”

Molly sighed and sat down, as well. “Sirius says that children who are neglected and abused frequently deny that anything is actually wrong,” she said. “We’re very lucky to know as much as we do about his life there.”

“There’s still so much we don’t know, though,” Ginny pointed out.

“Sirius has been saying he’s going to start pushing Harry for more details over the next two weeks,” Molly informed them. “He grew up in an abusive home and says Harry exhibits a lot of the same behavioral patterns that he did before Harry’s father figured out what was going on and encouraged him to get out.”

“It’s disgusting that Sirius’s family held to the old ways of childrearing,” said Bill with a scowl. “The child abuse laws have been around for a solid century now to do away with that kind of thing, but… even if we prove that Harry was abused, it’s not something we could go public with.”

“Why not?” asked Ron hotly. “I think the Muggles deserve some punishment for what they’ve done to Harry!” Molly had to admire Ron’s loyalty to Harry.

“It’s not that simple, Ron,” sighed Bill. “Everyone knows it was Professor Dumbledore who insisted that Harry be placed with the Dursleys. Everyone also knows that it was Professor Dumbledore who insisted that Harry’s aunt would raise him well until he was ready to join the magical community. If word were to get out that Harry was potentially abused instead of cared for by his relatives –”

“Anti-Muggle sentiments will rise rapidly,” came Arthur’s voice as he returned inside from his shed. “The information could actually bolster You-Know-Who’s ability to gather supporters. People would be less likely to trust Dumbledore or the Ministry if they thought the abuse had been allowed to happen.”

“But Voldemort saw everything in Harry’s head that night,” said Ginny, face pale. “He told me that in the hospital wing. If – if Harry really was abused, he already knows. Has Professor Snape said anything about it in your Order meetings?”

Arthur met Molly’s eyes for a moment before shaking his head. “No, he hasn’t.”

“Which still leaves us guessing,” said Bill heavily. “Anyway, I’m exhausted, I’m going to head up to bed.” He rose, and then paused. “Oh, I’m bringing over Fleur for dinner tomorrow,” he said with a smile. “She’s been wanting to come and visit for a while now, meet you and Dad and see Ron and Ginny again.”

“That sounds lovely, dear,” said Molly at once, mind already whirring with food possibilities. She’d have to go shopping in the morning; Ginny and Ron could help her gather what she needed. She ushered everyone up to bed after that, but lay awake for some time after she turned in for the night, worrying about her family, about the war, and, as always, about Harry. How she longed to wrap him in her arms and keep him safe from the horrors of his life. She hoped he was sleeping easily tonight, free from the nightmares Ron had told Ginny about, and finally allowed sleep to claim her for the night.

Back to index


Chapter 3: Life in Little Whinging

Author's Notes: I will be gone from July 13-20 on a camping trip with my family, so there won't be any update to this story until either the 21st or 22nd. There's something calming about escaping the hussle and bussle of the internet for a few days, even if it means no proper shower or toilet in the meantime. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this next chapter!


Chapter Three: Life in Little Whinging


When Harry’s alarm went off the next morning, he quickly turned it off and forced himself to sit up, groping for his glasses and shoving them onto his face. Getting dressed, he stumbled to the toilet and then hurried downstairs to the kitchen.

Unsurprisingly, Aunt Petunia was already awake. She immediately directed Harry to get started on the bacon, but otherwise ignored him. It wasn’t long before Uncle Vernon lumbered into the kitchen to eat, soon followed by Dudley.

“Are the Polkiss’s still planning to come over for dinner?” asked Uncle Vernon.

“Yes, Mrs. Polkiss called just before eight to confirm,” said Aunt Petunia, dishing an extra serving of eggs onto Dudley’s plate. “They’ll be here right at six this evening.”

Harry kept his eyes on his food, knowing his aunt and uncle were looking over at him. “How – how long is your godfather planning on being around today?” Uncle Vernon finally asked him.

Harry shrugged. “He didn’t say.”

“Well, he’s certainly not invited to dinner,” said Uncle Vernon firmly. “I expect you to stay out of the way, as well, understood?”

Harry nodded as he continued eating. When finished, he washed all the dishes and headed outside to wait for Sirius to show instead of staying inside where he clearly wasn’t wanted. After all, Aunt Petunia would be in deep-cleaning mode all day to make sure their home was as impressive as possible for the Polkiss family, and being in the middle of that had never been Harry’s idea of fun. Settling down on the front step, Harry stared out into the gloomy atmosphere that surrounded him, wondering what could possibly cause such unusual weather given that it was summertime.

Crack!

Sirius appeared at the end of the street, long hair as shaggy as ever, but wearing darker clothes that didn’t look so out of the place for the Muggle world. Even though Harry felt some trepidation over the potential line of questioning that could be heading his way, he couldn’t help but grin in happiness at the sight of his godfather, knowing that he was a free man at long last. He got to his feet and headed down the street to meet Sirius, hugging him and relaxing a bit.

“It’s good to see you,” said Harry.

“It hasn’t even been a full day since we last saw each other in person,” Sirius said in amusement. “Is it really that bad here?”

“No,” said Harry, pulling away. “Just… dull. There’s not much to do when you’re underage and can’t do magic, and I don’t have any homework since I’m waiting for my O.W.L. results to come in.” He shrugged. “Anyway, did you have any specific plans for today?”

“I was hoping to get the grand tour,” said Sirius, gesturing to the Dursley’s house.

“My aunt and uncle are having guests for dinner,” said Harry, shaking his head. “Aunt Petunia is going to basically clean every inch of the house today in preparation, so her temper for outsiders is going to be even shorter than usual. It’d just be best to stay out of there today.”

Sirius nodded thoughtfully. “All right, then,” he said, “how about the rest of the area? I don’t know much about your life before you started at Hogwarts. No one does, really.”

Harry shrugged again. “There’s not much to tell. Quiet life, you know.”

The look Sirius gave Harry at this point made it clear that he didn’t believe it for a second, but Harry was determined to keep the worst parts of the past where they belonged. Since going inside the house was off-limits, Harry instead showed Sirius around Little Whinging, pointing out his primary school, the play park, the narrow alleyway where Sirius had first seen him and where he and Dudley had been attacked by those dementors…

“You know a lot of little shortcuts,” Sirius observed at one point on their tour of the area.

“Well,” said Harry, mulling over how much to share, “Dudley was a bit of a bully and had a gang of friends that did whatever he said. It was sometimes easier to use shortcuts than to deal with their idiocy.”

“You were bullied a lot, then?”

Harry thought he knew where this conversation could end up, and shrugged again as he considered how much he wanted to reveal. “Dudley bullied a lot of kids at school,” he finally said, not looking at Sirius.

“Harry –”

“What exactly is it that you’re wanting to know, Sirius?” Harry cut in, finally turning to look at his godfather.

Sirius stopped walking and stared down at Harry. “I told you last summer that I ran away from home when I was sixteen,” he said abruptly. “You know what my parents were, what the Black family stood for. Anytime I tried to argue against it there’d be a proper tongue-lashing, usually followed a Stinging Hex or worse –” He scowled, looking away.

“My parents, especially my mother, were physically and emotionally abusive,” Sirius admitted gruffly. “Had always been that way, and it only got worse after I was sorted into Gryffindor. By the time I was sixteen, I’d had enough, told them I was done, I was leaving. What I didn’t tell you was that I had to fight my way out. I took a fair beating in the process, too, took me two days to recover at your dad’s, and I had to beg your grandfather not to go off and curse them in turn for what happened.” He looked back at Harry, face filled with sorrow.

Harry realized his mouth had fallen open and shut it with a tiny click. He turned away from Sirius, unconsciously wrapping his arms around his middle, a stream of the childhood memories Voldemort had torn through flashing before his eyes. He didn’t want to deal with this, didn’t want to have to relive every horrible punishment, every day lived in fear and seclusion –

“Harry,” said Sirius softly, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He’d barely even known his own name at the Dursleys, only really heard it at Mrs. Figgs’s or at school…

“I hated it here,” whispered Harry. “I – I used to dream about some unknown relative coming to take me away when I was small, because anywhere else had to be better than this place.” He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, staring blankly at the neat rows of perfect houses that surrounded them.

“Dudley and his gang called it ‘Harry Hunting,’” he admitted. “If I wasn’t at school or doing chores, I was busy trying to avoid getting caught by him and his friends. He chased off anyone who wanted to try and be my friend, too.” He finally turned to look at Sirius. “Ron was my very first friend,” he added, trying to smile and knowing he’d failed by the look on Sirius’s face.

“Harry –” But Harry didn’t want pity.

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, forcing a better smile onto his face. “It’s just two weeks, and then I don’t have to think about this place for another year. And it’s not like Dudley tries to bother me anymore now that he knows what I am. He mostly ignores me, so it’s more peaceful these days, I promise.”

Sirius looked doubtful, but nodded slowly.

They wandered around the area all day, stopping at a small diner for lunch, and around five that afternoon, they returned to Privet Drive. “Are you going to be eating dinner with these guests you mentioned?” asked Sirius.

Harry snorted. “The Polkiss’s son is basically Dudley’s second-in-command. I’d rather eat a something before they show up and then stay out of the way.”

They stopped at the bottom of the driveway. Sirius looked up at the house with a bit of a scowl. “I’d best let you get something to eat before these guests show up, then,” he finally sighed. “I’ll be back tomorrow around the same time, okay, kiddo?”

“Sounds good,” Harry agreed. They shared one last hug and Harry headed inside as Sirius returned to the street corner to Apparate away.

Aunt Petunia was doing the final touches on a fancy pudding of some kind, not unlike the one Dobby the house-elf had smashed four summers ago. Harry kept well away from it, instead wolfing down the food his aunt had set aside for him on the counter (an actual sandwich with a glass of milk rather than bread and cheese, quite the step up) and cleaning up his dishes before retreating to the safety of his room.

Flopping down on his bed, Harry finally allowed himself to really think about the things Sirius had said about his own childhood. He himself had longed often to run away before Hogwarts, but with no friends and no one who had ever cared about him, there was no reason to try. The most he’d ever done was a few hours on his own, knowing the punishment awaiting him when at last he returned to the Dursley’s house was going to be even worse, but unable to help wanting just a few hours reprieve from the cupboard he knew he’d just get stuck in again.

Harry had never told anyone about his previous living quarters, and even if he did reveal some of the more unpleasant parts of his childhood, this one piece above all else had to remain unknown. He knew that, even if Sirius did understand what it was like to be unloved, the fact remained that he had been his parents’ blood, that he had still been entitled to certain privileges and even space that Harry had never been afforded until it was obvious that someone was taking notice.

“And this is the home life that Dumbledore chose for you.” Harry clenched his jaw, desperate to forget that cold voice mocking him, ripping into everything that he was, laughing about the punishments he’d suffered at the hands of his relatives –

The lights in his room were dimming wildly, and Harry realized his magic was reacting to his emotional state as it had done on too many previous occasions. He sat up and started taking deep breaths, trying to keep himself in check as his heart raced and his chest started to loosen from a tightness he hadn't even noticed. He didn’t need any trouble with the Dursleys or with the Ministry of Magic right now. The lights returned to their normal state of glowing, and Harry put his head in his hands, wishing he could be somewhere, anywhere else but here.

Two weeks… he just had to hang in there for a little bit longer. He could do it, he’d lasted so much longer the previous summers. Why was this time feeling so difficult?

You know when it’s ending, this time. You had no idea how long you’d be stuck here every other summer. And it was true. Having an actual end date to his stay with the Dursleys was a new occurrence. But even with the promise of spending time with Sirius every day, knowing it was here in this place…

Harry could hear the chatter of his relatives and the Polkiss’s downstairs, the gentle clink of utensils on plates, and he felt even lonelier than he had the previous night. He decided to turn in early, taking care to remain as quiet as possible, and slowly drifted off to sleep.



Sirius returned to Grimmauld Place after leaving Harry to find Remus and Tonks talking quietly in the kitchen. “Hey,” he said, slumping down next to Remus as Kreacher hurried over with food for dinner. He made sure to thank the house elf and dug into his food.

Hermione would be so proud of him, he thought dryly.

“Day go fine?” asked Remus. Sirius nodded as he shoveled onion soup into his mouth.

“Apparently his cousin used to chase him around Little Whinging to beat him up with a gang of ‘friends’,” he finally said after he’d eaten about ten spoonfuls of the delicious concoction. “This is excellent, Kreacher, thank you.”

Kreacher bowed and retreated to his little room with nary a word. Sirius shrugged and turned back to Remus. “Anyway, he said Dudley called it ‘Harry Hunting’. It seems that’s where Harry developed his speed and endurance. He knows all kinds of shortcuts and such around the whole of Little Whinging.”

“That sounds awful,” said Tonks, looking sympathetic. “Did you get anything else out of him?”

“Enough to make me feel guilty about choosing to track down Wormtail over taking care of him,” Sirius sighed. “Harry used to dream about some unknown relative coming to take him away from that place.”

“It’s no wonder he was so ready to take off with you the night you two met,” Remus remarked mildly, “not if that’s the kind of fantasy he used to have.”

“I know,” said Sirius sadly. “It wasn’t until after I’d fled with Buckbeak that it occurred to me how strange it was for Harry to be so willing to live with someone who was pretty much a complete stranger.”

Tonks nodded. “Anyway, Kreacher told me a letter showed up here shortly after you left this morning,” she said, quickly Summoning it and handing it to Sirius. “I didn’t open it, but I’m pretty sure it’s from Fudge.”

Scowling around a mouthful of soup, Sirius took the letter and opened it.

Sirius Black,

I would like to request a formal meeting with your godson, Harry Potter. The public’s faith in the Ministry is quite shaken at the moment, and I am expecting that Harry will be able to stop by and show his support for all that the Ministry is doing in light of You-Know-Who’s return. Please respond with a date and time that would be acceptable for meeting.

Sincerely,
Cornelius Fudge
Minister for Magic


“I’m going to need to make a Howler for this one,” said Sirius tightly. “’Show his support?’” He shook his head derisively. “Fudge must be really desperate.”

“What’s it say?” asked Tonks curiously. Sirius handed the letter to her and Remus, and watched two sets of eyebrows rise and contract as they read.

“I must admit that I also think a Howler is a rather appropriate response to this tripe,” remaked Tonks when she finished with the missive. “After everything the man did to discredit Harry –”

“Including allowing Umbridge to make his life a living hell,” added Sirius darkly.

“Exactly,” said Remus. “Even if you had wanted Harry to go through with it, he would have refused.”

Sirius nodded. “I’ll be making sure my response finds him at a most inconvenient hour.” He grinned at the thought and imagined the look on Fudge’s face when he realized that Sirius was going to thoroughly stonewall him.

Focusing on his food again, he continued to eat, though his eyes strayed frequently to Tonks and Remus as they resumed quietly chatting, fingers not quite touching on the tabletop. He had been drowning in sorrow for the last year of his life, but it hadn’t been outside his notice that Tonks had started hanging around Remus more frequently as the months had passed, and that Remus seemed calmer and even happier in her presence. Finally, seeing the way Remus had held her after his deranged cousin Bellatrix Lestrange had hurt her in the Department of Mysteries, he began to put the pieces together.

“Are you two dating yet?” he asked bluntly between mouthfuls of soup.

Remus startled and Tonks’s hair flushed as red as her face for a moment before returning to its usual bubblegum pink. “Sirius,” said Remus, “why on earth would you ask something like that? We’re just friends.”

Sirius glanced at Tonks and didn’t miss the disgruntled expression on her face. “That’s not what I’m seeing,” he said. “There’s been a pattern developing for quite some time now.”

“I assure you, there’s nothing going on!” Remus insisted.

“Sure there isn’t,” said Sirius with a grin.

“Please be serious about this –”

“I am Sirius, or have you forgotten my name already, Moony?”

Remus groaned, putting his face in his hands wearily. “Will you ever let that ridiculous pun go?”

“I hope not,” said Tonks, grinning herself, “but seeing as how we’ve been dancing around the subject for too long, it’s about time someone put it out in the open.” She leaned forward. “I care for you, Remus, and I want to be with you.”

“I’m too old,” Remus said at once, and Tonks rolled her eyes. “Nymphadora, I’m thirteen years older than you, and a werewolf to boot!”

“At what point have I said that I cared about either of those things?” Tonks shot back heatedly. “My mum went and got herself disowned for marrying a Muggle-born, remember that?”

“That’s different,” insisted Remus.

“Not in the Black family, it isn’t,” Sirius put in with raised eyebrows. “My aunt came here in a rage the day she found out Andromeda was going to marry Ted and begged my mother for the chance to blast her name off the family tree. It caused quite the drama around here, and I got –”

Sirius stopped talking, as was his fashion whenever it came to the abuse. “Got what?” asked Tonks quietly.

“A tongue-lashing and worse,” Sirius finally answered stiffly. “I was already proving myself to be a disgrace by landing myself in Gryffindor and consorting with a known blood traitor, and my mother reminded me constantly of what could happen if I kept following in Andy’s footsteps.”

There was a moment of silence. “What I’ve learned, though,” continued Sirius, “is that the heart wants what it wants, and fighting it can be nothing short of devastating. Besides,” he added, “you realize that Harry is essentially at the top of Voldemort’s kill list and is still dating Ginny, right?”

“Has he realized that Ginny put her name right up there with his that night at the Ministry?” Remus asked him quietly.

Sirius considered, and then shook his head. “Molly and Arthur let me know over a Floo call early this morning that Ginny’s put two and two together, but I don’t think Harry’s figured it out just yet.” He leaned back in his chair and stared hard at his friend. “Have you realized that, even when Harry figures it out, Ginny won’t let him push her away? She’s already in danger and will remain so no matter what because Voldemort knows that she loves him. She did go and declare it loud and clear to him in her effort to save Harry, and nothing Harry does from a sense of duty or nobility will change that.”

Remus seemed to be listening, at the very least. “Just think about it,” Sirius told him, getting up to clean up the remains of his supper. “Staying away from the people who make you happy to protect them only hurts both yourself and them.” He left for bed shortly after, hoping his words would reach his friend before it was too late.



Harry was six years old and back in the cupboard, begging to be let out. “And to think, I thought you were somehow a danger to me,” Voldemort laughed just has he had the night Harry had been trapped in his mind. “This is the same boy I saw a year ago in the graveyard?”

Harry was seven, Uncle Vernon dragging him toward his cupboard by the arm, hand clenched so tightly that it would later bruise. Harry struggled against his uncle’s grip, and was backhanded so hard he hit the floor with a cry. “Such a weak little thing, aren’t you Harry?” Voldemort sneered as Uncle Vernon yelled at Harry and pulled him upright, throwing him into the cupboard and slamming the door behind him. Harry’s back rammed into the wall and he slumped down onto the lumpy old mattress, feeling tears well up in his eyes and wishing he had a better home than this.

A part of Harry recognized that he was dreaming, that he was reliving the torment he had suffered when his mind had been inside Voldemort’s, but he couldn’t break free of this endless cycle of reliving those torturous hours. He couldn’t stop himself from listening to Voldemort mock his childhood and tell him that he could have done so much to hurt those Muggles, that he could have had so much power over them, much as he had done in his own early days as an orphan, or better yet, how he could have turned his magic in on himself and destroyed everything around him. An Obscurus, he’d called it…

Harry finally awoke in the early hours of the morning, covered in sweat and shaking, but thankfully free of any pain in his scar. It seemed that Dumbledore’s hope that Voldemort would no longer permit Harry access to his mind was holding true thus far. Harry certainly didn’t mind not having the insights to Voldemort’s thoughts or the visions. His own mind was filled with enough horrors as it was.

Sitting up, Harry braced his arms on his knees and ran his hands through his hair, taking deep, even breaths as he waited for his heart rate to slow in hopes that he might be able to go back to sleep. He hated this, hated feeling trapped and powerless in the face of all that lay before him. He wished…

He wished he could talk to Ginny. Her fierce and loving nature could get him out of his head better than even his best friend Hermione Granger’s logical reasoning. Ginny had promised to come and see him as soon as her parents would allow her, and at that moment, he wished it was right then and there. Talking about what had happened in that nightmarish experience he’d endured that horrible night wasn’t high on his list of things he wanted to do, but if he had to talk to someone about it all, Ginny was actually at the top of the list for him.

At that moment, Hedwig swooped in his open bedroom window, a letter clutched in her beak. She immediately fluttered over to Harry, who stretched out an arm to receive her. “Hey, girl,” he said softly. “Who’s this from, then?”

Hedwig dropped the letter into his open hand, gave him an affectionate nip, and then flapped over to her cage to get a drink from her water bowl. Harry turned on his bedside lamp and saw that the letter was from Ginny. Spirits lifting despite the gloom that still lurked in his mind, he quickly put on his glasses, opened the letter, and began to read.

Dear Harry,

I miss you. It’s been a day since I last told you I love you, do you know that? How am I supposed to make up for lost time like this? Anyway, Mum’s been in a right state since the papers finally admitted that Voldemort’s back. It turns out her clock has got the lot of us pointing at “mortal peril” all the time now. I’ve been badgering her about visiting you all day today, and she finally said that Ron and I can come over on Monday with Sirius. I wish it could be a day sooner, but I don’t think I can push my luck. She’s back to treating me like a little girl the way she did after the diary my first year. I didn’t mind it so much then, but after everything we’ve been through, it’s annoying this time. I know she means well, though.

Bill told me yesterday that the Muggles didn’t help you get anything inside the house. I hope he didn’t bother you too much about it since I know you’re not fond of accepting help, but that’s obviously because you never get it from your relatives. I think I’m starting to understand you better now, and I think seeing the place where you grew up will help even more. I hope you’re willing to share more of your life there with me. I wish it could be without Ron, though. Mum insisted on him coming along, and he told Mum he’d keep an eye on me, the great prat that he is. I hope you remember that he trusts you more than he trusts me!

Anyway, Hedwig just showed up. I think she knew I was going to write to you. I’ll see you on Monday.

All my love,
Ginny


Harry felt an inner glow that warmed his spirits even more. Making up for lost time was Ginny’s way of saying that he needed to hear more outward expressions of love from the people in his life, and she was determined to do just that. Her love for him almost felt like a talisman that banished the darkness that lurked in his mind. It had been her love that had allowed him to drive Voldemort out of his mind the second time he had been possessed.

Harry hadn’t said it back to her as of yet, though, had never felt this way about anyone before in his life, couldn’t even hope to describe what it was he felt for her, but so far, she seemed content to be the one declaring her love for him multiple times a day. Despite having known her for almost as long as Ron, there was still so much about her that he didn’t know and wanted to discover. Her spunkiness shone through in every word she’d written, and even if a part of him was hesitant to have her see his life on Privet Drive, he’d rather have her visit him here than not see her at all during the two weeks he was stuck with his relatives.

Harry glanced at the alarm clock on his bedside table and saw it was only three in the morning. He was still feeling tired, so he set Ginny’s letter next to the clock with his glasses, turned out the light, and quickly fell asleep, the warmth of Ginny’s letter and her love calming his mind as nothing else had done thus far.

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Chapter 4: The Engagement

Author's Notes: Hey, y'all! I meant to have this chapter up yesterday, but I couldn't get the website to work. Anyway, Ginny's letter to Harry said she badgered her mother to come and visit. Reality is a bit more... frustrating, I suppose is the word for it. Molly is not a perfect parent (though I love her to pieces), and she is someone who lost family in the first war, so pairing that with her family clock that constantly pointing at "mortal peril" mixed with Ginny's fierce determination to get her way... it creates problems. And with that, I hope you enjoy! We'll get back to Harry in the next chapter and inch closer to the truths he's hiding.


Chapter Four: The Engagement


“Mum, please –”

“This makes the fifth time you’ve asked me this morning, Ginevra, and my answer is still no!”

Ginny scowled, but knew she was severely pushing her mother’s limits by this point. It wasn’t lunchtime just yet, but Ginny had asked Molly to go and visit Harry over breakfast before her father left for an emergency call in for his job; while cleaning the dishes after breakfast; before leaving for the market to purchase food for dinner that night since Fleur was coming to visit and Molly wanted to do her very best for their guest; while at the market to purchase what they needed; and now when they’d just arrived home and put away the groceries for dinner that night.

“I’ll go with her,” Ron suddenly spoke up. “Mum, I know you’re worried, but it’s just for a few hours. You know I can help keep Ginny safe.”

Ginny’s scowl deepened. She most certainly didn’t need Ron around to keep her safe. Sirius would be there, and Harry’s blood protection would mean no Death Eaters would dare set foot in Little Whinging, anyway. That was more than enough for Harry, so it ought to have been more than enough for her!

“I’ve only just got you both home,” Molly finally said, looking incredibly worried as she hauled the family clock onto the kitchen table from the basket of laundry she was preparing to sort through. Despite herself, Ginny’s eyes strayed to it, taking in how every hand remained fixed on “mortal peril”.

“The clock won’t change, no matter where we are or what we’re doing, Mum,” she said quietly. “If Harry’s name was on there, it would say the exact same thing, and he’s in the safest place possible thanks to the blood protection charm Dumbledore put on him.” No thanks to the Muggles, though, she thought sourly. “Dad said Bill has been working hard with the Ministry to make sure our home is as protected as possible because Harry spends so much time here, and it still hasn’t changed.” She paused, then added, “You know it’s going to stay that way until Voldemort’s gone for good. We can’t stay shut up all the time just because of it, though.”

Molly sighed and nodded. “I know,” she said, “but I just… I need to know you’re both safe, and I am struggling to know that for sure if I can’t actually see you.”

Ginny sighed and dropped the subject for the moment. She and Ron went out to the orchard to give themselves some Quidditch practice time, Ginny practicing her aim and throw since she planned to try out for one of the open Chaser spots this next year at Hogwarts, and Ron as Keeper since he was determined to keep his spot on the Gryffindor team. With just the two of them, he did really well.

“You’ve gotten quite good,” said Ginny after he missed a tricky shot from her.

“I just missed that one, though,” said Ron, sounding frustrated.

“It’s just nerves,” Ginny reminded him. “Sometimes you’re as bad as Harry, getting all lost in your head. You just happen to do it in the middle of the game as opposed to when trying to do homework or have a discussion with friends.”

“Ha ha,” said Ron dryly. “I know I’m capable, Ginny, I’m part of the reason we managed to win the House Cup.”

“I know,” Ginny conceded. “I’m glad your confidence kicked in when it did. Now you’ve just got to keep it, Keeper Weasley.”

They practiced some more for another hour until their mother called them in for lunch. “Have you thought about it, Mum?” Ginny asked as she ate her turkey and ham sandwiches.

“Ginny,” Molly sighed in exasperation, but Ginny wasn’t going to let it drop.

“You know Sirius is more than capable of keeping an eye on me and Harry,” she said. “He’s the one who got us out of the Department of Mysteries.”

“Harry was hurt in the attempt,” Molly reminded her.

“Only because Bellatrix got in a lucky shot at the wrong moment,” replied Ginny hotly. “Don’t you trust Sirius at all?”

“My answer is still no,” was all Molly said, and she set Ginny a long list of chores around the house to keep her distracted from talking for the next two hours. Ginny grumbled to herself the entire time, feeling so frustrated with her mother she wanted to scream.

When she finished with her chores, she tried again. And failed. Again.

But Ginny was determined not to give in. It was a battle of wills between her determination to see Harry and her mother’s mollycoddling that Ron seemed eager to stay out of as much as possible.

When Bill arrived for dinner with Fleur Delacour in tow at six o’clock, Ginny had finally pushed her mother to her breaking point.

“Ginevra, you are not in the position to go cavorting around when you’re in as much danger as you’re in!”

“Harry’s in just as much danger as I am at this point!” Ginny yelled back at her mother, ignoring Bill, Ron, and Fleur who stood to one side, each in varying states of shock at the scene she and her mother were causing. “But he’s got that protection charm and Sirius to keep him safe! Don’t you think that’s enough for me, too?”

“You don’t know that it’s enough!”

“Voldemort wants Harry dead, Mum!” shouted Ginny. “He still won’t touch Harry at the Dursley’s home, so it’s just as safe for me there as it is here! Maybe more than here!” She was so frustrated she could cry, but she kept the tears at bay, determined to prove herself to her mother. “Send Ron with me if you have to, but I am going to visit Harry at Privet Drive!”

“Why, though?” asked Molly desperately. “Why?”

Ginny was taken aback by the question. Why? Why wouldn’t she go? She loved Harry, she wanted to see him, to spend time with him, but more than that… if Sirius was unable to get Harry to admit to the abuse they all suspected, could she do it?

She had already seen Harry at his most vulnerable. He had talked to her in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, had allowed himself to cry as she held him, he done all he could to protect her in the Department of Mysteries, had listened to her and fought his way back from the edge of death because of her love for him. He had shown his fears to her while staying so stoic in front of everyone else.

That level of trust she had earned so quickly was something she could use to uncover the truth they all suspected. As much as Harry loved and trusted Sirius, she couldn’t help but feel that it was different with her.

“Because if…” Ginny trailed off, suddenly all-too-aware that Fleur was standing next to her brothers. “If what we think about Harry is true, I’m probably the best person to get him to really admit it.”

There was a moment of silence. “She’s right, Mum,” said Ron quietly. “Harry might stonewall Sirius just as much as he does everyone else, but… he hasn’t done that to Ginny once.”

Molly looked between Ron and Ginny for several moments, looking almost devastated. “Fine,” she finally bit out. “But not until Monday. And… Ron goes to keep an eye on you.” She took a deep breath and turned to face Bill and Fleur. “I’m so sorry you had to see that,” she said graciously.

“It’s fine, Mum,” said Bill in amusement, “I figured it wouldn’t be long before Ginny pushed you to your limits over Harry.”

“Is ‘Arry ‘ere?” Fleur spoke up, seeming to want to ignore the row she and Bill had walked in on and start anew. “I ‘aven’t seen ‘im for so long.”

“No, he’s currently staying with his relatives,” answered Molly. “It’s very nice to see you again, Fleur.” She shook Fleur’s hand and invited her to sit down at the kitchen table. “Your father isn’t home just yet, Bill, and I’m afraid I’ve fallen a bit behind in finishing up dinner, but please make yourselves at home.”

Ginny sat down across from Bill and Fleur, and Ron joined her. “How’s the job at Gringotts going for you, Fleur?” she asked politely.

“Eet eez going well,” answered Fleur with a gracious smile. “I only work zere part-time for my Eenglish, but I am learning a lot.”

“Your English is sounding really good,” Ron piped up, and Fleur gave him a gracious smile.

“Zank you, Ronald,” she said kindly, and Ron flushed in pleasure. Hermione was definitely going to be hearing about this, Ginny thought, grinning at the chaos this could cause for her brother. “Now, where are Fred and George? Bill said ‘e asked zem to come for dinner, as well.”

The kitchen door banged open, and the twins burst in, wearing robes in a horrible shade of magenta that clashed with their hair. “Did someone say Gred and Forge?” Fred called out with a grin.

Molly rushed over to hug them as Ginny got up for hugs, as well. She adored the twins and was happy to see them again. A few minutes later, her father arrived home as well, and Molly finished dinner so everyone could start eating.

“I ‘ave adjusted well to British food,” Fleur was telling Ron at one point during their meal. “Eet eez much ‘eavier for ze palate zan ze food I ate in France, but Bill ‘as introduced me to many dishes since I started working at Gringotts to ‘elp me adjust.”

Ginny asked Fred and George about their shop, and they were more than happy to explain how business was booming at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. “Harry was right,” George told her, “people could really use a few good laughs these days.”

“Which,” Molly cut in, “speaking of, how could you accept that money from Harry last year?”

“Dad told you,” sighed Fred, “didn’t he?”

“Those were his winnings,” said Molly, “and he just… gave them to you?”

Fleur raised her eyebrows in surprise. “I didn’t know ‘e didn’t keep ze prize money.”

“He tried to give it to the Diggory’s, Mum,” said Ron, “and he said that night he didn’t want it – hang on, is that were the money for those dress robes came from?” he asked the twins.

Fred and George looked at each other guiltily. “It’s the only favor he asked,” Fred finally admitted.

“He actually threatened to jinx us if we didn’t take the money,” added George.

“Sounds like something Harry would say,” said Ginny with a grin as Ron rolled his eyes and muttered something along the lines of 'stupid git, always thinking of everyone else.' Ginny's grin widened.

“I must say zat ‘Arry is a very good person,” Fleur put in. “You are all very lucky to know ‘im.”

“I’m dating him, now,” Ginny told her, not quite able to hide her pride behind the happiness she felt.

“Yes, Bill told me this morning,” Fleur smiled at her before giving Bill an adoring expression. “’E obviously knows zat being wiz a Weasley means ‘aving true love and companionship for life.” Their hands clasped on the table as Bill returned her look, eyes filled with…

Ginny blinked. She knew Bill and Fleur were seeing each other, but this sounded –

“Is there something you would like to tell us, Bill?” Arthur asked after a pregnant pause.

Bill cleared his throat. “Yes, Dad,” he said, standing up and pulling Fleur up with him. “Well, when Fleur and I met last year, I felt an instant connection to her, and I know she felt the same, so we decided to start seeing each other as you all know, and well…” He pulled out his wand and tapped Fleur’s left hand, lifting what had obviously been a Disillusionment Charm on the simple gold and diamond ring that now adorned her finger. “I proposed!” he finished with a very happy smile on his face.

Molly gasped loudly, covering her mouth with her hands. Arthur’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and Fred, George, and Ron’s mouths all fell open. Ginny stared, completely taken aback.

“Congratulations, son!” Arthur was the first to speak, getting up and striding around to hug Bill and Fleur. “And welcome to the family, Fleur.”

“Zank you, Meester Weasley,” said Fleur graciously as she accepted the hug.

“Arthur, and you’re welcome. We’re glad to have you join the Weasley clan.”

Molly jumped up and seized Bill in a tight hug. “My oldest boy,” she said, “getting married! But you’ve barely known each other a year!”

“If you’ve found the right one,” said Bill, “you just know.” He smiled at Fleur, who returned it rather tightly. “And I know, Mum. She’s the girl for me.”

The twins and Ron still had gobsmacked looks on their faces. Ginny couldn’t believe this was actually happening. Bill was so adventurous and had barely had time to for anything else but work until he’d moved back home last year. She stood up automatically to give Bill a hug.

“I guess she’s right,” she said, “true love and companionship for life, that’s us Weasleys.”

Bill chuckled and pulled Ginny close. “I hope Harry realizes how lucky he is,” he told her.

“I make sure to remind him every day,” replied Ginny cheekily. “Which reminds me, I need to write to him before bed.”

“Don’t tell him about this just yet,” Bill requested. “I’d rather tell him in person, you know? Fleur adores him and asks about how he's doing frequently.”

“Makes sense,” said Ginny, “they were both Champions and all, plus he saved her sister in the Second Task.”

“Gabrielle still talks about ‘im,” Fleur told her. “She asks about ‘im in every letter she sends to me!”

“Sounds like a little sister I know back from my first year at Hogwarts,” Ron finally spoke up, and Ginny whacked his shoulder lightly.

“Shut it Ronald,” she grinned. “We don’t talk about my embarrassing childhood crush, remember?”

“No, of course not,” replied Ron, rubbing his shoulder as he grinned back. “You still nabbed him in the end, though!”

This was true, Ginny thought when dinner finished and she was able to retreat to her room to write to Harry at last. She had nabbed Harry, so to speak, and it was everything she’d ever hoped for and more. He was very kind and never once pushed Ginny to do anything she didn’t want, which was more than she could say for Michael.

Not that she’d ever tell her brothers that, though. She did not need them fighting battles she’d already won.

Settling down at her desk, Ginny prepared to write her letter. She tried to stay as upbeat as possible, not admitting to the blowup she and her mother had had before dinner over her constant badgering about visiting Harry. She also didn’t mention Bill and Fleur’s engagement in honor of Bill’s wish to tell him in person when the time came. A sudden tapping at her window made her look up, and a smile spread across her face when she realized it was Hedwig. She quickly opened the window and the snowy owl flew in, gracefully landing on the back of Ginny’s chair.

“Hello, Hedwig,” said Ginny softly, stroking the bird’s head and receiving a rather affectionate nip in return. “You must’ve known I was writing to Harry. I thought I was going to have to beg Ron to use Pig, instead.” Hedwig had an indignant look on her face at the mention of the tiny bird that belonged to Ron. “I know, he’s still quite as excitable as ever,” she told the owl with a chuckle. “Anyway, give me a few minutes to finish this letter up, and then you can be on your way. And thank you, Hedwig.”

She quickly finished her letter, gave Hedwig an owl treat from the bag she’d nicked out of Harry’s trunk just in case his owl came to visit, and Hedwig set off with the letter clutched in her beak. Feeling quite pleased, Ginny prepared for bed and quickly drifted off to sleep.

The nightmare that came was surprising. It had been a few nights since the last one, and Ginny had been so happy when she had fallen asleep that it caught her off guard.

She was running in a large space. She couldn’t tell if it was the Chamber of Secrets or the Ministry Atrium, but she knew she had to get to Harry, had to find him. Ginny kept running, shouting out his name as someone laughed, high and cold, though she couldn’t see where the laughter came from.

At last, she found Harry, prone on the ground, gasping for air as his lips turned blue and his glassy eyes stared at nothing. “Harry!” she cried out, dropping to her knees and shaking him. “Harry, please, look at me!”

“You can’t help him.” It was Riddle’s voice, the teenager, and Ginny looked up to see him approach from the looming darkness. “He is dying, Ginny Weasley, just as he should’ve done in the Chamber three years ago. He was supposed to have died that night so I could rise again!”

“He beat you!” yelled Ginny, glaring up at him as Harry continued to gasp, white as a sheet and dying before her. She clutched at Harry and stared at him, terrified and angry all at the same time. “He killed the Basilisk and he destroyed the diary! You LOST, Riddle!”

But it wasn’t Riddle, anymore. She looked up to see Voldemort before her now, looking just as she’d seen him at the Ministry, scarlet eyes and hooded in robes of pitch. “You cannot win against me, girl,” he whispered in that horrible voice, too high and cold to be natural. “I will kill Harry Potter.”

“No,” snarled Ginny. “No, this never happened, this is just a dream, Harry beat you!”

“You declared your weakness,” laughed Voldemort, “your great love, Ginny Weasley. You are a fool, and so is he.”

Harry was going grey beneath Ginny’s hands, and she screamed her fury and despair. “I love him! Harry, please!”

With a start, Ginny woke. She put her hands over her face, feeling tears on her cheeks as she gasped for air, the damp cotton of her top shifting against her sweaty skin. That had been a bad one, she thought as she forced herself to sit up, wiping away the tears on her cheeks and pulling her knees close to her chest to wrap her arms around them.

There was a soft tapping at her door before it opened. “Ginny?” It was her mother.

“I’m sorry,” said Ginny quietly, “did I wake you?”

“It’s quite all right, dear,” said Molly, quickly crossing the small room and sitting down on the bed. “Nightmare?”

Ginny nodded, and her mother wrapped her arms around her. Ginny instantly felt calmer and knew she was safe as she hugged her mother tightly.

“I heard you telling Ron a bit about it Friday night,” said Molly softly. “You said you keep mixing up the Ministry and the diary.”

Ginny nodded again and pulled away just enough to look at her mother. “This time… It was more about something I realized on Friday. You know what I did,” she added quietly, “that night.”

Molly sighed and nodded. “You followed your heart,” she said. “You saved Harry when no one else could do it.”

“And I put myself on Voldemort’s personal kill list,” said Ginny bitterly. “After I said it, Voldemort looked so shocked and then so angry – but then Harry was back and alive and nothing else mattered.” She shook her head. “I didn’t even stop to consider what it might mean to say it out loud, Mum, I just –”

“Wanted Harry to live,” Molly finished. “I think that any one of us who care for Harry would have done anything to save him in that moment, Ginny. Sirius might have been able to get through to him, but in the end, it was you who saved him. Not Sirius, not Professor Dumbledore, but you. I understand what that took, and what that meant for you both.” She pulled Ginny close again. “It terrifies me that you’ve already given your heart away at such a young age, Ginny,” she admitted quietly, “and based on the little bit I’ve seen of the two of you together, Harry is quickly following the same path.

“You deserve someone who will love and cherish everything that makes up who you are,” continued Molly in the same quiet voice, “and I fully believe Harry is capable of it. And Harry deserves someone who will stand beside him in the face of everything that has come his way despite all the fears and worries, and I… I fully believe that’s you, my daughter.”

Ginny smiled and hugged her mother tightly. “You really think so?” she asked.

Molly sighed. “Yes, I do. I just… I know the path ahead is treacherous, and I want nothing more than safeguard your every step.”

“I know,” said Ginny. “But you can’t.”

“And I know that,” replied Molly, sounding much more like herself, “but I certainly won’t stop trying.” She paused, then asked, “Can you be patient with me on that?”

“Only if you’ll be patient with me,” responded Ginny seriously. “I’m not the same girl who wrote in that diary three years ago. I just need time to sort it all out, and I expect Harry does, too.” She hesitated, then went on: “He sometimes seems to be… I dunno, lost in his head, somehow, like he’s hearing or remembering things without warning.”

“That could very well be,” said Molly sadly. “He has been through quite the ordeal. When you and Ron see him on Monday, will you let me know how he is?”

“I will, Mum, I promise.” They chatted for a bit longer, and then Molly left Ginny to go back to sleep. Ginny stared out her bedroom window for some time, hoping her letter had arrived safely and that Harry was doing all right with those Muggles. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep, and all was peaceful at the Burrow for the remainder of the night.

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Chapter 5: Friendship

Author's Notes: We have Ron and Ginny's first trip to Privet Drive (Harry's POV)! Also, Ron and Ginny will visit Hermione's home in this chapter (Ron's POV). JK Rowling has never said where Hermione lived with her parents, so I decided to make it the same place as the house they used in DH part 1, which is located in Hampstead. Enjoy!


Chapter Five: Friendship


“It’s pretty small,” Sirius observed as he entered Harry’s room later that Sunday morning. Harry had managed a few more hours’ sleep following his nightmare about Voldemort’s intrusion into his mind, but was still feeling exhausted and a bit irritable.

Harry rolled his eyes. “You expected the master suite?” he asked sarcastically.

Sirius sat down at Harry’s desk, still looking around. “It’s a lot more lived-in than what I saw of the rest of the house, though,” he said.

“Aunt Petunia doesn’t clean in here,” explained Harry, slumping down onto his bed. “Probably wants to keep the unnatural contained in one space without having to touch any of it.”

“That sounds about right given what your mother used to say about her,” said Sirius with a thoughtful nod. “I see you haven’t unpacked much.”

“Give it time,” Harry grinned. “I can turn into a right slob if the mood strikes me.”

Sirius chuckled, then sobered. “Do they use those kinds of words a lot?” he asked. “Unnatural?”

Harry should have known Sirius would try pushing for more details again. He stared out his bedroom window as he pieced together what he should say, ignoring the whisper of laughter in the back of his mind as he thought. “Well, I mean, yeah,” he finally said. “But not so much until after I got my letter from Hogwarts and finally learned I was a wizard.”

“They didn’t tell you?” asked Sirius. “How did they explain what happened to your parents, then?”

Harry grimaced. “Aunt Petunia said they died in a car crash, and that’s where I got my scar.” He waited for Sirius’s reaction and was not disappointed.

“A car crash?” shouted Sirius, leaping to his feet. “Are you joking?”

Harry shook his head glumly. “It was Hagrid who told me what I was, and what happened to them. After that, words like ‘unnatural’ were, you know…” Harry trailed off and shrugged.

Sirius slumped back onto the desk chair, looking deeply disturbed. “So how did they explain any accidental magic you did as a child?”

“They didn’t,” Harry shrugged again. The cold laughter persisted. “I mean, they always blamed me for anything out of the ordinary, but they wouldn’t say how it was my fault.” He cast around for a new topic of conversation in hopes of silencing the laughter in his mind. “How’s Buckbeak doing?”

Sirius frowned, but answered, “I got him back with Hagrid as soon as the train left Hogsmeade station on Friday. We figured it’s been long enough that no one’s going to recognize him as the Hippogriff the Ministry tried to execute two years ago, but we’ve changed his name to Witherwings to be safe.”

“He must be loving the freedom he’s got now,” commented Harry.

Sirius nodded. “We both are.” He glanced around the room again, then reached into his jacket and pulled out a deck of Muggle playing cards. “Do you know how to play Poker?” he asked.

Harry shook his head. “How do you know?” he asked.

Sirius laughed. “I had a girlfriend back at Hogwarts,” he said by way of explanation. He pulled out the cards and began teaching Harry the rules. A couple hours later, Harry finally started to feel as though he was getting the hang of it, his mind blessedly free of the memory of Voldemort's cruel laughter or mocking words.

“I don’t suppose your relatives would want us down at lunch, would they?” Sirius asked casually as he shuffled the cards for a new game. He’d thoroughly trounced Harry in that last round, but it had been fun.

“Don’t count on it,” replied Harry.

Sirius nodded, then said loudly, “Kreacher!”

There was a loud crack! and the old and wizened house-elf appeared, though Harry was surprised to see that his loincloth had been replaced with a snowy-white towel, and the hair that grew from his ears was as clean and fluffy as cotton wool. “Master Sirius called for Kreacher?” the elf asked with a bow that seemed far more sincere than anything he had seen from him before.

Harry couldn’t help but clench his jaw at the sight of the elf, however. The last time he’d seen Kreacher, he had injured Buckbeak to keep Sirius out of the way should Harry try to check and see if he was safe, outright lying and telling him that Sirius was gone. Thankfully, Harry and Sirius were both fine despite Voldemort’s ruse, but it was still a bit hard to look at the elf now.

“How easy house elves are to manipulate…”

“Yes, Kreacher,” said Sirius with a level of politeness Harry had never heard him use around the elf before, breaking him from the dark thoughts that clouded his mind. “Harry’s Muggle relatives aren’t interested in cooking for us. Would you please fetch us something suitable for eating here in Harry’s bedroom?”

Kreacher glanced up at Harry, but without the malice he’d had before. “Of course,” he intoned. “Kreacher will have food ready in twenty minutes, if that pleases Master Sirius.”

“Thank you, Kreacher,” said Sirius, inclining his head, and the house-elf disappeared with another loud crack!

“That was…” Harry trailed off, uncertain of what to say.

Sirius chuckled. “I’m not going to lie, it’s been a bit hard the last couple weeks, but I told him that I wasn’t angry with what he did.”

Harry raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, it was a lie,” Sirius allowed with a wry grin, “but I followed that with explaining how I’d always felt about that house, and that I took it out on him unnecessarily.”

“Did Hermione tell you to say that?” asked Harry.

Sirius nodded. “Yes, actually,” he said. “She’s been writing about how best to try and repair things between us. I’ve been asking him about my brother, what life was like after I ran away from home, and, well – it’s been a bit of starting point to bond over. I did care about Regulus, but I ignored him my last two years at Hogwarts because I figured he hated me for leaving.”

“Did he?”

“Kreacher says he did, at first,” said Sirius quietly. “But eventually he decided that I was too different from him, that I couldn’t have ever achieved happiness in that house, with our family being what it was. Kreacher believes that Regulus hoped never to meet me in battle after he joined the Death Eaters at age sixteen, because he didn’t think he could hurt me.”

Harry considered this. “Does Kreacher know how he died?” he asked carefully.

Sirius frowned thoughtfully. “I get the feeling he knows, but I don’t think he’s ready to tell me just yet. I’m working on getting to know Regulus better from his perspective first before I ask him about that.”

This seemed fair to Harry. They resumed playing Poker until Kreacher returned with a platter of sandwiches and pumpkin juice. “Thank you,” Harry said to the elf, and he gave Harry a jerky nod of his head in reply.

“Does Master Sirius require anything else of Kreacher?” he asked Sirius.

“No, thank you, Kreacher,” said Sirius easily. “You may return to whatever you were doing before I called for you.”

Kreacher bowed once more and then disappeared. Harry thought he could hear Uncle Vernon complaining downstairs, though he couldn’t make out the specific words. Sirius shot him a curious look. “House-elves aren’t exactly quiet,” Harry offered. “He’s not going to say anything so long as you’re here, though.”

“What about when I leave?” asked Sirius.

Harry should’ve known better than to phrase his explanation that way. “He might complain,” he finally decided on. “But Uncle Vernon likes to complain about things: people at work, me, the council, me, the bank, and me are probably among his favorite subjects.”

Sirius snorted. “Your life here sounds more charming every time you open your mouth,” he said sarcastically.

“I told you it’s a quiet life,” grinned Harry. They started eating and didn’t speak for a few minutes.

“Why were you one of his favorite subjects to complain about?” Sirius finally ventured.

“Mostly my hair,” Harry responded.

Sirius laughed at this. “You did inherit James’s messy mop,” he agreed. “Any other reasons?”

“Well, I suppose the accidental magic I did as a kid was a part of it, as well,” Harry added after a moment.

“What kind of accidental magic did you do?” asked Sirius.

Harry figured that this was a fairly safe subject so long as he left out the punishments. “Let’s see…” He thought hard. “Well, one time Dudley and his gang were chasing me at school, and I suddenly found myself up on the roof of the kitchens. Everyone just assumed I went and climbed up the building, but I’d dived behind some dustbins and then found myself up there, instead.”

Sirius chuckled. “What did your relatives do?”

“Mostly shouted,” Harry shrugged, not meeting Sirius’s eyes to conceal what actually happened. “They didn’t like me doing anything that could potentially disgrace them.” He went on to talk about a horrible sweater he’d shrunk, the debacle with regrowing his hair overnight, turning his teacher’s wig blue, and the eventful trip to the zoo, all the while ignoring the whispers in the back of his mind telling him that he had deserved every punishment he had received as a child.

“Obviously, I had no idea what a Parselmouth was or that that’s what I was even doing,” he hastily added after explaining his conversation with the boa constrictor, “but I didn’t get to chat with others that much, and the snake seemed so nice.”

Sirius roared with laughter. “Did anyone notice you talking to it?”

“Piers did, yeah. Dudley came over and shoved me out of the way because the snake was finally awake and moving, and the next thing I knew, the glass had vanished!”

“Tell me the snake took advantage of this!”

Harry laughed. “It did! It slithered right out of the display, snapped a bit at Dudley and Piers’s ankles, told me ‘thanks’ and that it was off to Brazil.” Sirius laughed even harder. “Uncle Vernon was so livid he couldn’t form a coherent sentence in front of me for days after.”

Sirius had actual tears of laughter streaming down his face. “James would’ve loved that!” he gasped out. “No – no less than they deserved!”

The vanishing glass had actually earned Harry his longest punishment ever, but Sirius didn’t need to know that. Besides, the whole thing had been rather funny in the moment.

Sirius spent the rest of his time there sharing stories of his own accidental magic as well as a few escapades he had with Harry’s father, one of which involved his motorcycle, a couple of police officers, and Death Eaters on brooms. When at last it was time for him to go, he said that he would have Ron and Ginny with him when he returned the next morning. Harry was quite looking forward to this, though he also felt some trepidation. Ron would likely accept whatever Harry said without questioning, but Ginny was bound to be more like Sirius and push for details that Harry didn’t think were worth sharing with anyone.

He didn’t sleep very well that night, his dreams plagued with thoughts about the prophecy and Voldemort’s taunting voice, and he could tell it was affecting him when he glanced in the bathroom mirror the next morning. He hoped no one noticed and tried put in extra effort with his hair and clothes to make up it.

Harry waited to head downstairs until after Uncle Vernon had left for work, and Aunt Petunia shoved a plate of cold eggs and toast at him when he entered the kitchen. He ate quickly, not caring about the temperature of the food, and then headed to the front porch to wait for Sirius, Ron, and Ginny.

A few minutes later, Sirius rounded the corner with two redheads, and Harry rose, grinning. He started heading their way, and Ginny, her red hair glowing like hot embers in the sudden rays of sunlight that burst through the perpetual haze of clouds, broke into a run the moment she spotted him. She had that hard, blazing look on her face from the day they had first kissed, and she threw her arms around him as he bent down to kiss her hard.

After a few seconds of this, Harry heard Ron’s voice. “Oi, have a little decency, would you?”

Ginny pulled back to scowl at her brother. “You could always just turn around and not look,” she shot back before turning back to Harry. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Harry grinned. “It’s so good to see you.”

“It’s good to be here,” said Ginny. “I love you, by the way. It’s been too long since I said it last.”

Sirius chuckled as Ron grimaced, but Harry couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “What should we do first?” he asked.

“I want to see the house,” said Ginny promptly.

Harry opened his mouth to try and dissuade her from this when he heard a door open and Aunt Petunia called out, “B – Potter!”

Voldemort’s laughter was in his head as he saw the way Sirius, Ron, and Ginny all tensed up, faces angry. Ignoring all of this, he turned around to face his aunt, seeing Dudley poking his fat, blonde head out from behind her. “Yes?” he asked with forced politeness.

Aunt Petunia’s expression was pinched as she looked around at the group. “Dudley and I are going out for the day,” she finally said, voice as sharp as ever. “I expect everything to be exactly as I’ve left it, is that understood?”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” replied Harry. She shot him a haughty look, and then she and Dudley climbed into the second car and left.

“Well,” said Sirius after an awkward pause, “I suppose a proper tour of their house isn’t out of the question now, is it?”

Knowing full well he was out of excuses, Harry led the group inside. Ron had seen Harry’s bedroom through the window four summers ago, and the living room two years after that, but he hadn’t seen anything else, so he was as curious about the place as Ginny was.

“That’s where they used to store your things, right?” asked Ron, pointing at the cupboard under the stairs. “Fred and George told me that’s where your things were when we rescued you that summer.”

“Yeah,” Harry said as nonchalantly as possible, leading them to the kitchen. “The twins taught me how to pick locks after that so I could break in and take out what I needed. I took out just enough stuff to work on my summer homework, but I only needed to do that the one summer. My aunt and uncle didn’t dare it that again after I told them about my psychotic murderer of a godfather.”

Sirius guffawed at this, and Ron and Ginny had to laugh, as well, though Ginny’s laugh seemed almost… forced. “This kitchen is really… sterile,” she quietly observed as they entered.

“Aunt Petunia probably has O.C.D.,” said Harry with a shrug.

“What’s that?” asked Ron.

“Oh, uh… It’s stands for Obsessed – you know what, I don’t actually know what it stands for,” Harry admitted sheepishly. “Better ask –”

“Hermione,” Ron finished for him, nodding.

“Anyway, everything has to be perfectly cleaned or else she goes batty,” Harry carried on as he led them to the living room. “Ron’s been in here before.”

“Looks a lot cleaner than the last time,” said Ron with a grin, and Harry laughed, remembering the exploding fireplace that had resulted from the Weasleys' attempt to pick up Harry for the Quidditch World Cup via the Floo Network.

“There’s so many pictures of Dudley,” Ginny observed. “Why don’t they –?”

“What, have physical proof I exist?” Harry cut her off with raised eyebrows.

“There’s no photos of you as a kid at all?” she asked, sounding mildly dismayed.

Harry shook his head. “I wasn’t much to look at, anyway,” he said with a shrug.

“And this is?” Ginny shot back, pointing at a photo of Dudley taken two years ago when he had achieved peak weight and been forced to go on a diet.

Harry chuckled. “I used to say Dudley looked like a pig in a wig,” he reminisced.

“To his face?” asked Ron.

Harry snorted. “I wasn’t that stupid.” Ron laughed, and Harry led them upstairs to his room.

“This feels normal compared to the rest of the place,” declared Ginny. She dropped onto his bed and winced. “Your mattress, on the other hand…”

“Did you repair this alarm clock?” asked Ron, picking it up and looking it over.

“Yeah,” said Harry. “It used to be Dudley’s. Same with the bed.”

Ginny scowled. “Is there anything of yours around here that wasn’t his first?” she asked grumpily.

“The glasses,” Harry answered at once. “I started having trouble seeing things at school when I was eight or so, and my teacher sent home a note about it when I couldn’t tell her what the answer to the math problem on the board was because the numbers were too blurry to see.”

“Potter eyesight,” said Sirius with a nod. “Your dad was the same.”

Ginny had more questions, many more than Harry had expected. He ended talking about Muggle school (the Weasley children had been homeschooled by their mother, as was apparently common for children of Wizarding parentage), his chores growing up, and cooking food.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” said Ginny.

“Like your mum lets anyone do any of the actual cooking at your house,” Harry pointed out, and Ginny conceded this. “Aunt Petunia would always do the big things, like the main course and fancy desserts, but I would do a lot of the smaller dishes or breakfast.”

“Does Dudley know how to cook?” asked Ginny.

“Why would he need to?” Harry replied sardonically. “Perfect little Popkins is a proper gentleman like his dad, and gentlemen don’t cook.”

“So you were basically a house-elf,” said Ron as Ginny looked outraged. Harry shrugged.

“I hate that,” said Ginny, “how you just… accept that idea.”

“It’s in the past,” said Harry dismissively. “They pretty much just ignore me these days.”

“But you helped make dinner the other night,” Sirius cut in.

Harry was starting to feel a little ganged up on. “You were no better than a house-elf, weren’t you, Harry?” Voldemort’s voice whispered in the back of his head. This was the last thing Harry needed at the moment.

“I offered,” he lied, trying to stay in the moment. “They accepted.”

“You – offered,” said Sirius, sounding disbelieving.

Harry shrugged again, though more stiffly this time. “They weren’t exactly happy about meeting you, or having Bill show up.”

“Bill said he never spoke to them,” said Ron.

“But they saw me talking to him,” replied Harry. “I just figured helping out would smooth things over a bit, you know?”

Thankfully, everyone seemed to accept this lie, and Harry was finally able to redirect Ron and Ginny to telling him about how things were going at the Burrow. Around lunchtime, Sirius asked Kreacher to bring food once more, and Ron and Ginny pestered Sirius for more tales of his escapades during his time at Hogwarts.

After they ate every crumb of the platter of sandwiches Kreacher had provided (Ron having eaten half the tray on his own), Ron asked, “So what do Muggles do for fun in a place like this?”

Harry shrugged. “Dudley sometimes plays video games or watches shows on the telly, but mostly he wanders around outside with his gang, looking for smaller and younger kids to beat up. Or well, he did that last year. I haven’t really noticed him outside much this year.”

“Not a good role model,” said Sirius.

“Yeah. There’s a play park not far from here, though.” Harry led them there, Ginny holding his hand the whole way. When she saw the swings, she squealed and ran over to them.

“Push me, Harry!” she demanded. Harry chuckled and headed over, but not before Sirius caught his eye and mouthed ‘whipped’ at him. Shooting him an annoyed scowl, he joined Ginny and began pushing her on the swing she’d chosen.

The group chatted for some time while Harry pushed Ginny on the swing, thankfully staying away from darker topics that Harry didn’t want to deal with. Eventually, it was time for Harry’s friends to leave. “Mum wants us back to help make dinner,” Ginny told him with a grimace. “I’d rather stay here.”

“Really?” said Harry with raised eyebrows. “There’s nothing to do around here.”

“But you’re here,” Ginny responded firmly. “That’s all I need.”

Ron mimed gagging behind his sister while Sirius pretended to be checking his pocket watch with an inconspicuous smirk playing around his mouth. Harry ignored them both and hugged Ginny tightly, snagging a quick kiss that she immediately deepened.

When they finally pulled apart, Ron was grumbling under his breath and Sirius was grinning right at Harry, making him blush. “I love you,” said Ginny, standing on tiptoe and stealing a final kiss. “I’ll have Sirius let you know when we can come back.”

Harry gave Ron and Sirius quick hugs in farewell, and he returned to Privet Drive while Sirius escorted Ron and Ginny to Mrs. Figg’s to use the Floo Network. Aunt Petunia had just returned home with Dudley, and immediately directed Harry inside to assist in making dinner. Harry didn’t protest this, silently getting to work while thinking on how nice the days were when he had people he cared about to spend them with. Not even Uncle Vernon’s grumblings or his usual small dinner portions could bring down the warmth he carried inside from the day’s visit.



Ron’s first view of the inside of Hermione’s home on Thursday afternoon was Hermione’s bushy hair in his face as she bombarded him with a tight hug. “It’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed, and Ron felt strangely hot all over as he held her close, which was followed by a mixture of relief and disappointment when she pulled away to give Ginny a welcoming hug, as well.

“I’ll return to pick them up at seven,” Molly told Hermione’s parents before she Disapparated back home. Dumbledore had set up a special Portkey for them to get to the house safely, which would reactivate at seven to return them back home.

The Granger residence was located in Hampstead, and seemed a rather posh place, not unlike the Dursley’s residence. But where those Muggles were bullies who seemed to be all about having the perfect appearance, these Muggles had a home that was certainly tidy, but felt far more welcoming.

There were pictures of Hermione with her family interspersed throughout the house as Hermione took them on a tour, clearly pleased to have the chance to expose her friends to her life with her parents.

Mr. Granger was at work (Ron still found it weird that Muggles had tooth doctors), but Mrs. Granger had taken the afternoon off to be with the three teenagers. Dumbledore had apparently come to the house personally to set some wards to keep them safe, but it also meant they wouldn’t be able to leave the property for the few hours they were there. If Ginny was to be believed, it was primarily her fault they couldn’t wander more freely than that.

Whatever, Ron thought. He and Hermione were Harry’s best friends and it was no secret to anyone. Their lives were obviously at risk, too, but then again, of the three of them in the Granger’s house, Ginny was the only one who had actively pissed off You-Know-Who by saving Harry from being possessed and dying.

Okay, maybe Ginny was to blame, but Ron wasn’t about to hold it against her. Saving Harry from death was more important in the long run, anyway.

Hermione apparently didn’t watch a lot of something she called ‘television’, but she was eager to show them both how it worked. Ron was entranced despite himself. The ability to watch stories with actors, news reports where you actually saw the people, a football game (which wasn’t as boring to observe as he’d always told Dean it had to be), cooking shows… “Wow,” he said. “Harry says Dudley loves the telly, but now I can actually see why!”

While Ron was glued to the screen, Hermione and Ginny were discussing Bill’s engagement to Fleur. “He’s brought her back for dinner a couple more times since that night,” Ginny was saying, “but she’s been every bit the stuck-up, arrogant bitch we met at Hogwarts. I don’t know what Bill’s thinking, wanting to marry the cow. I mean, the way she fawns over him, and how she and Mum snipe at each other when Bill isn’t paying attention –”

“She’s not that bad,” said Ron distractedly.

“You’re too busy following her like a lost puppy, hoping she’ll kiss you on the cheek,” replied Ginny scathingly. “It’s pathetic!”

Ron turned away from the telly to glare at his sister. “It’s not like that!” he exclaimed, feeling his entire head warm unpleasantly. Hermione’s face was like stone for some reason he couldn’t fathom.

“Though I don’t know why you’d want anything from the likes of Phlegm,” continued Ginny, acting as though she hadn’t word Ron at all, and Hermione stifled a laugh.

“You’re calling her Phlegm, now?” said Ron incredulously.

“You ever listen to the way she talks?” said Ginny, arms crossed. She made a disgusting sound in the back of her throat as she imitated Fleur in an exaggerated manner. “Eet eez I, Phlegm Delacour, zee ‘alf-Veela come to steal your brozzer!”

“She’s not stealing him,” Ron defended Bill at once. “He says he loves her, right?”

Ginny scoffed. “That adoring expression on her face is clearly all about his good looks that she gets to smother with her stupid lips every day.”

“Ew, don’t describe it like that!”

Ginny arched an eyebrow. “Why, you still want her to pucker up and give you a good one?”

“Ginny!”

But it seemed his sister was to be undeterred. “You realize you’re the only one of us who hasn’t had a good snog, don’t you?” she asked with a triumphant gleam in her eye.

Ron’s mouth fell open, and he noticed that Hermione was rather pink in the face. “What?”

“You think Hermione and Krum didn’t snog?” said Ginny with raised eyebrows.

“Ginny –” hissed Hermione.

“I’d like nothing better than for you to pull your head out of your arse, find a girl you like, and give her a good snogging!” Ginny carried on vehemently, ignoring Hermione, as well, as she unleashed her rage on Ron. “Maybe then you’ll stop giving me grief every time I kiss Harry as I please!”

A long and unpleasant silence had passed between the three, in which Ron careened between rage at his sister and thoughtful consideration of her point. He didn’t ask Hermione if she’d really snogged Krum. The look on her face at Ginny's words had been answer enough.

“Has Sirius been able to get much out of Harry about his life before we met him?” asked Hermione at length.

“Some,” answered Ginny when Ron kept his mouth firmly clamped shut and eyes averted from the two girls. “We talked a bit about it Monday morning on the walk over to Harry’s from Mrs. Figg’s house – oh, she’s a Squib that’s been living in the area for years to keep an eye on Harry – and some more on the way back.” She sighed. “He’s admitted that Dudley was every bit the bully we thought and more.”

“How so?”

“Dudley had a gang of friends not unlike Malfoy,” Ron finally spoke with a grimace, “and they used to chase Harry all over Little Whinging to try and beat him up. Said it was called ‘Harry Hunting’.”

Hermione gasped, hands over her mouth, and Ron was vaguely aware that Mrs. Granger’s movements in the kitchen to prepare an afternoon snack were silenced.

“I expect that’s why he’s such a fast runner,” said Hermione when she lowered her hands after a few moments. “To never feel safe like that…” She shook her head. “What else have you learned?” she demanded.

They talked about Harry’s childhood wish of some unknown relative taking him away, which Hermione seemed to find particularly disquieting because she felt it spoke silent volumes to the kind of life Harry had likely led before starting at Hogwarts. Then there were the lies they’d told Harry growing up about his parents and scar.

“Bloody Muggles,” said Ron, shaking his head. “I know you get all types no matter what you are, but these ones just seem to be –”

“Absolutely vile,” Hermione finished, sighing.

They all agreed that Harry had certainly endured emotional abuse from being shouted at all the time for his accidental magic. “I hate that they wouldn’t tell him the truth,” Hermione said, sounding close to tears. “How they could do that to him…”

“What did you think was going on before you found out you were a witch?” asked Ginny, sounding quite curious.

Hermione seemed to be thinking hard before she answered. “Well, I certainly didn’t do any of the things Harry’s done – vanishing the glass at the snake exhibit, for example, is quite extreme to me – but if my parents were going to take me somewhere I didn’t want to go, they wouldn’t be able to find the keys until it was too late to go at all.”

“Where did you not want to go?” asked Ron.

“Oh, the hair salon, mostly,” said Hermione with a dismissive wave as her mother entered with a platter of snacks that had Ron’s mouth watering instantly. “Muggles have some pretty harsh chemicals they use to try and treat hair as bushy as mine, and I hated everything about it from the smell to the way it made my hair feel.”

“They’ve got nothing on Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion, I take it,” said Ginny with a grin.

“The effects are rather permanent and damaging to the hair,” Hermione sniffed. “I didn’t want to bother with it, and eventually my parents gave up.”

Mrs. Granger smiled. “We were trying to reduce the bullying you experienced at school, Hermione.”

“I didn’t care about that so much, Mum,” said Hermione to her mother. “You know that.”

Her mother smiled and nodded before retreating to her office to do some paperwork or some such, Ron wasn’t quite sure.

“Anyway,” continued Hermione, “it was really just little things like that added up and became quite the logical conclusion when Professor McGonagall showed up with my letter.”

“McGonagall gave you your letter?” asked Ron, surprised. He knew that a teacher was sent out to Muggle-born’s to explain that the letter was not a hoax and get the parents to consent to ensuring their child received a proper magical education, but the Deputy Headmistress herself?

“I never mentioned that before?” said Hermione. “Well, I’m glad it was her and not someone else, she was quick to both surprise and then put my parents at ease about the whole thing.”

“I wonder what it would’ve been like had she been the one to tell Harry the truth instead of Hagrid,” said Ron, trying to picture it. Her imposing manner probably would have made the Dursleys cower.

The next topic was their own visit to Privet Drive. “What’s O.C.D.?” Ron remembered to ask for Harry’s sake.

“Obsessive Compulsive Disorder,” Hermione answered promptly. “If the house was as clean as you say, it’s likely that Harry’s aunt might have it.”

“He said that everything has to be perfectly cleaned or else she goes batty,” Ron nodded.

“Typical Harry description,” said Hermione with a grin, “but that does sound like O.C.D. to me.”

“I don’t like that they used to shut his things up in the cupboard under the stairs,” said Ginny as they continued their tale. “Fred and George said it didn’t have a light, the doorknob only locked from the outside, and it was so small. I dunno, there’s just – there’s something about it that unsettles me, but I can’t put my finger on what it is just yet. Hopefully I can figure it out when we go back.”

Hermione was quite distraught at the idea that there were no photos of Harry as a child. “To completely erase his entire existence there like that,” she said, turning her large brown eyes on Ron and shaking her head in dismay. “Something about the entire thing just feels so wrong.”

“I know,” agreed Ron between mouthfuls of the fruit and vegetable platter Mrs. Granger had provided them. “We could tell that he was happy to see us, but it really feels like he wants to share as little as possible.”

“There’s more,” said Ginny, sounding a bit more hesitant. “I don’t know if either of you have noticed, but Harry… he seems more on edge than usual, and sometimes I feel as though he’s a bit lost in his head, like he’s hearing or seeing something else than what’s going on around him. His eyes… they go a bit unfocused, or glassy, I would say, like he’s not with us anymore.”

“You don’t think it’s Voldemort, do you?” Hermione asked at once, and Ron tried, and failed, to avoid wincing at the name. The withering look Hermione shot him a moment later told him she had noticed.

“I don’t think so,” said Ginny slowly, “I mean, he’s not been reaching for his forehead the way he’d been doing the last few months before that night at the Ministry.”

“That was from the Occlumency, mostly,” said Ron, thinking about Snape’s horrible teaching methods with a grimace.

“The what?” said Ginny. “Dumbledore talked about it the night he told us the prophecy, but I didn’t quite understand that part of the conversation.”

Ron and Hermione were quick to fill in Ginny on Harry’s private lessons with Snape to try and close his mind to You-Know-Who. “He said he started feeling as though he was turning into a sort of aerial that was always tuned into Voldemort’s mood,” Hermione finished. “It made him quite irritable.”

“Hard to notice,” said Ron dryly as he waved around a carrot stick, “he was irritable pretty much the whole year.”

“You know,” said Hermione, “I’ve been thinking about that, so I went to visit the local library to try and see if I could figure out what was causing him to act the way he did. I found something that Muggles call P.T.S.D.”

“What’s that?” asked Ron.

“It’s a disorder caused by experiencing trauma,” Hermione explained, and she launched into the kind of complicated-sounding talk that always put Ron into a bit of a stupor. He knew he ought to pay better attention, but it was hard between the large, complicated words Hermione uttered and the delicious food to snack on.

“So basically,” Ginny finally said, which brought Ron’s attention back to the conversation, “what you’re saying is that Harry’s mind has gone into a sort of heightened panic mode because of the trauma he suffered, and then he gets set off by these triggers that bring back that trauma.”

“Yes,” said Hermione. “It usually manifests as flashbacks to what happened or panic attacks.”

Oh. Ginny had gone through that. Ron remembered Ginny’s first panic attack when they came home that summer after the Chamber of Secrets. It had been entirely Percy’s fault for saying something stupid and stiff about consequences for poor choices (which, maybe Ron had started the fight that led to that particular comment, but at least he hadn’t said anything to set Ginny off), and Ginny had ended up curled up on the couch with their mother, eyes wide and unseeing as she gasped for air while Molly had calmly talked her back down. Their dad winning the thousand galleon prize drawing a week later and the trip to Egypt couldn’t have been better timed in Ron’s opinion. Ginny had spent most of her time with the Mind Healer Bill had insisted on her seeing, but she had seemed to enjoy the break from reality by being in such hot, strange surroundings, far away from everything that had happened to her.

“Those aren’t fun,” said Ginny, clearly thinking the same thing Ron had been. “So he could be going through this… trauma thing you described.”

“I think he’s been suffering since the night Voldemort came back,” said Hermione firmly. “Everything else that happened last month has likely made things worse.”

“He doesn’t blow up at us as much as he used to, though,” Ron pointed out. “Not since that night. Now he’s…”

Harry was certainly happier than he’d been in a long time, but there was something off about him that Ron had finally noticed back on Monday. Maybe it was just being bothered about his childhood, but based on what Ginny and Hermione were saying, it had to be something more than that.

“Scared,” he finished, surprised by the word emitting from his lips.

“I think you’re right,” said Ginny quietly. “He was nothing short of terrified when we first heard the prophecy, and I could still see the terror in his eyes the next time we talked about it in the hospital wing. He’s trying to hide it because he has accepted that it comes down to him and Voldemort in the end, but he’s still scared.”

“We don’t know how he’s supposed to do it, either,” Hermione pointed out. “I know Dumbledore said he was going to be giving him private lessons once term resumes in the fall, but I worry that leaving him without a clue all summer might do more harm than good.”

“What if he doesn’t actually know how to do it?” Ron couldn’t stop himself from asking. “I mean, he promised Harry the truth in his office, but all he did was say he knew Harry could do it, right?”

“I hope he’s at least got some idea,” said Ginny.

“He must have,” cut in Hermione, “or else he’d never have mentioned the private lessons to begin with. When are you going to see Harry again?”

“Tomorrow,” Ginny answered promptly. “I’m hoping I can push him for more details then. He didn’t look as though he’d been sleeping all that well back on Monday, and I’m worried he's only getting worse.”

“I’d be surprised if he hadn’t,” said Ron with a sigh. “Harry had nightmares almost every night after he got out of the hospital wing.”

“Anyway,” Ginny went on, “we know he was suffering through Voldemort’s mind invasion for at least two hours that night after we got him away from Umbridge. How long was he asleep for?”

“About five hours,” Hermione quickly answered.

“At least two hours of unfettered access,” sighed Ginny. “That’s traumatizing enough without considering the possessions and everything else.”

Ron had to agree. Why couldn’t Harry ever catch a break? It wasn’t fair to him at all. The vague sense of jealousy he sometimes struggled with had been silent for some time now in the face of all Harry was going through. He hoped to keep it that way so he could continue to support his best friend going forward.

When Molly returned to pick up Ron and Ginny with the portkey to return them home, Hermione hugged Ginny goodbye tightly before flinging her arms around Ron, who felt himself flush quite fiercely again.

“So I’ll come to the Burrow for the rest of summer starting the Sunday after next,” Hermione reminded him. “Please write to me if you find out anything else about Harry.”

Ron and Ginny promised and returned home for dinner (which was rather tense due to Bill and Fleur coming over again) and bed. Ron felt it had been good to see Hermione in her own home, but he looked forward to having her spend the rest of the summer with him, Ginny, and Harry, the way it should be.

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Chapter 6: Hidden Trauma

Author's Notes: So... this chapter. I've teased a few of you that this chapter is the one where the truth comes out. The cupboard, the abuse... the truth. Harry makes a discovery of his own in this chapter, as well. And then there's Hermione who is going to have to face the consequences of chatting with her friends about Harry where her mother (who I decided to name Jean since there's no official record of her name) could hear. That was hard to write. I'm sure you'll see why when you get to that scene.

There are so many MoM laws we don't know about, but I like to think that the existence of Obscurials (thanks for that information, Fantastic Beasts movie!) was the driving force behind child abuse laws in the Wizarding World. Bill said in chapter two of this story that the child abuse laws have been around for a century at this point in the story, and in this chapter, I will mention the main one. I've called it Meridee's Law, or the Wizarding Child Protection Law of 1895. Hermione will describe it to her mother in her discussion about Harry.

Without further ado, here is chapter 6.


Chapter Six: Hidden Trauma


The next few days with Sirius visiting began to fall into a semblance of a routine. After a long and restless night filled with nightmares, Harry and Sirius would spend the morning chatting and playing card games in Harry’s room, Kreacher would bring them lunch (which was accompanied after a couple of days with the elf referring to him as ‘Master Harry’; Harry couldn’t quite bring himself to ask Sirius what that was all about), and then they would venture outside, Sirius cajoling Harry into talking more and more about his childhood. While Harry continued to avoid talking about the punishments, he did find himself more willing to talk about no proper birthdays, holidays, or presents.

“Did you even know when your birthday was?” Sirius asked one day, looking disturbed as Harry described the numerous presents Dudley had received and broken over the years.

“It was one of the first questions I can remember asking, actually,” Harry answered. “Aunt Petunia told me when it was, and I’d usually get an extra piece of bread with dinner or a ‘new’ item of clothing that didn’t fit Dudley anymore after that.”

“Extra piece of bread,” repeated Sirius in a monotone voice. He stopped walking. “Harry, did they ever withhold meals?”

Harry stopped, too, and looked up at his godfather’s face. “What d’you mean?”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Exactly what I said. You admit they yelled a lot, and that’s emotional abuse” – Harry tensed at the word, and seriously, why did people keep saying it this summer? – “but Molly’s talked about how tiny you were when she first met you, and Hermione said she was taller than you until about the middle of your third year.”

“Have you seen how tall her dad is?” Harry shot back. “He’s almost as tall as Mr. Weasley. Plus, Hermione says that girls usually hit their growth spurt before boys. Well, excluding Ron, of course,” he added with a small grin.

“Fair enough,” said Sirius, eyeing Harry critically. “You have grown quite a bit since we first met, but Ron has also said that when he and the twins rescued you from this place four years ago, there was a cat-flap on the door. Is that how they were feeding you that summer?”

“You deserved all of this and worse, didn’t you, Harry…”

Harry couldn’t bring himself to look at Sirius, clenching his jaw against the cold voice in his mind. “Three times a day,” he admitted, embarrassed. “Twice a day with using the bathroom. It was only for three days before Ron and the twins came and got me out, though, so it wasn’t that bad.”

“But they intended to keep it up until school started, didn’t they?”

“Yeah,” said Harry as casually as possible. “Uncle Vernon knew that someone would come and find me if I didn’t show up.” That was a lie, of course. Uncle Vernon hadn’t wanted Harry to ever go back to Hogwarts that summer, had been determined to keep Harry locked up until he likely starved to death from the miniscule meals they had provided him.

“Fine, but you still haven’t answered my earlier question. Did they ever withhold meals?”

Harry shook his head quickly. “I ate,” he lied again, “but Dudley always got more than me.” The second part was the truth, at least. Dudley had always been given more to eat than Harry. Harry had suffered through many days of near-starvation where he was lucky to eat just one meager meal a day.

“He is quite the chunky bloke,” chuckled Sirius in agreement. “Pig in a wig really is an apt description for him.” Harry laughed, changed the subject, and finally relaxed as the conversation drifted away from uncomfortable territory.

Another notable conversation was when a purple leaflet was delivered Thursday morning, emblazoned with the words:

ISSUED ON BEHALF OF
The Ministry of Magic

PROTECTING YOUR HOME AND FAMILY
AGAINST DARK FORCES


“That thing is absolute rubbish,” Sirius told him as soon as he came into Harry’s room and saw him looking through it.

“What are Inferi?” asked Harry. “It doesn’t explain it very well.”

“They are corpses that have been reanimated by a Dark wizard’s curse,” Sirius answered. “Voldemort supplemented his army the last time with them, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they were spotted again before long.”

“So, like what Muggles call zombies?” Harry frowned. “I remember Dudley started to watch a movie once with them, all rotted and wanting to eat brains and stuff. Uncle Vernon made him turn it off because it was unnatural.”

“Other than the obsession with brains, it’s the right general idea,” said Sirius with a thoughtful frown. “I’d say the biggest difference is that they are bound by the purpose for which they were reanimated as opposed to being mindless about everything except – what was it? Brains.”

Harry nodded and glanced through the leaflet a bit more. “You’re right,” he said, “this whole thing is rubbish.” He tossed it onto his dresser, and he and Sirius proceeded to go through their daily routine as usual, Harry giving no further thoughts to the incompetence of the Ministry.



“Hermione.”

Her mother’s unusually hesitant voice immediately put Hermione on alert. She looked up from the Arithmancy book she had just started reading after Ron and Ginny had left to see a very concerned look on Jean Granger’s face. “Yes, Mum?” she asked, setting the book down carefully.

Jean hesitated, then entered Hermione’s room fully and sat down on her bed. “You and your friends today,” she said quietly. “There… there were some things you spoke about that I couldn’t help but find –”

“Troubling?” Hermione finished when Jean broke off. She wasn’t used to the uncertain and worried look on her mother’s face. She had worked so hard to conceal the darkest parts of her life as a witch from her parents, but today, those lines had blurred, and now…

“How long have you suspected your friend Harry was being abused by his relatives?”

Hermione bit her lip for a moment as she considered. “Almost as long as I’ve known him,” she finally answered. “The clothes he wears out of our school uniform have always been hand-me-downs from his cousin who’s been morbidly obese for years.”

Jean nodded a bit. “And the ‘Harry Hunting’ Ron mentioned?”

“His cousin Dudley and his gang of friends,” said Hermione. “Harry doesn’t talk about his aunt and uncle much, but I have a feeling that they either didn’t care about the bullying or… they possibly encouraged it.”

“And the reason none of this has ever been reported?”

There it was. Hermione’s parents had called child protective services before on behalf of children they served in their dental office that they suspected were victims of neglect or abuse.

“I…” Hermione hesitated, unsure how to answer. “I don’t know. Harry doesn’t exactly exhibit all the common signs of abuse. He isn’t withdrawn at school. If anything, he pushes the boundaries and breaks rules –”

“Defiance is a sign of abuse,” Jean cut her off. “You are already in agreement with your friends that Harry suffered emotional abuse, and yet your father and I have never heard anything outside of Harry asking for food because of the diet his relatives were on summer before last. You told us that Harry was expecting exceptionally small portions of food because of this diet.”

“That wasn’t a lie,” said Hermione quickly.

“And yet you’ve never told us about anything else you might have suspected before today.”

The words brought a sense of shame to Hermione. “Harry has always clammed up the moment I’ve tried asking him about his life there,” she said softly. “He’s always just said they don’t like each other, or that they treated him the same as usual.”

“Abused him, you mean.”

“I – I think they prefer to ignore him, mostly, these days.”

“Ginny said they made him do many chores, while his cousin did nothing,” said Jean with raised eyebrows. “You understand what a discrepancy that is in their upbringing.”

“Of course I do!” Hermione burst out. “Mum, he’s never talked about that before. Before this summer, Ron and I knew about the hand-me-downs, the lack of presents at birthdays and Christmas, and having no money until he went to Gringotts for the first time. And Ginny said the first summer he spent at her home, he couldn’t be dissuaded from helping out with the chores around the house. Trust me, their mother has fretted over Harry all these years, but this is the first summer that anyone has been able to get this much out of him.”

Jean nodded. “Do you suspect physical abuse from his aunt and uncle?”

Here Hermione hesitated again. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “But I… remember when you had to come to Hogwarts for my interview with the Aurors?”

“Your story was rather unforgettable,” said Jean quietly.

“Well, that wasn’t the only trouble Harry had with Professor Umbridge. She made him serve loads of unnecessary detentions that I know crossed a line, but he wouldn’t let me or Ron report it. He kept saying he didn’t want Umbridge to know that she’d gotten to him, which she would have known had any of us reported her.”

Jean closed her eyes and rubbed at her face with both hands. “Another sign of abuse,” she sighed. “I understand you believe that Harry was suffering from P.T.S.D. over whatever it is he’s been through as of late, but this… this is the behavior of someone who has been abused and taught not to say anything about it.” She opened her eyes again and nailed Hermione with a hard stare. “This is the behavior of someone used to not being believed, Hermione.”

Hermione felt tears in her eyes and wiped at them quickly. “I should have said something to someone,” she whispered, “but I never felt like I had enough proof to satisfy Wizarding law.”

“Do wizards have laws about child abuse?”

Hermione nodded. “It’s called Meridee’s Law, or the Wizarding Child Protection Law, enacted in 1895 two years after a child named Meridee Fawley was so badly abused by her mother that she succumbed to her injuries, which were inflicted both physically and by magic.” Jean let out a whisper of a gasp, hand at her mouth. “It made headlines at the time because shortly before she died, her magic lashed out, completely out of control, and killed both of her parents,” continued Hermione sadly. “Children are such an integral part of Wizarding culture that the idea of someone who was so well-known in the community enacting such cruelty…”

Hermione trailed off, and neither she nor her mother spoke for a few minutes. “Perhaps this needs to be approached from a Muggle perspective,” Jean said at last.

Heart clenching, Hermione said, “I don’t think –”

“If you didn’t wish for me to suspect that one of your friends was being abused,” Jean cut her off sharply, “then you ought to have continued as you have done ever since you started attending that school and shut me out of your life.”

“I’m not shutting you out,” protested Hermione. “It’s just – I’m different, I’m not the child you expected to have, and this world I’m a part of now is so complex and fraught with its own prejudice, but Harry – he’s famous, Mum. His name is in our papers almost daily, and there are wizards who hate Muggles –”

“Like your father and myself.”

“Yes,” said Hermione, “and they – if word got out somehow that this famous kid was abused by the Muggles entrusted with his care, they would use him, use the information to encourage the prejudice, and people like you would suffer all the more for it.”

“So you’re protecting abusers for the sake of an entire population of witches and wizards.” The coolness in Jean’s tone was painful to hear. For the first time, Hermione deplored the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Wizards for preventing her from doing what needed to be done. Her birthday was still two months away.

She cursed the events of last month for slashing through the boundaries she had created between her life as a witch and her life with her parents. The looks on their faces when she had described the Cruciatus Curse and how it affected Harry still haunted her. And now this? What had she been thinking, inviting Ron and Ginny over for a single afternoon when she was going to spend most of her summer break with them? The whole thing had been a mistake.

“I’m protecting Harry,” she finally said. “Not everyone who is abused wants help.”

“Sometimes it’s less about what a person wants,” said Jean in reply, “and more about what a person needs.”

“Harry doesn’t need the truth leaked,” said Hermione, hating herself for saying it. “He doesn’t need anyone using his childhood to further their sick views against Muggles.”

“Then why are your friends pushing for the truth if nothing will be done about it?”

“Mum, what makes you think that nothing will be done about it?” retorted Hermione. “We just – we have to be careful with the information! It’s about protecting Harry from being used by the worst of Wizardkind to further their sick agendas, but it’s also about helping Harry admit the truth so he can finally start to heal!”

Jean didn’t say anything to this, and Hermione rose from her desk chair and crossed to her bed, sitting beside her mother and taking her hands in her own. “You must promise me that you’ll let us take care of it,” she said earnestly. “I hate it, but I can’t ignore the bigger picture and the effect the truth could have on yours and Dad’s lives.”

Jean stared at Hermione for a long moment. “I can’t promise that, Hermione,” she finally said, and Hermione felt her shoulders slump. “But I… I can promise to wait, to allow the witches and wizards involved in this situation a chance to sort it out.”

Hermione nodded her acceptance, thinking of how she could stall her mother and father until she was of age. She was already planning to spend Christmas break with them, and she’d be seventeen and free of the Trace at that point.

Perhaps, now more than ever, it was time to consider her parents’ safety in conjunction with her role as one of Harry’s best friends and the danger that potentially placed her parents in. She knew that the Order would keep watch over her parents as best they could, and the protections Professor Dumbledore had placed on her home would help in the meantime, but if things kept getting worse (the stories she was reading in the Muggle newspapers about people suddenly being institutionalized for suddenly living in little more than a vegetative state had to be Muggles who had been Kissed by dementors), and she was certain they would, her parents would need to be as far away from the conflict as possible. It would take a great deal of research on her part that she’d only just barely begun to delve into the last few months, but if she worked really hard, she could have things in place and ready to go by the time she came home for Christmas.

Hermione drifted through the last bit of the evening, mechanically speaking with her mother, greeting her father when he came home, eating dinner, speaking vaguely about Ron and Ginny’s visit, and turning in for the night.

She hoped, once it was all over, that her parents would find it in their hearts to forgive her.

More than that, however, Hermione hoped she could one day forgive herself.



Sirius brought Ron and Ginny back to Privet Drive on Friday, and both he and Harry taught the siblings both how to play Poker in the morning hours of the day while Ron and Ginny told him about having visited Hermione’s home the previous afternoon (though Harry couldn’t help but feel there were some massive parts of the visit that had been left out). Ron, once he understood the cards and the rules of Poker, actually caught on pretty quickly (Harry presumed it was his strategist side coming out), while Ginny struggled much as Harry had his first few times.

That afternoon, they returned to the park, and Ginny immediately demanded that Harry push her on the swing again. Harry obliged, and pretty soon, Ron grew bored with this. He and Sirius started wandering around the park, instead, and after a minute or so of this, Ginny spoke. “How are you really, Harry?”

I’m fine was on the tip of Harry’s tongue, but Ginny shot him a quelling look over her shoulder that stopped him before the words could form. It figured that she wouldn’t beat around the bush on this. “I’m tired,” he finally admitted. “I er, haven’t been sleeping well lately. Nightmares, I mean.”

Ginny nodded. “I thought so,” she said. “You looked tired on Monday, and you look even worse today. I… I’ve had some, too.”

“About…?”

“Him,” she said. “What he did to you, the way he spoke to me…”

Harry looked down. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Same.”

Ginny hopped off the swing and came around to look up at Harry. “They made you make dinner that first night back here,” she stated. “Your relatives.”

Harry sighed and nodded. “It was fine, though,” he said. “Sometimes having work to do makes it easier to not think as much.”

“So you’ve ‘helped’ more than once,” Ginny surmised.

Harry just shrugged.

“Do you think about… what happened during the day, too?”

Harry looked away. “I – yeah,” he sighed, shoulders sagging with the admission. “It just – someone will say something and suddenly I hear him laughing o-or mocking me.” His throat felt tight.

Ginny reached out and took his hands. “I think it’s trauma,” she said quietly. “Hermione told me about it when Ron and I visited her yesterday. She says Muggles call it P-D-S-T… or something like that.” She shrugged before continuing. “Basically, when you’ve been through something really awful, your mind can kind of go into a heightened panic mode all the time, and little things that are similar to the trauma in some way can set off flashbacks or panic attacks. But she also said that sometimes there’s no obvious trigger and it just happens. I struggled with flashbacks after my first year, and I think you’ve been struggling since the tournament a year ago.”

“Yeah,” Harry said quietly. “It – it would happen sometimes after Cedric, but now –” He broke off. It was hard to talk about how he felt, had always been. No one had ever cared before Hogwarts.

“You didn’t know how to cope,” said Ginny, squeezing his hands. “When bad things happened to you before – when you were little – no one cared.”

Harry nodded, eyes now burning. “Pathetic child,” Voldemort whispered suddenly, “allowing your emotions to rule your mind.” Harry stiffened, chest suddenly far too constricting for his lungs.

“Whatever you’re remembering,” Ginny said sharply, “whatever he said to you, it’s not true!” She reached up with both hands and turned Harry’s face to hers. “Look at me, Harry.”

He could hear the laughter again, the torment he’d felt, but Harry did his best to listen and focused on Ginny. “Keep looking at me,” she whispered. “I’m here, and I care, and you have every right to feel however you’re feeling.”

Harry had no real experience with such direct validation, but he clung to it, to her, pressing his forehead against hers and closing his eyes, hands on her waist, feeling her breathing against him. He took deep breaths, matching hers, and the cruel laughter and taunts were slowly silenced as the tightness in his chest gradually loosened.

“You’re going to be okay,” whispered Ginny after some time had passed. “I promise.”

Harry nodded against her head. “I just want it to stop,” he whispered back. “It’s – it’s almost worse than all the times my scar hurt last year.” It was painful to admit this weakness, but he somehow knew Ginny wouldn’t judge him or hold it against him in any way.

“You’re going to get through this,” promised Ginny. “I’m here whenever you want to talk about it.”

Harry pulled her closer into a tight hug. Ginny was an incredible person, and the way she made him feel loved and wanted and cared for… It wasn’t something he’d ever experienced before Hogwarts, and certainly never felt in Little Whinging of all places.

“I love you, Harry,” Ginny whispered against his shoulder.

Love… was this what it felt like? Harry pulled Ginny even closer, if that were possible, and realized with a start that his feelings for her had changed so much in such a short time, but that he… he actually had… he loved her. He was marked for death by Lord Voldemort himself, but Ginny didn’t care, wouldn’t let that interfere in how she felt about him.

“Ginny…” But could he say it back to her? She certainly didn’t seem to need him to say it to her, but he’d watched her parents say it so easily to each other, and he thought that maybe it was the kind of thing he ought to say to her in return –

“Oi!” Ron suddenly called out. “I hardly think the middle of a Muggle park is the best place to display your affections for each other, is it?”

Ginny pulled away from Harry with her trademark scowl that meant her brother was about to pay, but Harry felt a hint of relief at having been interrupted. However much he cared for Ginny, was he really ready to declare feelings he himself had just come to understand where anyone could hear him?

Harry watched as Ginny marched right over to Ron to give him a telling off, and Sirius drifted over to Harry. “All right?” he asked quietly.

“I… yeah,” said Harry, surprised to realize it was true. “I’ve been having… I guess it’s called flashbacks, about what Voldemort said and did that night, and Ginny – she helps.”

Sirius sighed. “Flashbacks,” he said. “I was wondering. Sometimes you flinch unexpectedly, and you always seem on high alert.” He glanced at Harry. “Ginny helps?”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a smile as Ginny continued to rant away at her brother. “I had a bit of an… episode, I guess, and Ginny talked me through it. I’ve never…” He trailed off uncomfortably, still watching Ginny.

“You figured it out, yet?” Sirius asked after a moment of silence.

“What?”

“You love her.”

The words were said quietly so Ginny and Ron couldn’t hear, but having it laid out audibly startled Harry, all the same. He swallowed hard and looked at Ginny again, finally allowing himself to nod just a bit.

“I’ve never… felt like this before,” he admitted in a soft voice that only Sirius could hear, “and I think that… I…” He looked back at Sirius. “What do I do?”

Sirius chuckled as Ginny’s rant started to slow down. “Tell her. When you’re ready. There’s no pressure. I think having you with her is enough for now.”

“For now?” Harry questioned. “You mean eventually that’s not enough?”

Sirius shrugged. “It’s just nice to know your feelings are reciprocated, I think,” was all he said as Ginny turned in a huff and stalked back over to where Harry and Sirius stood.

“Honestly, Ronald,” she said, sounding quite a bit like Hermione, “when are you going to figure out you’re not my boss?”

“I may have a clue about it, now,” Ron groused, still looking a bit cowed as he came over, as well. “It’s just… weird, alright? Harry’s not… like that.”

“Like what?” asked Harry, nonplussed.

“You know,” said Ron uncomfortably. Harry shot him a confused look. “Ugh, physical, alright?”

“I think physically affectionate is a better description,” Sirius chimed in with a small grin.

Harry stared at Ron for another moment before it finally dawned on him as to what they meant. He felt himself go very warm in the face. “I’m not… I don’t…” Harry stumbled over his words, unsure of how to talk about this.

“But I guess that’s not your fault,” said Ron abruptly. “Do they ever even touch you?”

Harry blinked, feeling lost once more. “Who…?”

“Those Muggles,” said Ron flatly. “Not a day goes by at home where Mum isn’t smothering us in hugs or whatever, but here… you never had that here. Did you ever even have a kind touch in this place?”

‘No’ was Harry’s immediate thought. He didn’t say anything, but it must have shown on his face, because Ron sighed and nodded.

“So they were physically abusive,” said Sirius quietly.

“Why do you keep using that word?” Harry almost shouted. “They barely ever laid a hand on me.”

“And when they did?” Sirius pressed, clearly unwilling to drop the subject for anything this time.

Harry was at a loss for words for a few moments, feeling a bit ganged up on. “Your friends would think so much less of you if they knew the truth I can see in your mind,” Voldemort’s voice promised. Harry’s chest felt tight again.

“Harry –”

“It’s like you think I was tortured every day or something!” Harry exploded. “Everyone gets a smack up the head when they mess up, don’t they?”

“Mum and Dad have never laid a hand on us like that,” said Ginny quietly.

Ron nodded and added, “Not even when we broke the rules.”

“Corporal punishment of any kind is forbidden by law in our world, Harry,” said Sirius, looking grave. “It’s child abuse and has been seen that way for a solid century now. Excepting a few pure-blood idiots who believe they’re above the law, it is a punishable crime to physically hurt a magical child in any way.”

Oh. Harry blinked, surprised by this.

“Did they ever hit Dudley?” asked Sirius after a short pause.

Harry gaped at them, Voldemort’s laughter ringing in his ears. “They knew you weren’t worthy of their love or affection, not like that fat Muggle cousin of yours. You always got what you deserved.”

“Just once,” he finally said, feeling defeated. “But – it was extenuating circumstances and – he was their son, so why would they want to do that to him on the regular?”

There was a long moment of silence.

“You know how they treated you was wrong, don’t you?” said Ginny, stepping closer, but freezing when Harry flinched. “Harry –”

“Don’t,” said Harry stiffly. “I know it was wrong. I’ve always known that, but it was just… normal for me. I had nowhere else to go, so I just… adjusted, I guess.”

Sirius looked incredibly guilty. “I should’ve been there,” he said. “I knew it was my fault that your parents died, but I was also the only one who knew that it was Wormtail who betrayed your family. I just – I was angry, and I wanted revenge.”

“I know that,” Harry assured him. “Like I keep saying, it’s in the past. There’s no use dwelling on what’s already happened, and I don’t blame you, I never have.”

“It’d probably be easier if you did,” Sirius muttered, and Harry rolled his eyes.

“Well, I’m not letting you off that easy,” he told his godfather firmly.

“That means you don’t let them off easy for the abuse and neglect,” Sirius shot back. “When was the last time they hurt you?”

Last summer, Harry thought instantly. “Dudley punched me last year, but it was right before the dementors attacked us. He thought I was the one making the alleyway go cold like that.”

“What about Petunia?”

Harry considered. “The frying pan,” he finally admitted. “I was teasing Dudley with fake spells the summer after my first year at Hogwarts, and she swung it at my head, but I ducked it and she missed.” He shrugged. “She was more of one to yell than to touch,” he added in a quiet voice.

“And your uncle?”

Harry really didn’t want to admit this one. “Last summer,” he sighed. “Same day as the dementors, when Mundungus Fletcher went and Disapparated down the street. I was laying down under the open window to listen to the news, and I jumped up at the sound with my wand out. Uncle Vernon…” He trailed off. Could he really admit to this?

“What did he do?” Ron asked.

“He – he…” This was the one that would set Sirius off, Harry knew it without a doubt. “He sort of… strangled me while insisting I hide my wand.”

“Sort of strangled you?” Sirius’s face darkened right on cue. He turned away, breathing harshly and running his hands through his shaggy hair. “That’s why you reacted like that back at King’s Cross,” he finally said, voice shaking with suppressed rage as he spun around to face Harry again. “How often did he do that?”

“Not – almost never,” said Harry quickly. “Sirius, I swear, he mostly shouted a lot and shut me up in my cup – my room.”

“Your what?” Ginny immediately picked up on his near-slip. Damn.

“My room,” Harry repeated, hoping against hope –

“That’s not what you were going to say,” Ginny told him. “You started to say –” She broke off, face paling. “Cupboard,” she whispered, and Harry’s insides froze at the look on her face. She shook her head. “No, that – it can’t be –”

Without warning, Ginny turned and took off running, and Harry knew exactly where she was heading. “Ginny, wait!” he shouted, ignoring the confused looks on Sirius and Ron’s faces as he followed, Ginny’s long mane of fiery hair flying behind her as he chased her down.

Harry’s longer legs and penchant for fast running thanks to years of avoiding Dudley and his gang meant that he was able to catch up to Ginny right at the street corner of Privet Drive. He reached out and deftly caught her by the arm, and she whirled around to face him. “Harry, let me go,” she snarled, and he complied at once, vividly recalling the bruises that had been left on her wrist and arm as evidence of Voldemort’s first possession of Harry’s mind and body the previous month.

“I’m not letting you go in there right now,” snapped Harry, pointing at the house. “If Aunt Petunia sees you –”

“What, she’ll swing a frying pan at my head?” Ginny shot back at him heatedly. Harry startled and stepped back at this. “I’m not afraid of her!” And she was running again, Harry standing frozen for a moment before he forced himself back into action and followed after her once more.

Ginny reached the front door a few steps ahead of Harry and threw it open so hard it bounced off the wall. Aunt Petunia would not be pleased by this. Harry barreled through the doorway just as Ginny reached the cupboard and Aunt Petunia shrieked, “Boy, what are you doing?”

The kitchen door opened, and Aunt Petunia was revealed, a butter knife in one hand as she took in the scene. Her eyes found Ginny at the cupboard door, Harry standing just inside the house as the front door slowly swung to a halt behind him, still wide open to the street outside. Harry watched as her eyes widened. “Get away from there!” she yelled angrily at Ginny.

But it was too late. Ginny grasped the small doorknob and pulled the door open with as much force as she had done to the front door. It hit the wall with a sharp crash.

For a long moment, there was silence as Ginny stared inside the cupboard. Harry slowly approached. He hadn’t looked in it since breaking in the summer after his second year at Hogwarts. It was filled with stacked shoes, umbrellas, and a variety of cleaning supplies. Somehow, the interior seemed smaller than Harry remembered. There appeared to be no evidence that Harry had lived in there for so long, so maybe he could still –

Ginny abruptly knelt down, obviously seeing something Harry couldn’t. He watched as she reached out, not for the cupboard, but for the door. He followed her hand with his gaze, and realized that Aunt Petunia’s detail-oriented eyes had somehow missed this one thing.

On the door in crayon were the words 'Harry’s Room', done in childish handwriting.

Harry vaguely recalled scooping broken crayons from the rubbish bin when Aunt Petunia had been distracted by one of Dudley's daily tantrums. He hadn't had much to his name that wasn't some kind of cast-off from his relatives, but the cupboard had always been his.

Ginny’s small hand traced lightly over the crayon marks Harry had made as a child, her face hidden by her mane of red hair. “How long?” she finally asked quietly.

Ron and Sirius stumbled in through the still-open door and halted at the scene before them. Harry ignored them, didn’t say anything as Ginny looked up at him.

“Harry,” Ginny said, voice shaking slightly, “how long?”

Aunt Petunia’s face was pale, the butter knife still clutched in her hand.

Harry swallowed hard, staring down into Ginny’s bright brown eyes, which were filled with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. “Until I got my first letter for Hogwarts,” he finally answered, “just before I turned eleven.”

Voldemort’s laugh was a mere whisper at the back of his mind that Harry ignored for the moment.

Ginny nodded, looked down at the door again, and then stood, facing Aunt Petunia. “Do you understand what you did to him?” she asked, voice still low. “The impact of your choice to treat him like he was worth nothing?”

Aunt Petunia didn’t answer, her jaw clenched just as tightly as the hand on the butter knife, cheeks splotchy in a way that told Harry she was incredibly angry.

“Harry puts everyone else before himself,” said Ginny, and Harry recognized the rage in her voice, though it was still quiet. “He has always done that, but I get it now.” She shook her head. “He puts everyone else first because you taught him that his worth is below others, that – that everyone else comes before him.”

“Ginny,” said Harry, “it’s not –”

“Harry,” Ginny cut him off in a very no-nonsense tone of voice, “if you try to excuse their appalling treatment of you, I will hex you.”

Ginny’s famous Bat-Bogey Hex was not worth trying to downplay this. Harry snapped his mouth shut at once. The sound of Voldemort laughing in his mind was just a bit harder to ignore now, and his chest was starting to feel tight again.

“He was a child,” Ginny told Aunt Petunia, one hand gripping the door to the cupboard so tightly her knuckles stood out white against her freckled skin. “A child with no where else to go, no other living family, and your idea of raising him was shutting him away as much as possible?” Her voice grew in volume as she gestured to the cupboard with her free hand, which was shaking more than her voice. She was livid.

“We never wanted him here,” snapped Aunt Petunia, still clenching the butter knife as tightly as Ginny was clutching the cupboard door. “We never wanted anything to do with… with your kind.” She shook her head. “The letter left with him never said we had to love him when we took him in,” she continued, shaking in anger. “It said that giving him a roof over his head would protect him from that maniac who killed his parents. He’s alive, isn’t he?” she added. “We did our part!”

“You did your part?” Ginny snarled, pointing at the cupboard again. “How does a cupboard qualify as houseroom? And who was going to protect him from you?”

“Wait,” said Sirius. “Harry, what is she talking about?”

Ginny whirled around and pointed at the words on the door. “’Harry’s room’!” she shouted, voice shaking in anger. “This – this is where he lived as a child!”

Harry pressed himself against the wall as Sirius’s face contorted in anger, reminding him sharply of the deranged and gaunt face he had first seen on the telly three years ago. Ron, standing next to him, went pale, mouth hanging open and eyes wide.

“Why in Merlin’s name would you do that to a child, Petunia?” Sirius roared at Harry’s aunt, who finally had the good grace to look afraid.

“That’s all we had available,” she said weakly, but Sirius laughed derisively.

“So what was that bedroom upstairs used for that Harry couldn’t stay there, instead?” Sirius shouted.

“Dudley’s second bedroom,” said Harry quietly. Sirius stared at him, mouth falling open in shock. “All the stuff that didn’t fit in his first room went in there.” He averted his eyes, face heating as Voldemort’s laughter in his mind grew louder still.

“Two bedrooms for one child?” Ron finally spoke up. “Are you mental?”

“You said you never wanted him here,” said Ginny loudly, “so obviously that pathetic excuse worked well in your mind, didn’t it?”

It wasn’t the only reason, something that only Harry and Voldemort knew. “The Muggles wanted to deny your birthright, keep you from being what you were born to be. How little they truly know of our kind, Harry. They didn’t try hard enough. They could have told you what you were and then tortured you over it until you suppressed your magic and became an Obscurus.” An awful image of a young girl cowering on the ground, a horrible mass of black, powerful magic exploding from her, scarring and twisting its victims as they screamed to their deaths filled Harry’s mind, and it was as terrifying to visualize now as it had been to see it the first time. “You probably would have killed those Muggles and yourself had your magic gone out of control in that way, and my worries over your pathetic, continued existence could have been put to rest.”

The arguing around him continued. Sirius had pulled out his wand and pointed it threateningly at Aunt Petunia, who was now whimpering about how the Ministry would punish him if he did anything. Ron was red in the face and ears, his own wand clutched in his hand as shouted at the woman. Ginny was clearly still angry at Petunia, but she was trying to reason with Sirius and Ron about putting their wands away while also continuing to rage about this one secret Harry had never wanted to divulge. It was too much.

Harry clenched his eyes shut as Voldemort’s laughter became even louder in his head, that horrible high, cold voice mocking him, belittling him much as his aunt and uncle had done for years and years. “Pathetic excuse of a wizard, believing there was never anything special about you, allowing mere Muggles to dictate your entire existence instead of taking control. I took control, and see how powerful, how feared I have become. You could never hope to do the same, will never be more than a nuisance that I will vanquish!”

Whatever the prophecy said, there was nothing special about Harry, there never had been. Everything “special” was the result of that fateful night when his mother had died to save him. It had been done to him; it didn’t come from him.

Everyone was still shouting around him. Even Dudley had unglued himself from the telly to demand that they stop having a go at his mum, which had Ginny at last pulling her own wand out and threatening to use her Bat-Bogey Hex on him if he dared utter one more word.

Harry vaguely noticed that he had slid down the wall to the floor, hands fisted in his hair as the others continued to argue, no one noticing how close he was to his breaking point. He was just the boy from the cupboard under the stairs. He was nothing.

And then Petunia said it. “I thought if we kept him as unhappy as possible, we’d squash the magic out of him for good!”

There was a moment of stunned silence. “You could have turned him into an Obscurus!” Sirius finally said, sounding even angrier than before. “You could have created something that would have killed you! Squash the magic out of him?”

The shouting picked up again in greater earnest then before. Something was building up, inside and around Harry, the hallway heating up as he thought over and over again, Stop it, stop it, please stop, just stop, I cant breathe, please stop, I can’t think straight –

“– nothing more than a freak –“

“STOP IT!”


The words exploded from Harry along with a punch – no, a wave of power that knocked everyone around him off their feet. Harry forced his eyes open to see Aunt Petunia and Dudley had been knocked back into the kitchen, but the butter knife that had been in his aunt’s hand had shot up and was now sticking two inches into the ceiling. Ginny had crashed into the cupboard, Sirius slammed against the front door frame, and Ron went right out the front door and onto the walkway.

Ginny yelped as supplies within the cupboard toppled over her. Sirius had banged his head hard on the doorframe and collapsed to his knees, rubbing at the back of his head and looking decidedly woozy. Ron was swearing as he sat up and looked back in the house.

It was the look on his relative’s faces that caught Harry’s attention, however. They hadn’t seen anything like that from him, not even when he’d blown up Aunt Marge three summers ago. Petunia had a horrified look on her face, and Dudley appeared shocked, his blue eyes fixed on Harry, and the expression in them –

Freak.

Without thinking about it, without considering the consequences for what had just happened, Harry jumped to his feet and darted out the front door, heart hammering in his ears, ignoring the sound of his name being called out.

He just ran.

Back to index


Chapter 7: No Other Word

Author's Notes: Credit for bits of dialogue and story at the end of this chapter regarding Apparition come from HBP, chapter 4, "Horace Slughorn".

Some of you might think I give Dumbledore too much grace in this chapter. I believe that he knew a great deal about Harry's childhood, but not everything. That was part of the point of Mrs. Figg's existence, to keep him updated, and there are things she would miss, such as the cupboard and any abuse that happened behind closed doors. It would have been clear to her that Harry was severely neglected and bullied by his cousin, but I don't think she knew about the emotional or physical abuse, so Dumbledore would have only been able to guess at the extent of Harry's suffering. If you don't agree with me, that's totally okay, but it suits where I'm going with this story and the effect the truth has on their relationship.

Also, Ron, Sirius, and Ginny finally have a bit of a confrontation with Vernon. I hope you enjoy it!


Chapter Seven: No Other Word



An unknown amount of time later, Harry finally slowed to a walk, gasping for air as his lungs burned beneath the tightness of his chest. He couldn’t believe that he’d just – that he had –

He ran his hands through his hair in agitation, sweaty and shaking and in completely unfamiliar surroundings. How far did the protection charm extend? What happened if he went beyond any such borders before the two weeks minimum were up? He didn’t know enough about the protection Dumbledore had created for him as a baby; adding to that, he had no idea if he was even still in Little Whinging at this point. Did that affect things?

Harry still had his wand on him, so he could potentially call the Knight Bus and get a lift back to Privet Drive, but the idea of going back right then made the tightness in his chest and the fogginess of being overwhelmed even worse.

What would the Ministry do to him this time for his accidental magic? Shouldn’t he have grown out of this by now? He didn’t know all that much about accidental magic, had never considered that something like this would happen again after Aunt Marge three summers ago. He wasn’t a fully-trained wizard, but he was still trained well enough that this kind of thing shouldn’t happen, anymore. Shouldn’t it? Harry never seen older students or adults do things like this. But then, how many Hogwarts students had been… abused?

The reality was that there was no other word Harry could use in the face of everything that had happened this past week. Harry had known for a few years before his letter for Hogwarts came that the way he was treated by his relatives wasn’t normal because other kids had clothes that fit them and parents that seemingly loved them. He had come to accept that, for whatever reason, living in that cupboard, wearing hand-me-downs that never fit right, doing all the chores, eating next to nothing most days, being called boy or Potter more often than just Harry, getting smacked, grabbed, thrown, choked, all of it was just his reality and always would be. Hagrid’s appearance and delivery of his Hogwarts letter had allowed him to start exploring life without daily neglect and abuse, to start dreaming of what he could be as an adult, free to live on his own without the Dursleys around to tell him what to do or how to think.

And yet… Harry knew that he needed to go back, whatever he or anyone else thought of the Dursleys. His safety in the face of Voldemort and his Death Eaters was more important than anything else, and with Sirius visiting daily, the chances of anything happening besides being ordered to help with cooking dinner or breakfast were extremely slim. Well, maybe less slim after what had just happened. When Uncle Vernon found out… Harry shuddered, unable to finish that line of thinking.

Rounding the street corner, Harry spotted a park he’d never seen before and approached it in the late afternoon light. It was just this side of cool outside, so there weren’t many families or teens wandering around. Harry found a bench in an unobtrusive part of the park and sat down, placing his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands as he shivered from the sweat cooling on his body, the panic rising to almost past endurance as he continued to gasp for breath with lungs that felt far too constricted to work correctly. What was he going to do?



“Harry, wait!” Sirius heard Ron shout as his godson darted out the front door and disappeared. He rubbed at the goose egg of a bump on his back of his head and stumbled to his feet, balance wavering as he clutched at the staircase banister for a moment to let the world reorient itself. Once the dizziness passed, he looked out the front door of Number 4, but couldn’t see Harry.

“He ran off,” Ron said as he straightened. “Took a left at the end of the road.” He shot a worried look at Sirius. “What do we do?”

That was a good question, Sirius thought vaguely. His first instinct was to transform and follow Harry, but he was in pain from slamming into the doorframe, not to mention he still had Ron and Ginny here and knew Molly Weasley would likely come down on him if he left her two youngest alone with those sorry excuses of human beings still lying in the kitchen from the force of Harry’s magic. He heard Ginny grunt and turned as Ron headed inside.

“Ginny, are you okay?” Ron reached into the cupboard under the stairs – Harry’s Room, Merlin, how was Sirius ever going to come to terms with this? A moment later, cleaning supplies, an umbrella, and a couple pairs of old shoes tumbled to the hallway floor as Ginny was pulled free of the cupboard, looking a bit dazed, but otherwise unharmed.

“Yeah,” Ginny answered her brother, running her hands down her sides as she turned and reached back in. “My wand – there it is. Where’s Harry?” she asked as she straightened.

“Bolted,” said Ron before looking up. “Sirius, what do we do?” he repeated in a worried voice.

Sirius sighed and winced as the lump on his head throbbed. “I’d change shape and track him down, but I’m a bit out of sorts at the moment. I don’t imagine he’d go too far, though.” He retrieved his wand, thought of the message he wanted to send, and cast his Patronus. The large dog erupted from his wand and sped away at once to the far north. After a moment’s hesitation, he cast another Patronus message, this one speeding away in an easterly direction.

“Who did you contact?” asked Ginny.

“Dumbledore and Remus,” Sirius answered. “Remus should be at Headquarters, so he can get anyone available out into the area to search.” He rubbed at the back of his head again as it continued to ache and turned to face Petunia and Dudley. He had unfinished business, but he needed to make sure there was no more trouble. Without warning, he quickly Summoned Ginny and Ron’s wands.

“What did you do that for?” Ron protested.

“Give that back!” shouted Ginny at the same time.

“We’ve got enough trouble as it is without two underage wizards popping off the first hex that comes to mind,” growled Sirius as he shoved their wands into his jacket. Ron glowered at him.

“I won’t do anything,” said Ginny stubbornly.

“You were ready to hex the fat one,” said Sirius shortly.

“And you were ready to curse them both!” Ginny shot back.

“Just – stop!” Sirius snarled. “You’re lucky I don’t send for your mother and have her haul both your arses back home this very instant!”

That shut Ginny up at once. Sirius felt a twinge of regret at the look on both their faces, but he didn’t have the patience or energy for anything but what faced him at present: the Muggles.

“Get up,” he told them shortly, wand shooting out warning sparks, and they both scrambled to their feet, backing further into the kitchen as Sirius advanced.

“You can’t hurt us!” Petunia said shrilly, and Sirius quickly Silenced her and her son.

“Sit down and listen to me,” he snapped irritably, and they hastened to obey, taking seats at the kitchen table, their eyes on his wand. Ron and Ginny followed Sirius into the kitchen with disgruntled expressions on their faces. Sirius ignored them both. “I’d like nothing more than to curse the lot of you into oblivion," he told Petunia, darkly, "but the last thing Harry and I need is a trip to Azkaban.”

Petunia opened her mouth to say something, but then shut it when nothing came out. Sirius felt a thrill of satisfaction. Harry had grown up with no choice but to listen to every cruel word she’d ever spoken, so it was about time the tables were turned.

“Your hatred of magic made you think it was perfectly acceptable to abuse him,” Sirius told her fiercely, wand shaking slightly in his grip. “To lock him up, to hurt him, to say hurtful things to him. And I can see now that you don’t feel a lick of remorse for it.” He clenched his jaw for a moment, doing his best to keep his temper in check. “It ends now. You will not have Harry do anything in this house that you wouldn’t have your precious Dudders do. He gets to eat as much as he wants to, because you clearly starved him prior to Hogwarts, and probably still feed him smaller portions. No one dares to lay so much as a finger on him ever again, is that understood?”

Petunia nodded quickly, eyes still wide with fear. A loud crack! sounded from outside the front door, which was still wide open from when Ginny had slammed it open, and Sirius turned to see Remus striding inside with Tonks, Emmeline Vance, and Mad-Eye Moody.

“What’s going on?” asked Remus as soon as he spotted Sirius. “Your Patronus said Harry ran off –”

“We were arguing,” said Sirius shortly. “These Muggles used to make Harry live in the – in that –”

He couldn’t bring himself to finish, so instead he pointed at the still-open door of the cupboard under the stairs. Tonks, who was closest, looked around and quickly spotted the crayon markings denoting the space as 'Harry’s Room'. She gasped, hands flying to her mouth in horror, and shook her head in dismay.

“What?” Remus said urgently, and Tonks pointed.

“That used to be his room,” Ginny spoke up, “until his first letter from Hogwarts arrived. Then they moved him to that tiny bedroom upstairs.”

Remus stared at the cupboard for a long moment before turning to look at Petunia and Dudley, and Sirius immediately recognized the gleam in his eyes and recalled that it had only been a few days since the last full moon. Petunia obviously spotted the gleam, because her face paled and she started to quake.

“Moony,” said Sirius, holding up a placating hand. “There’s more.”

Tonks put a gentle hand on Remus’s shoulder, and he took a few deep breaths to calm himself.

“What happened?” asked Remus quietly.

“Ginny figured it out, and we were all having a massive row about it,” said Ron. “I guess it freaked Harry out, because eventually he shouted at all of us to stop it and then this – this huge wave of magic erupted from him and knocked us all off our feet. And then… well, he ran for it.”

“Accidental magic?” Tonks said in surprise. “At his age?”

“It is unusual,” Mad-Eye spoke up, “but not entirely unheard of. It’s more common in cases of neglect and abuse.”

“Which this obviously is,” said Sirius as his head gave another painful throb and he winced. “Anyway, I hit my head pretty hard, so transforming at this point wasn’t the best idea. That’s why I called for help. We need to find Harry and get him back here.”

“He’s not going to have to stay here any longer, is he?” Ginny asked anxiously. “I can’t – I don’t want him in this house ever again!”

“I don’t know,” sighed Sirius, trying to think as his head continued to ache. “I also sent a Patronus to Dumbledore, so we’ll have to wait and see –”

There was a flash of light accompanied by a small note with a single golden tail feather on the kitchen counter. Sirius seized the note at once and opened it.

Arthur will check in with the Improper Use of Magic Office. Fawkes will find Harry and I will bring him back. Set up a perimeter to ensure no Death Eaters are in the area just in case.


Sirius sighed again and handed the note to Mad-Eye, who read it and immediately began to bark out orders to the other three adults to set up a perimeter. Ginny and Ron were directed into the living room and Sirius stayed with them for when Harry would be returned, leaving Petunia and her son still sitting at the kitchen table where Sirius and the two teens could glare at them to their hearts content.

As much as Sirius hated sitting around and waiting, he knew that, right now, it was what he needed to do. He needed to be here when Harry came back.

A few minutes of silence passed, and then a screech owl flew in through the open door and landed on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, causing Petunia’s nose to wrinkle in distaste (she would probably thoroughly sanitize that chair during her nightly wipe-down of the kitchen). Sirius rose at once to relieve it of its burden, and the owl retreated back through the front doorway.

“What does the letter say?” Ginny ventured after a few moments. Sirius returned to the armchair he’d been sitting in and the envelope, removing and then scanning over the letter quickly.

“They want verification of who performed the magic,” he said, setting the letter down. “I made sure the Ministry knew I would be here everyday until Harry could leave and would ensure that he continued to follow the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, but since this involved being directly in the presence of Muggles…” He let out a groan, running his hands through his hair. “Dumbledore’s note said your dad is checking in with the Improper Use of Magic Office, so I’m sure we can get this all sorted out without any issue, especially once I give witness as the so-called responsible adult in the house.”

“We were all upset,” Ginny reminded him. “No one was thinking straight. What we found out… Of course you lost your temper with those two, we all did. I’m the one who put Harry in this situation because I couldn’t leave well enough alone,” she added bitterly.

Ron sighed and slumped in his seat. “Some friend I am,” he said. “I dealt with his temper pretty much every day for the last year, Hermione and I know best what his warning signs are, but I didn’t even… Merlin, she’s going to lecture me almost as harshly as Mum will when she finds out what happened.”

“We do deserve it,” said Ginny quietly. “I should’ve noticed, too.”

“You diffuse him better than anyone else,” Ron told her, and Sirius smiled a bit at this. Ginny shook her head. “No, but you do,” Ron insisted. “After we overheard what Moody said on the Extendable Ears –”

“Which time was this?” asked Sirius in amusement.

“At St. Mungo’s after Dad was attacked,” answered Ron. “Moody seemed to think You-Know-Who had possessed Harry at that point.”

“Not at that time, no,” said Ginny darkly.

“Anyway,” continued Ron, “remember how Harry spent the next day after our first visit to Dad holed up away from everyone?” Sirius nodded. “He was terrified that his vision had actually been some kind of possession, and he got this stupid noble idea of protecting the rest of us by staying away as much as possible. When Hermione showed up and dragged him downstairs to talk with the rest of us, he wasn’t listening to anything we said until Ginny got right in his face and reminded him about second year with the diary.”

“When Voldemort’s memory or whatever it was possessed me,” Ginny added in to remind Sirius.

“Cut his sails right away, and he finally starting listening,” Ron said with a small smile. “I don’t think the rest of us could’ve done it the way he was acting.”

Ginny shrugged, but Sirius understood what Ron was trying to say. “Any other times you got through to Harry when no one else could?” he prompted her.

Ginny frowned thoughtfully. “Well, just after Easter, I found Harry in the library, and I just… I asked him what was wrong, and he admitted that he wanted to talk to you, but he didn’t see how it was possible when he couldn’t owl you or use the fireplace in the common room. He obviously didn’t know about the two-way mirrors at that point,” she added hastily, “but I remember thinking how badly I wanted to help him once I knew what he wanted, and I was sure if anyone could help him with being able to talk to you, it was Fred and George. I mean,” she said with a shrug, “anything’s possible if you’ve got enough nerve.”

“We had just thought he was pining over Cho at that point after their last fight,” Ron admitted, “but it was you who got through to him.” He frowned and looked at Sirius. “What did he want to talk with you about, anyway? He never did tell us.”

Sirius shook his head and winced. “That’s personal between him and me, I’m afraid,” he answered, “but I could tell that he needed the chance to talk.”

Ron nodded and looked out the window. “How long –?”

Another flash of light erupted in the room (Petunia jumped in her seat), and a new note appeared on the coffee table along with another tail feather. Sirius leaned forward and seized it at once. “Dumbledore’s found him,” he said in relief. “He should be bringing him back soon.”

“Good,” said Ginny. “D’you think Dad’s going to be able to get things sorted out at the Ministry?”

“Once I head in to chat with them, yes,” said Sirius. “Having Arthur around to tide things over in the meantime is good enough for now.”

Ron and Ginny nodded, and the three lapsed into silence, waiting for Harry to come back.

Moments later, however, they heard a loud, mechanical screeching sound followed moments later by a man’s voice bellowing, “What the blazes is going on?”

“Harry’s uncle,” said Ron, and Sirius was up in an instant, wand at the ready as he left the living room.

Vernon stomped through the open front door just as Sirius made it into the front hallway. “If you’ve done something to my family –” the fat man began without preamble, but Sirius was not in the mood.

“Shut up, Dursley,” he said, pointing his wand right at Vernon’s face, sending the purple-faced walrus into a spluttering silence. Sirius stood right next to the cupboard, still hanging wide open and pointed at it with his free hand. “I know,” he said, “what this is.”

The purple flush was quickly replaced by a pale pallor that went red a few seconds later. “What of it?” said Vernon with false bravado. “It’s more than the freak deserved.”

Sirius saw red. It was only Ginny shouting his name that stopped him from killing the man then and there, instead having only gone as far as pushing him against the nearest wall and sticking his wand in the vicinity of what should have been Vernon’s neck. Merlin, the man made his old Potions teacher look positively fit in comparison!

“Don’t,” he snarled, “ever insult Harry like that again.”

Ron and Ginny had moved into the hallway, both watching the scene with wide eyes. Sirius forced himself to step away, and Vernon caught sight of the two redheads.

“What are they doing here?” he demanded, though with less venom in his voice than he’d had before.

“We came to visit Harry,” said Ron, chin jutting out defiantly. “Nice to see you’re the same lout I saw two summers ago.”

Vernon glared at him. “I remember you,” he breathed. “You and your – brothers, here with your father, ruining my living room and my fireplace, feeing my son candy infected with your – your unnaturalness –”

“It’s called a Ton-Tongue Toffee,” offered Ginny, “and our dad set Dudley to rights quick enough, didn’t he?”

Vernon was purpling again. “And you, mucking about with the boy like a common whore –”

SMACK!

Sirius sincerely hoped that the reddened handprint on Vernon’s face didn’t fade anytime soon.

“How dare you,” said Ginny, voice shaking with suppressed anger as Sirius gave a particularly sharp jab of his wand into Vernon’s neck. The man finally paled and stayed that way, his sharp eyes darting between Ginny and Sirius.

“We are going to keep our tempers,” Sirius said tightly. “All of us. I expect you two” – he glared at Ron and Ginny – “to go back to the living room to wait for Harry to come back, and Mr. Dursley here will join his wife and son silently in the kitchen.”

Ron pulled Ginny back into the living room without question, and Sirius pointed his wand in the direction of the kitchen. “After you, Dursley.”

Vernon glared at him, but made his way into the kitchen. Petunia leapt to her feet and tried to speak, but then realized she still couldn’t. “What have you done to my wife?!” shouted Vernon.

“Silenced her for once,” said Sirius smugly. “Now sit down before I do the same to you.”

He heard Moody’s stumping walk and turned to see the ex-Auror entering the house again. “Dursley back?” he grunted.

“Yeah,” said Sirius. “Did Albus contact you?”

Moody nodded as he entered the kitchen. “I’ve got the others doing a final round of checking the perimeter while we wait for him to bring Potter back here.” He glared at the Dursleys with both eyes, and they recoiled at the sight.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Moody began darkly. “You lot are going to sit here and wait for Potter to return with Albus Dumbledore. Then we’re having ourselves a little chat, as it were, about how things have been around here.”

Petunia tried to talk again, and Moody shot Sirius a grin before canceling the Silencing spell. “Best choose your words wisely, woman. I’m not opposed to Silencing you again.”

Petunia hesitated, shook her head, and instead turned her gaze to the kitchen table.

“Perfect,” said Moody. “And now, we wait.”



You need to breathe, c’mon Harry, just slow down, it’s deep, even breaths, please –

The bright flash of light startled Harry out of his panic, and he was on his feet, wand in hand, pointed at the source before his mind caught up with what he was actually seeing.

“Fawkes?”

The phoenix trilled and fluttered down to the bench serenely, and the sound he made immediately loosened the tightness in Harry’s chest and cleared the fogginess in his mind. Harry hesitated, then slowly resettled himself on the bench, wand still clutched tightly in his hand. “Hey,” he said softly, glad to be able to take deep, even breaths once more. “You’ve grown well since I saw you last.”

Fawkes did not look his full size as of yet, but his magnificent plumage was coming in nicely. He let out another trill, and Harry felt it calm him still further as he reached out to gently stroke the phoenix’s head.

“I guess Sirius called out for help instead of trying to chase me down,” Harry murmured, more to himself than to the phoenix. “I shouldn’t have run off like that. Am I in trouble?”

The phoenix let out another comforting trill before extending his tail feathers to Harry.

“I take it you’re supposed to take me back,” Harry guessed. “I don’t – I’m not ready. What I did…” He sighed and put his head in his hands. “I guess I am a freak,” he said dully.

“I would prefer it,” came a familiar, calm voice, “if you would refrain from using such words to describe yourself, Harry.”

Harry looked up, tensing again, but it was Albus Dumbledore who had approached him without his noticing, clad in robes of a magnificent purple with stars embroidered in pinpricks of star constellations across the surface of the fabric. He looked quite out-of-place in the middle of the Muggle park, but as there was no one else around, it didn’t matter much. Fawkes let out a soft cry and flapped up to Dumbledore’s shoulder. “Thank you for finding him, Fawkes,” the headmaster said quietly as he extracted two slips of parchment from his robes. “Please deliver this note to Sirius, and the other to Alastor. After that, please return to my office.”

Fawkes trilled again and vanished in another flash of light. Dumbledore seated himself on the bench where Fawkes had been sitting and looked out at the park grounds serenely.

Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable. He’d never been one-on-one with the headmaster outside of school, let alone without a desk between them, and after that bout of accidental magic he’d just unleashed on his relatives and friends, he wasn’t sure what he could even say or do at this point to try and fix this. So he stared at the ground, waiting for whatever would happen next. A lecture, expulsion, whatever it was the Dumbledore planned to do.

“I am pleased to find you unharmed,” Dumbledore spoke at last. “We are a short way out of Little Whinging here, which tells me you have both incredible speed and endurance.”

Harry shifted, feeling even worse.

“Harry, the protection I enacted at your relatives’ home only ceases if you don’t return each night for the time needed to ensure the protection continues.”

“I don’t want to go back,” said Harry quietly, still staring down at the ground.

There was another moment of silence.

“Tell me what happened,” said Dumbledore just as quietly.

Harry fiddled a bit with his wand, eyes still downcast as he considered what to say. “Did you know?” he finally burst out, looking up at Dumbledore.

“Know what, Harry?”

The laughter was back, though faint. Harry ignored it.

“About the – my life there,” he said stiffly to the headmaster. “You told me that you knew I’d have a – a ‘difficult’ life with the Dursleys, but what do you actually know about it? Just what Mrs. Figg told you, because obviously you had her living in the area to keep an eye on me, or did anyone else ever check in?”

After a long moment, Dumbledore answered, “I relied on the reports from Mrs. Figg. She noted the oversized clothes, your diminutive stature compared to that of your cousin, and your quiet, withdrawn temperament as areas of concern. She also spoke of the bullying from your cousin, and your relatives reticence to take you on any trips or vacations, instead leaving you with her for such events. She informed me that she was certain you were being neglected.”

“Anything else?” asked Harry, glancing at the older man.

“That is all she spoke of. I had promised your aunt in the letter I left with you fifteen years ago that there would be no interference in her care of you because of her attitude towards magic, and I kept my word. No one with obvious magic was ever allowed in the area.”

“Just Mrs. Figg because she’s a Squib,” Harry finished, and Dumbledore nodded. Looking down at his hands again, Harry considered this.

There was a lot Mrs. Figg wouldn’t have ever known about what happened inside Number 4 because it had been kept hidden on purpose. Bruises on his face from Uncle Vernon could easily be explained as Harry being clumsy or Dudley and his gang catching him, and no one in the area cared that Dudley was a bully so long as their children either followed him or stayed out of his way.

“No less than you deserved, Harry…”

It’s just a flashback,
Harry told himself. It’s not real.

“How are the letters addressed, sir?” he asked as a new line of thought occurred to him. “The ones inviting students to Hogwarts, I mean.”

“A special quill writes out the addresses from a book that tracks the birth and whereabouts of all students who are magical enough to attend Hogwarts,” answered Dumbledore. “Professor McGonagall uses an enchanted quill to replicate her signature on each letter that is sent out. If the first letter is not opened by the addressee, additional letters are created. It is an automated process of sorts, if that makes sense.”

Harry nodded. “Then I guess you don’t know.”

“Know what, Harry?” Dumbledore repeated.

Harry slumped back against the bench and stared up at the slowly darkening sky. It seemed that maybe Dumbledore didn’t know about the cupboard, after all, and there was no sense hiding it now that Sirius, Ron, and Ginny knew the truth. Between the three of them, everyone else would know within a day, maybe less.

“You said it was being provided houseroom that made the protection charm work,” Harry finally said. “I assume you meant a bedroom, right? Isn’t that what people normally do, give you a bedroom?”

Dumbledore nodded as Harry forced himself to look at the older man. “That’s not what they gave me,” he said. “A bedroom. That would have been –” He broke off and shook his head, imagining for a moment what life could have been like if Dudley’s second bedroom had always been his, instead. “It was the cupboard under the stairs,” he finally forced out. “My houseroom was a bloody cupboard, sir, with a toddler-sized mattress on a cot and nothing else!” He stood up abruptly and started pacing, feeling the anger and injustice welling up inside him.

“Harry –”

“I was abused!” The words burst free before Harry could stop them and he glared at the headmaster. “There’s no other word I could possibly use to describe what happened to me growing up. Voldemort saw it all in my head and he thought it was funny! It was so bloody funny that the Boy Who Lived was tormented every day by some powerless Muggles!”

“You were a child,” Dumbledore reminded him gently. “A child left unaware of his magical heritage.”

“As if that makes it any better!” Harry retorted fiercely. “You knew they hated magic, so it was easy to hate me, too! Is that what you wanted?” he shouted. “A – a weapon so starved for affection that any chance to gain it was worthwhile? You say you care about me, but how can I believe that when –?” Harry broke off, swore, and turned away, running his hands through his unruly hair again and staring at nothing.

“Uncle Vernon choked me last summer,” said Harry in a low voice, suddenly desperate to talk about it. “He hadn’t done anything like that for a few years, but after Mundungus Fletcher Apparated away, I jumped up nearby with my wand out where anybody could see, and he – he strangled me and demanded I put my wand away.” He looked down at his wand. “It was only a small burst of my own magic that made him let go. He would’ve kept it up if I hadn’t been able to stop him, even with it being right where anybody could see.” Harry clenched his fist around his wand. “Six years ago that would’ve been almost normal for me.” He turned back to the headmaster. “Is that what you wanted?” he demanded, voice as harsh as the ragged rage coursing through him.

“No,” Dumbledore finally spoke, eyes filled with sadness that only made Harry feel more angry. He turned away again, breathing harshly. “Harry,” Dumbledore continued after a moment, “my hope had been that Petunia would treat you as well as her own son, but instead she inflicted appalling damage upon you both.” Harry spun around, confused and outraged. Dudley? Appalling damage?

Dumbledore raised a hand before Harry could say anything. “It is clear to me now that you experienced neglect and even cruelty in their care, Harry. Petunia and Vernon have been authoritarian figures in your life, controlling every aspect of your existence out of fear and even spite of what you are and what you are capable of. On the other hand, they were extremely permissive with Dudley, giving him everything he ever wanted and letting him get away with hurting whoever he wanted, and as such, they have created a young man who is well on his way to becoming a monster of their own making if he does not recognize the destructive path he is set on.” He sighed. “Those who have everything often want more to the point of hurting those around them, while those who have nothing tend to struggle to accept more than the bare minimum. Do you not see this in yourself and your cousin?”

Harry frowned, considering this. He remembered how he had felt so confused by how everyone at the Burrow liked him so much his first summer there four years ago. He had struggled to understand this, let alone accept that he was worthy of the love and kindness shown to him by the Weasleys because it was so far out from his experiences growing up with the Dursleys. The idea that he was enough just as he was… he had never experienced this before, had never known it was even possible for him.

As for Dudley… well, yeah, nothing was ever good enough besides more. It had been that way for as long as Harry could remember. Dudley the bully got everything he ever wanted, but it was never enough.

“I guess so,” Harry finally agreed.

There was a long moment of silence between the two.

“Harry,” Dumbledore spoke again, albeit more hesitantly, “I understand the fear and frustration you have experienced today, but there remains one more week of your time at Privet Drive to ensure the protection lasts another year.”

Harry nodded, looking down at his feet. “I know,” he said. “It’s just – what happened… I didn’t mean to lose control like that, sir, and the way Aunt Petunia and Dudley looked at me… And I know I got Sirius and Ginny and Ron hurt, too –”

“Any injuries inflicted were quite minimal, and I know that Sirius and your friends are awaiting your return anxiously,” Dumbledore cut in kindly.

“They were arguing because Ginny figured out what the cupboard used to be, and they were all yelling and I – I’ve been struggling with…” He took a deep breath before finishing. “With flashbacks.”

“You were triggered by the shouting,” surmised Dumbledore. “I presume these flashbacks to which you are referring have been of your time trapped in Voldemort’s mind as he in turn sifted through yours?”

Harry nodded again, unable to bring himself to look up.

“It is referred to by Muggles as P.T.S.D., or Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,” Dumbledore told him. “It is something diagnosed quite frequently in soldiers who experience the horrors or war, but can happen to anyone who suffers through a physically or emotionally damaging experience. Miss Weasley and her family spent most of their summer in Egypt while her brother Bill paid for a Mind Healer to meet with his sister to help her cope with the trauma she experienced with the diary three years ago. I have tried speaking with Sirius about doing something similar for himself now that he is a free man, but so far he is refusing.”

That sounded like Sirius, Harry thought dryly.

“If I thought you would speak with a Mind Healer, I would convince Sirius to see to it that it happened.”

“I don’t want –” Harry began at once.

“As I said,” Dumbledore cut him off gently as Harry looked up, “I would do it if I thought you would go, but knowing you as I have done, you would not take kindly to speaking with a stranger about your past.”

I’d rather talk to you, thought Harry, and was so startled by this realization that he turned away once more. Dumbledore had always been there for Harry to talk to after the worst parts of each year. Dumbledore had been the first adult he knew he could trust to listen to him and believe him. Professor McGonagall had not earned such a distinction, though she did have his complete respect. She hadn’t listened his first year when he had tried to warn her about the Philosopher’s Stone, and he’d never been able to bring himself to try again after that. And despite the kindness and information he’d first gained from Hagrid, the man was more of a friend than a trusted adult figure. He had gained a similar relationship with both Remus and Sirius as he had with Dumbledore, and even though Dumbledore had kept his distance over the last year, he was here now, listening as he’d always done, this one reliable thing that Harry had grown accustomed to and even craved. Harry turned back to look at the headmaster.

“You really didn’t know how bad it was?” he finally asked, fully aware of how young and vulnerable he sounded, but unable to do anything about it.

“I suspected, but without directly interfering or using Legilimency, I did not know the worst of it for a fact,” answered Dumbledore quietly. “If I had…” He trailed off, staring past Harry unblinkingly for a few moments before he shook his head and rose. “Are you ready to return to Privet Drive?”

Harry swallowed hard, but nodded.

“I will return you using Side-Along Apparition,” Dumbledore informed him. “Do you have your Apparition license?”

“No, sir, I thought you had to be seventeen.”

“You are correct. This will be a rather enlightening experience, then,” said Dumbledore with the familiar twinkle in his eye. “Take my arm very tightly, please.” He extended his left arm, and Harry reached out uncertainly, placing his hand on the headmaster’s arm and waiting.

Suddenly, he felt Dumbledore’s arm twist away from him, and Harry redoubled his grip before everything went black; he was being pressed very hard from all directions; he could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around his chest; his eyeballs were being forced back into his head; his eardrums were being pushed deeper into his skull and then –

Harry was suddenly able to breathe again, taking in great lungfuls of chilled evening air as he forced his streaming eyes open. He felt as though he had just been forced through a very tight rubber tube. Then he realized he was no longer at that far-away park, but instead on the corner of Privet Drive where Sirius always Apparated every morning.

“Are you all right?” asked Dumbledore solicitously. “The sensation does take some getting used to.”

“I’m fine,” Harry said, rubbing his ears, which felt as though they had left the park rather reluctantly. “But I think I might prefer brooms to Apparating…”

Dumbledore smiled and gestured toward the Dursley residence. Harry took a steadying breath and set off to face his fate, the headmaster at his side.

Back to index


Chapter 8: An Overdue Conversation

Author's Notes: All right, y'all, here's the deal: I am a teacher of students with significant cognitive disabilities. The school year where I teach starts August 15th. I started teacher prep/professional development (kill me now!) this week. On top of that, I am also going to school at night starting August 27 to earn my degree as a special education teacher. So far, I am a certified teacher, but for elementary education K-6. And I'm a mom to two little boys (6 and 4). And I'm married (10 years this past June!).

It's a lot. I'm going to do my best to aim for weekly updates on Saturday/Sunday, but I can't make any promises for sure because I just don't know what my workload will really be like this year. I do promise that I will not abandon this story. The chapters I have rough drafts of have included some major moments that are going to have a massive effect on the main plot (I know, the main plot? We haven't even started on that, yet!), and I want to see where those changes take this story, because I still don't know what the long-term consequences of the first story really are!

With all that said, here's the confrontation with the Dursleys. This was a difficult chapter to write because there's a part of me that wants to make them pay. Thing is, the bigger part of me can only see Dumbledore's agenda. Given that Voldemort can't get to Harry even with Harry's blood in his veins tells me that the protection charm Dumbledore placed is the best protection Harry has. It's really important to me to be true to the characters as best I can, and this chapter is the result of that. I do bring up Obscurials again in this chapter, and while I know that Harry never could have been one, Harry doesn't quite get that, just yet. I promise that Sirius will approach the issue with more kindness and care in the next chapter now that he's finally calming down. Enjoy!


Chapter Eight: An Overdue Conversation



Harry immediately noticed that Uncle Vernon’s car was parked rather haphazardly in the driveway as though he’d parked in a rush, something most unusual for the man. As he and Dumbledore neared the house, the front door opened and Ginny barreled out, flinging herself into Harry’s arms and squeezing him tightly.

“We’ve been so worried about you!” she cried into his chest as he hugged her back. “What were you thinking, running off like that?” Suddenly, she pulled away and swatted Harry’s chest hard.

“Ow!” he said, rubbing it. “Ginny –”

He wasn’t able to get another word in, because next thing he knew, Ginny had dragged him down and crashed her mouth to his, arms tight around his neck. Harry was horribly confused by her emotional state at this point, but kissed her back, anyway.

Abruptly, Ginny pulled back, eyes wide. “I hit you!” she said faintly. “Merlin, Harry, I’m so sorry, I never should’ve –”

Harry preferred the kissing, so he did just that. “It’s fine,” he said with a small grin when he pulled away. “I can honestly say I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not funny, Harry!” said Ginny, ears going red just like Ron’s. “You can’t just – I mean –”

“Sometimes it’s easier to joke about pain than to feel it,” interrupted Sirius from the open doorway. “All right, kiddo?”

“I’m sorry I ran off like that,” Harry told him as Ginny backed up a couple steps to look him over critically as Mrs. Weasley often did, “especially after I –” But Sirius waved him off.

“You were overwhelmed and reacted, and we were the idiots who didn’t notice the signs,” he said, striding forward and pulling Harry into a fierce hug. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

“We’re all glad,” said Ron as he stepped outside. “It’s awfully tense in there right now, though.”

Harry shot Sirius a worried look. “My uncle –”

“Is waiting for us in the kitchen with your aunt and cousin,” Sirius answered right away. “Don’t worry, the Muggles know they’re long overdue for a good conversation about how they treated you growing up.”

Harry did worry, though. He was actually quite incredibly worried, in all honesty, and forced himself to admit as such. “I hurt them, I scared them,” he said. “They’re going to be angry and –”

“Your uncle’s already been warned not to let his temper get the best of him,” Ron told him as Sirius and Ginny guided him to the front door. “Besides, your aunt and cousin weren’t actually hurt besides a couple of bruises, and I bet that’s mild compared to what they’ve done to you in the past.” He reached out without warning and hugged Harry tightly. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he muttered. “We were really worried about you.”

Harry nodded, hugging his friend back. “Sorry,” he replied quietly.

“Don’t be,” said Ron as he pulled away. “Just – let’s get this over with, yeah?”

Harry nodded again, but halted stiffly in the entryway, chest tightening unpleasantly once more. He suddenly felt Dumbledore’s hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, Harry,” he said quietly. “No harm will come to you or them tonight.”

Harry took a deep breath, nodded a third time, and forced himself to follow Sirius and his friends into the kitchen. Mad-Eye Moody was standing in there already, his magical eye spinning so wildly around the room that it made Harry’s stomach a bit queasy. “Remus, Emmeline, and Tonks should be back in here in a moment or two,” Moody informed them as soon as they entered the room. “I had them do one last perimeter check just to be safe.”

“Thank you, Alastor,” said Dumbledore.

Harry forced himself to look over at his relatives. Dudley was staring at the kitchen table, and his parents sat on either side of him, fearful gazes alternating between Moody’s eye and the others as they entered. They didn’t look at Harry.

“Good evening,” said Dumbledore, stepping past Harry to smile at the Dursleys. “I am Albus Dumbledore. Petunia, we have corresponded in the past, if you will recall.”

Petunia gave a sharp nod and looked away.

“It would seem,” Dumbledore continued pleasantly, “that we have a bit of a… situation on our hands. Certain facts from Harry’s childhood have come to light today, facts that I must say neither myself nor my companions find acceptable. I realize, of course, that it is quite impossible to change the past, but as Harry must stay here for one more week –”

“We don’t want him here,” Uncle Vernon spoke up at last, eyes narrowed and face purpling. “We never did.”

Hearing this over and over in the same day was starting to wear on Harry, and he could hear Voldemort laughing about it in his head again. He felt Ginny take his hand and he squeezed it, saying nothing, focusing only on what was happening now.

“Vernon,” said Aunt Petunia quietly, “you know why we had to.”

“This dark – that Lord Voldything you’ve talked about before,” Uncle Vernon scoffed. “I remember. But if you lot are out there fighting him, why does the boy have to keep coming back? I’d expect your kind to be able to –”

“Keep Harry safe?” Sirius cut in. “The issue isn’t Voldemort at this point, it’s you.”

“I created a protection forged from the blood Harry and Petunia share through his mother, Lily,” said Dumbledore. “So long as Harry can call this place home, Voldemort cannot touch him.”

“Again, not the issue here,” Sirius stated firmly as the front door opened. Harry looked around to see Lupin, Tonks, and Emmeline Vance enter and head their way.

“Agreed,” said Moody gruffly. “The issue is the way you’ve treated your own nephew.”

“Oh good,” said Tonks loudly as she entered the kitchen, “we haven’t missed much.” She glared at the Dursleys, her hair turning from bubblegum pink to a fiery red that rivaled Ginny’s, and Harry’s aunt and uncle blanched at this. Dudley’s gaze remained fixed on the kitchen table.

“I promised no interference in your raising of Harry in the letter I left with him fifteen years ago,” said Dumbledore, voice quite calm, but with a note of something almost chilled in it now. “I promised to keep Wizardkind from this place, to allow you to live your lives in peace as his guardians, and I expressed the hope that you would care for him as though he were your own in the wake of his parents’ murder.”

Dumbledore paused, and the expressions on the faces of those in the Order of the Phoenix grew grim. The Dursleys drew very slightly closer together.

“You did not do as I asked,” Dumbledore stated neutrally. “While I always suspected that Harry suffered neglect at your hands, what I have learned this evening extends to cruelty.”

“Abuse,” Sirius snapped tightly. “Physical and emotional abuse, Dursley, not to mention severe neglect.”

Vernon’s face was still quite purple, but he actually looked slightly abashed.

“A cupboard might be houseroom,” Lupin spoke up sharply, his mild tone quite absent as his eyes gleamed almost unnaturally, “but it is a poor excuse for space in a house more than large enough to support a family of this size.”

“I wouldn’t call it a family at this point, Remus,” said Tonks darkly as Emmeline Vance scowled and nodded. “Hard to see it that way given that you lot starved Harry of everything a child needs to thrive and overindulged the fat one to the point of monstrosity.”

Aunt Petunia flushed, but said nothing. Uncle Vernon swelled like a bullfrog. “How dare you refer to my son –”

“Just telling it like it is,” Tonks spoke over him, hair still violently red.

Dudley was flushed now, and yet he still did not look up.

“The point is,” Sirius cut in once more, “that none of this should have ever happened. Harry never should’ve been treated this way.”

“And where were you, then?” Aunt Petunia suddenly spoke up, making Dudley jump in his seat. “You’re his godfather! If anyone should have had the boy, it should have been you!”

Sirius flinched as though struck.

“He was framed for a crime he didn’t commit,” said Lupin, voice even, but not calm. “Harry had no one left to care for him but yourself within the space of a single day, Petunia.”

“It was a difficult choice to make,” said Dumbledore, “but one I had to make with thought to the future. Lord Voldemort does seek to bring harm to Harry, and he is aware of how tenuous the protection here can be.”

“It wouldn’t take much to get them to throw you out, would it, boy, to break Dumbledore’s protection and leave you completely open to attack…”

Harry took deep, even breaths, trying to ignore the flashback. Ginny sensed his inner turmoil and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. “Focus on me,” she whispered as the adults continued to talk around them.

“There remains,” Dumbledore was still speaking as Harry managed to focus again, “the fact that Harry must stay here for one more week to ensure the protection I created for him will continue for another year. I know you are all unnerved from the accidental magic that occurred earlier this evening –”

Uncle Vernon’s beard twitched as he scowled. “He could have hurt my family,” he cut off Dumbledore shortly. “He could’ve done this or so much worse at any time!”

“You’re lucky that didn’t ever happen, Dursley,” barked Moody. “You don’t know just what you could’ve done to your nephew, or how that might have resulted in your untimely death.”

“You mean I could’ve been an Obscurus,” Harry finally spoke up.

Dumbledore turned to face Harry, surprise flitting across his face. “You know what an Obscurus is?” he asked sharply.

Harry was suddenly the center of attention, and it made him very uncomfortable. Ginny pulled away one arm, but kept the other wrapped around his waist as she turned to face the headmaster. “Sirius mentioned it earlier when we were all arguing,” she said, “though I’ve never heard the term before.”

“That’s not where I first heard it,” Harry told her. It was always easier to tell her, even when others were around to hear what he was saying. “It was Voldemort. He – he said they didn’t do it right, that they – they should have told me that I was a wizard first and then –” He broke off, unable to verbalize the word in front of so many people. “He found one once, in Albania,” he said more quietly. “A girl, he said she’d been victimized for her magic after her parents had died and that it would just – explode out of her and attack people. He thought it was fascinating, stuck around to watch what happened, and eventually her magic turned in on her and she died.”

“Obscurials are highly uncommon,” said Dumbledore quietly. “Children who are made to fear and feel ashamed of their own magic are susceptible to losing control of their abilities in this way, but as their existence is the foundation of our laws regarding corporal punishment and child abuse, this happens very rarely.”

“He wished it’d been me,” Harry mumbled.

Sirius sucked in a sharp breath. “Don’t you think on that for one moment,” he said, striding forward and placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “Not ever, you hear me?” Harry nodded, and Sirius turned to Dumbledore. “I insist on staying here full-time until the two weeks are up.”

Dumbledore considered this for a moment before nodding. “Agreed.” He looked at the Dursleys. “You have a guest room that should be quite suitable for Sirius to use for the next week.”

Uncle Vernon still looked furious. “How do we know this won’t happen again?” he demanded.

“It was an accident, Dad,” said Dudley softly. Harry was taken aback and blinked at his cousin, trying to figure out where this unexpected support had come from.

Uncle Vernon turned to look at his son, looking just as surprised as Harry felt. “Dudley?”

Harry's cousin went rather pink in the face upon realizing that he was now the center of attention, and he almost looked ready to waddle away as fast as his stubby legs could carry him. After a moment, however, his resolve seemed to steel, and he sat up straighter in his chair.

“Harry didn’t mean to do it,” said Dudley in a louder voice. “He just – he wanted us to stop having a go at each other about him. And why wouldn’t he?” he added, voice growing stronger. “Anytime something went wrong, it always ended in punishment.” Dudley met Harry's eyes. “He didn’t… want to end up being punished again.”

Harry’s mouth fell open. Dudley was defending him? And what was more, he spoke true. Anything happening in this house that wasn't supposed to always meant Harry suffered somehow, especially if Dudley was involved somehow. This was… Harry couldn’t describe it.

“Well said, Dudley,” said Dumbledore with a respectful nod. “Extenuating circumstances such as what happened today can result in accidental magic. If we avoid the triggers, we can also, therefore, avoid the consequences. Do you understand this, Mr. Dursley?”

Uncle Vernon seemed to have been struck dumb by the current situation, but eventually nodded.

“We all understand,” Aunt Petunia said quickly. “But there’s no need for any other adults to stay here –”

“I wholeheartedly disagree,” Sirius cut her off. “There’s a lot you don’t know about what Harry’s been through recently, and it’s pretty obvious why he wouldn’t share any of that with you. But, as a trusted adult who knows everything, my presence can ensure that any triggers are avoided.”

“After the way you shouted at me this afternoon,” replied Aunt Petunia coolly, “I don’t know that I’d refer to you as particularly trustworthy, Black. You were as much a part of the problem today as I was.”

This admission of guilt was almost as surprising as Dudley defending Harry. He wasn’t sure he could take much more of this.

Sirius scowled, and Lupin quietly walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, which seemed to calm him. “I should have handled myself better,” he agreed stiffly. “I sometimes act rashly, but I love Harry, and I would do anything to make amends for my mistakes today. Would you be able to claim to do the same?” he asked Aunt Petunia, who eyed him for a long moment before looking away.

“Fine, you may stay,” she finally said. “But, only on the condition that you feed yourselves and stay out of the way as much as possible. What the neighbors would think if they knew you were staying here.” She shuddered. Typical Aunt Petunia, Harry thought dryly.

“Not a problem,” replied Sirius with a grin. “My house elf will see to our needs, which, speaking of… Kreacher!”

It had been worth it for Aunt Petunia’s shriek alone, Harry thought later as the others prepared to depart. Kreacher was certainly cleaner now than when Harry had first met him last summer, but he was small and wrinkled and wore only a white towel around his waist. Aunt Petunia was still scrubbing down the kitchen floor where he’d stood as the others gathered at the front door.

“I shall have Arthur request that a member of the Department of Improper Use of Magic come to collect your statement in the morning, Sirius,” Dumbledore informed him as he opened the front door. “Harry, Sirius, your servant.” He shook both Harry and Sirius’s hands before setting off the street corner to Disapparate.

“Tonks and I will make sure Ron and Ginny get home safe,” said Lupin to Sirius as Ron clapped Harry on the back and Ginny kissed him goodbye.

“I love you,” whispered Ginny. “I’m sorry I pushed you so much today.”

“It’s okay,” said Harry. “It – it probably would’ve come out, anyway.” Whether I wanted it to or not, he added silently.

What was done was done, and there wasn’t much use in wishing he could have kept it all hidden.

Lupin and Tonks both handed out their own hugs before setting off with Ron and Ginny.

“I’ll be keeping the night shift for guard duty going just in case,” Moody informed Sirius before he left, magical eye checking his surroundings at all times.

Emmeline Vance hesitated at the door. “I know we don’t know each other very well,” she told Harry, “but I just… I wanted to tell you that your past does not define your self-worth. Remember that.”

“Wise words,” said Sirius, shaking her hand. “Be safe out there, Emmy.” He shut the door behind her and turned to Harry. “Let’s see the guest bedroom, then, shall we?”

Harry nodded and led Sirius upstairs. He was certain that Kreacher had already been in and out, delivering clothes and other toiletries Sirius would need for his stay. Uncle Vernon and Dudley had both headed up to their respective rooms as soon as possible, but while the master bedroom door was firmly shut, Dudley’s was still wide open. Harry paused and looked in at his cousin.

“Hey,” said Dudley quietly from his bed.

“What’s happened to you?” Harry couldn’t help but ask. “A year ago, you’d have been begging for me to gone for good.”

Dudley flushed and looked down. “Last year,” he said. “Yeah, I er… when you saved me, I saw things, horrible things…”

“You said that last year, I remember.”

Dudley shifted uncomfortably. “I saw myself,” he admitted. “But I saw me the way I think you see me.”

“And how do you think I see you?” asked Harry, genuinely curious.

Dudley took a deep breath. “A bully,” he said. “Spoiled. Mean.”

Harry considered this. “Yeah, okay,” he finally said, “that does sum it up pretty well, actually.”

“Mum and Dad act like you’re a waste of space,” stated Dudley. “But I don’t think that, Harry. I’m sorry.”

Harry was dimly aware that his mouth had fallen open again. “It’s like the dementors blew a new personality into you,” he said, and Sirius chuckled a bit at this, bringing Harry back to himself. “I er, well, thank you,” he added. “Goodnight, Big D.”

Dudley smiled a bit, and Harry headed for the guest bedroom, pulling it open as Dudley’s door quietly clicked shut. “That was really weird,” Harry told Sirius fervently after he turned on the light and shut the door behind them. “Dudley has never been like that.”

“Thoughtful?” Sirius suggested.

“Not ever,” agreed Harry. “This whole day has just taken everything I’ve ever known and turned it on its head.” He sighed and looked around the room. “Aunt Marge is the only one who ever stays in here,” he told Sirius.

“Vernon’s sister, right?” said Sirius as he inspected the bed. “She about as fat as he is?”

Harry chuckled and nodded. “Almost as much mustache, too.”

Sirius grinned. “Sounds deplorable.” He straightened, suddenly looking somber. “Listen, I’m sorry for what happened earlier.”

“Sirius,” sighed Harry, “I really don’t –”

“No,” said Sirius firmly. “I lost twelve years of my life to prison by acting rashly. I haven’t been a good role model for you, nor have I acted like the adult I should be. I allowed my emotions to overwhelm me in the face of what I learned today, and the way I reacted was not the way I should have.” He stepped closer to Harry and placed his hands on his shoulders. “I’m assuming you never spoke about the cupboard because of how others, like myself, might react?”

Harry looked down at his feet. “It’s just – embarrassing,” he finally forced out. “I know normal people don’t –”

“I’m going to stop you there,” Sirius cut him off, gripping his shoulders tightly. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed your obsession with that word.” Harry frowned at him. “Normal. Harry, what’s normal is entirely subjective depending on the group mentality that you’re in. What you went through growing up was not normal for Muggles or Wizards, but that doesn’t mean you should feel embarrassed about it.”

He pulled Harry over to sit with him on the bed. “Parents and guardians are supposed to be responsible for their children,” he told Harry. “They are supposed to teach them how to be contributing members of society, take care of them when they’re ill, enact consequences when they make wrong choices, and love them no matter what.” Sirius placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You did not get what you needed here,” he said. “You were treated like the lowest of house elves.”

Harry briefly thought of Dobby, and genuinely thought he’d had it at least a bit better than that.

“As for me…” Sirius sighed. “My parents’ idea of ‘consequences’ was emotional and physical abuse. I thought they loved me when I was small, but I was already seeing that it was more about having control over me than it was about loving me by the time I met your dad. Did they teach me? Yes. Did they care for me when I was ill? In their own way, yes. But one toe out of line exacted painful punishment, especially for me as the oldest and heir to the Black legacy.”

“Are all pure-bloods like that?” asked Harry.

“No,” Sirius answered. “Well,” he conceded after a moment, “there can be emotional manipulation to a certain extent, but magical children of pure-blood families are to be treasured because they carry on the line and the family name. They must be of sound mind and body, and that’s not likely to happen if they’re mistreated. It wasn’t always like that, though, and some families, like mine, held to the old ideas of severely punishing a child when they did not honor their family name.”

“And you didn’t honor your family name,” said Harry.

Sirius chuckled. “I could not for the life of me understand why we couldn’t interact with Muggles when our home was surrounded by them, and my parents couldn’t convince me that we were completely superior when the Muggles had motorcycles and rock music.”

“You like rock music?” asked Harry in surprise.

“Queen, the Beatles, Led Zepplin, Aerosmith, all the greats,” Sirius told him with a wide grin. “Please tell me you’ve at least got some Muggle music knowledge.”

Harry shrugged. “Uncle Vernon mostly listens to the news, and Aunt Petunia’s taste in music has always been what the other neighbors are listening to. Dudley never cared much for music, either.”

Sirius let out a fake, long-suffering sigh. “I see I shall have to take charge of your education, then,” he said. “After this next week is up and you’re free to leave, we’re going to have to get started on that.”

“Where exactly am I going to stay once I can leave?” asked Harry. “We’ve talked about it, but I don’t remember an actual decision being made.”

“I know you’d normally go stay at the Burrow with the Weasleys,” said Sirius, “but seeing as how you’re dating Ginny, it could be a bit… unseemly to have you living in the same home as your girlfriend.”

Harry flushed. “I wouldn’t do anything I shouldn’t!” he protested, and Sirius laughed.

“We haven’t even had the Talk yet, young man, so I struggle with the idea that you even know what you should or shouldn’t do!”

Harry’s face was burning now. “The other boys in my dorm have talked,” he said defensively, thinking primarily of Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas. “I’m not completely ignorant.”

“You’re getting garbled, second-hand information from a bunch of hormonal teens,” said Sirius with raised eyebrows. “Not what I would call informed. Trust me, we are going to be discussing this quite thoroughly after we leave this place.”

“Do we have to?” Harry whinged.

“Yes,” said Sirius firmly. “So, given everything, you’re coming to stay with me.”

“At Grimmauld Place.”

"It's the safest place for you outside of this dump," said Sirius. "We'll still go over to the Burrow every day, though."

Harry didn't like it, but nodded his understanding, anyway. They chatted for a few more minutes before turning in for the night, Harry's mind still buzzing over all that had occurred that day. He could only hope for a peaceful nights' rest.

Back to index


Chapter 9: A Difficult Morning

Author's Notes: This past week has been crazy! I've barely found any time to write with everything else that I have going on with prepping for my students and then actually having them start to attend. Thankfully, I managed to squeeze in some time to finish up with the fine details so this chapter could be posted. I hope you enjoy!


Chapter Nine: A Difficult Morning



Harry was dreaming. He was acutely aware of this, but he couldn’t seem to get himself wake up.

He was watching a little girl cry out as the people around her hurt her. Harry wanted it to stop, but it was a memory, something he couldn’t control. The people were shouting in a language Harry didn’t understand, but he hadn’t needed translating. Lord Voldemort was more than happy to explain what was going on.

“The Muggles wanted to deny your birthright,” he told Harry, “keep you from being what you were born to be. How little they truly know of our kind, Harry,” he added with a small laugh as Harry watched the girl cry out in pain. “They didn’t try hard enough. They could have told you what you were and then tortured you over it until you suppressed your magic and became an Obscurus. You probably would have killed those Muggles and yourself had your magic gone out of control in that way, and my worries over your pathetic, continued existence could have been put to rest.”

Obscurus? Harry had never heard the term before.

“You see what they are doing to her?” said Voldemort. “She is of magical descent, but her parents died, and the people of this tiny village in Albania cannot abide a witch in their midst.” Suddenly, the girl screamed, and something dark and powerful erupted from her, black and oily, sharp tendrils twining around the villagers as they screamed, tried to run, begged for mercy.

“I was merely passing through some years earlier,” Voldemort commented idly, “but as I’d never seen any Obscurials before, I decided to stay, to see what became of her. It took less than a year before she died.” As he spoke the villagers who had attacked her were dying, the horrible, uncontrollable force that had once been the girl’s innate magic tearing at them and twisting their bodies, bones snapping as the screams increased and then slowly died out.

“I rather wish that this had been you,” whispered Voldemort as the girl curled on herself and cried weakly into her knees. “Imagine it, the Boy Who Lived becoming our world’s worst nightmare incarnate. Any hopes of forging relations with the worthless Muggle world would have been done away with, and then perhaps my followers would have, at last, sought me out.”

“Harry? Harry, wake up!”

Harry’s eyes snapped open and he scrambled away from the hands touching him, heart racing, stomach churning unpleasantly as he tried to get his bearings.

“Harry, it’s just me, it’s Sirius. C’mon now, deep breaths, Harry. You’re safe, you’re in your room and it’s just me…” Slowly, Harry’s heart rate lowered, and his stomach began to settle. As his eyes focused, he realized it was still early in the morning as his bedroom window showed the first hints of sunrise. Sirius was crouched in front of him on his bed, a stream of gentle words flowing softly from him as he waited Harry out.

“I’m fine,” Harry finally managed, reaching for his glasses and putting them on. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“Actually, you woke Dudley, and he woke me,” Sirius admitted quietly. “He just knocked on my door and told me it was happening again. Took me a moment to understand what he meant by that, but once I did, I came straight in here.”

Harry nodded and looked away, shivering slightly as the sweat on his body began to cool.

“You have nightmares often?”

Harry stiffened. He didn’t like talking about it, but then, Sirius already knew the worst of it all. What point was there in hiding anything now?

“Yeah,” he finally said. “I – well, it didn’t happen as much when I was younger, but after everything that happened that my first year at Hogwarts…” And every year after, he left unsaid.

Sirius sighed. “That makes sense,” he said. “I’ve struggled some, as well. It’s part of why you could usually find me drinking this past year. Between my time in Azkaban, my own guilt, and being locked up in that blasted house… Sometimes a glass or even bottle of Firewhiskey was easier.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. “I don’t suppose you’re willing to talk about what happened in your nightmare, are you?” asked Sirius hesitantly. “I mean, I’ve heard it helps, to talk about it.”

Two awkward, abused boys stumbling in the dark, trying to find their way. Harry wasn’t sure if it was ironic or just sad.

“I was dreaming about when he told me what Obscurials are,” he said softly. “I saw what he saw, what the villagers did to the little girl, and what – what she did.” He shivered again. “It was… it’s terrifying, the idea that someone could be that out of control all because they were scared of their own abilities. And knowing that… Sirius, that could’ve been me.”

“But it wasn’t,” said Sirius quickly. “Despite everything that you have gone through in this house, it never happened to you. Crazy as it sounds, your saving grace was not knowing what you were doing. You can’t be ashamed of your own magic if you don’t even know that it exists.” He reached out and placed his hands over Harry’s. “I need you to understand this, Harry. None of this lessens what you’ve experienced, because you’ve experienced horrible things in this place, no doubt. It’s just a different set of circumstances that you endured, but it landed you here with me, with friends who love and care for you, a spunky redheaded girlfriend” – Harry cracked a small smile despite himself – “and a life that is hard, but is yours, utterly and completely.”

Harry nodded. “Thanks,” he said softly. His stomach suddenly rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten dinner the previous day. Sirius saw to it at once that this was rectified, and they quietly chatted over the kippers and eggs that Kreacher brought them to eat for breakfast.

They had just finished when Dudley came to his bedroom to tell them that there was someone there to speak with Sirius. “It’s probably the representative from the Department of Improper Use of Magic,” said Sirius reassuringly as he followed Dudley from the room. He returned very quickly with a woman Harry hadn’t expected to see again.

“Madam Bones?” said Harry in surprise.

Amelia Bones was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and very much the last person Harry imagined filling the role of 'representative.'

“Mr. Potter,” she said in her no-nonsense tone of voice that Harry remembered from his trial last August. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, though certainly under slightly better circumstances than last time.”

“Yeah,” said Harry as she shook his hand firmly, though he wasn’t sure this was really any better. “Er, please call me Harry.”

Sirius directed Madam Bones to the desk chair and quickly conjured another chair for himself. “Thank you,” she said to Sirius courteously. “Now, I understand there was an incident yesterday afternoon involving some accidental magic?”

Harry looked down, tense and worried. “Yes,” said Sirius, “I’m afraid there was. It wasn’t Harry’s fault at all though, I would like to make that perfectly clear.”

“Accidental magic rarely is,” Madam Bones said generously. “Now, my presence here is actually twofold. First, I would like to know what happened yesterday since the accidental magic occurred in the presence of Muggles. We’ll… discuss the second item after that.”

Sirius glanced at Harry for a moment before speaking. “I got involved in an argument with Harry’s aunt, Petunia Dursley. She said something that angered Harry’s friends, Ron and Ginny Weasley, and they joined in the argument. I’m afraid that, as the argument involved Harry’s upbringing, that he… well, ended up losing control. It was an accident that could have been avoided had I kept my temper.”

Madam Bones considered this for a moment. “You say the argument involved Harry’s upbringing,” she said. “What aspect of his childhood was it that you found to be so dissatisfactory?”

“Amelia,” said Sirius after a short pause, “I don’t know that I care to share the exact details. Information like this becoming public could only further Lord Voldemort’s cause.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably at this. Madam Bones raised her eyebrows, and the monocle she always seemed to be wearing moved very slightly out of place. She corrected this quickly and said, “Explain, Sirius, exactly what you mean by that. I can easily determine for myself if the information should be made public or not.”

There was a pregnant pause where Sirius considered. Harry didn’t dare say anything, did not at all like the idea of anyone involved at the Ministry knowing about his childhood. He felt his heart rate pick up.

“Sirius,” Madam Bones spoke, “if there is something that has happened to Harry that you genuinely think could further You-Know-Who’s cause, I need to be made aware.”

Still nothing.

“Does You-Know-Who have this information?” Madam Bones pressed. “Is this something that he could use to his advantage in recruiting others to join him?”

“Yes,” Sirius answered curtly. “And… yes.”

Madam Bones regarded Sirius for a moment before looking at Harry. “If You-Know-Who is aware, than I need to be, as well.”

Harry closed his eyes as Voldemort’s laughter filled his head and his heart raced. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath, his throat and lungs restricted by the tight band that suddenly seemed to be squeezing his body. “They didn’t try hard enough… This is the home life that Dumbledore chose for you… Naïve child… So weak!”

“Harry, breathe with me, c’mon now, in… and out… follow the rise and fall my chest, you feel it? That’s it, just keep following me…” The litany of calming words were slow to penetrate Harry’s mind, but eventually he realized he was still sitting on his bed at Privet Drive, and he opened his eyes to see Sirius crouched in front of him for the second time that morning, his hands holding Harry’s hand over his chest as he soothed Harry’s frazzled mind and nerves.

“Sorry,” whispered Harry.

“He was abused, wasn’t he?” Harry started, having forgotten that Madam Bones was still in the room. “The Muggles here mistreated him as a child.”

“This isn’t entirely their doing,” sighed Sirius, still holding Harry’s hand to his chest and keeping his breathing even. “But yes, they did.”

There was a long pause.

“I suppose this explains a lot, to be honest,” Madam Bones finally said in a much quieter voice than usual. “Harry’s school record lists several detentions, but if Harry wasn’t taught to trust adults, then it is difficult to know where the boundaries lie in interactions with his teachers and even fellow classmates.” She paused. “How badly?”

“Bad enough,” Sirius answered shortly, finally releasing Harry’s hand and rising. “This has only been his bedroom since his first letter for Hogwarts arrived. Before that, it was the cupboard under the stairs.”

Madam Bones sucked in a surprised breath. Harry kept his gaze averted. He didn’t want to see the shock or even pity that had to be on her face at that moment. He instead focused on keeping the even rhythm of breathing Sirius had established for him.

“He was essentially treated as a house elf growing up because the Dursleys hate magic and thought keeping him as downtrodden as possible would squash the magic out of him,” said Sirius, voice not quite level enough to hide the anger he was clearly still feeling. “Voldemort is a skilled Legilimens, and in his most recent encounter with Harry, he managed to discover the depths of the abuse Harry suffered. This information could easily help him attract followers. Who would want to follow someone like Dumbledore when he insisted that Harry be raised by Muggles who hated him?”

Sirius sat down next to Harry on the bed. “Do you understand the sensitive nature of this information?” he asked Madam Bones. “As much as I want justice for what Harry, there’s a war on, and there’s no way to seek reparations without causing fallout that would hurt our side, hurt Harry. I can’t have that information leaving this room.”

Harry glanced at Sirius before making himself meet Madam Bones’s eyes. She looked at him steadily, no pity on her face. “Do you want justice for their crimes against you?” she asked him simply.

Harry shook his head before he could even think it through. “I just want to get through the rest of my stay here and move on,” he said quietly. “They’re not sorry, they never will be, and the things people would say about them, about me – I don’t want any of it.”

Madam Bones nodded. “Very well,” she said, though she sounded sad. “Consider this case firmly closed, then.” She took a deep breath. “Now, the second reason for why I came is to discuss the upcoming trial of Dolores Umbridge.”

Harry clenched his jaw at the name, hearing her scream the Cruciatus Curse at him and feeling the sensation of burning from the inside out for a few brief moments before he was able to cast the memory from his mind. That foul woman had subjected Harry to some of the worst torment he had ever suffered, and within the walls of Hogwarts itself, a place where Harry had normally felt safe. “What about her?” Sirius asked sharply as Harry fought to control his thoughts. “Gawain Robards assured me that the testimonies given to him and Marcus Proudfoot by Harry and his friends would suffice.”

“I know,” said Madam Bones, “but Fudge is scrambling. Everyone is calling for him to step down because of how badly he bungled You-Know-Who’s return, refusing to believe the truth for a year.”

Sirius snorted. “I’m more than aware enough of Fudge’s scrambling, Amelia.” Harry got the sudden feeling that Sirius knew something he wasn’t telling him. He realized he was gripping his left hand over the scars on his right hand and quickly let go, wincing internally at the deep marks he’d created by digging his nails into his skin.

Madam Bones nodded. “Yes, well, right now he’s insisting that Harry and his friends be questioned by the Wizengamot for the trial instead of just using the testimonies they gave to the Aurors. I’m afraid he believes that having Harry come into the Ministry in person will be a way of showing support for him.”

“I don’t support him!” snapped Harry vehemently. “I don’t support anything the Ministry has done since the day Voldemort came back last year except for Umbridge being arrested and Sirius finally being declared innocent. Testify in public?” He snorted derisively. “Fudge realizes I’m still a minor, right?”

“He knows that he needs parental or guardian permission, yes,” Madam Bones conceded.

“He’s not going to get it,” said Sirius at once, “not from me or any of the others. Augusta Longbottom has been quoted in the Daily Prophet at least two times in the past couple of weeks, criticizing his actions over the last few years, Xenophilius Lovegood doesn’t trust Fudge – you’ve seen his magazine insisting that Fudge is a goblin killer, I’m sure – the Weasleys will not put their children in the spotlight without good reason, and the Grangers will refuse as soon as Hermione says she doesn’t want to, which she undoubtedly will.”

“I know,” said Madam Bones, “but there could be something gained from having Harry testify publicly.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “I’m not following,” he said.

“A public testimony would mean facing Umbridge again,” said Madam Bones. Harry already didn’t like it on that single detail alone. “This would be a chance for the public to see that Harry is unafraid to face someone who has hurt him. They have read about his encounter with You-Know-Who at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, but something like this with eyewitnesses –”

“There were eyewitnesses in that graveyard,” Harry cut her off grumpily. “It’s not my fault they were Death Eaters.”

“Of course,” said Madam Bones, “but I mean members of the general public. They have had precious few glimpses of you, and as much as I dislike it, using your fame to your advantage would certainly boost public morale. You have seen the most recent edition of the Daily Prophet, have you not?”

Harry shook his head right as an owl flew in through the open window with the Daily Prophet clutched in its talons. Harry quickly crossed to the owl, paid it, and unfolded his newspaper.

“This is how you deal with fame, Harry?” Voldemort laughed in his mind as he took one look at the headline and dropped the entire paper.

HARRY POTTER: THE CHOSEN ONE?




Sirius barely managed to catch the newspaper before it hit the floor. He stared at the headline, which also contained a photo of Harry looking uncomfortable; instantly, he recognized it as having been taken the day his innocence had been officially declared at the press conference three weeks ago. Glancing up at Harry, he was pleased to meet bright green eyes that were wide, but focused, which made him feel comfortable enough to quickly read through the article. He noted that it was filled only with suspicions and no real facts beyond what little the public already knew: Death Eaters and Voldemort had tried to access the Department of Mysteries, and Harry had been there that same night.

“Not a lot of hard evidence in this, Amelia,” he said dryly.

“But not without merit, all the same,” replied Amelia. “I happen to know the Hall of Prophecies took some damage that night” – Sirius noted that Harry shifted uneasily at this – “and I know you were both there that night. The public needs something to bolster them in this time of fear. The idea of Harry being the Chosen One gives them hope, something to believe in.”

“It also gives them an excuse to not do anything to help fight against Voldemort,” snapped Sirius. “Let’s just put all the responsibility on a child and wait it out. Harry will take care of it!” he added sarcastically. “It’s rubbish.”

“Harry has the power to do something about this, though,” Amelia responded levelly. “The Wizarding world will listen to him, Sirius. He does not need to say whether he is or is not the Chosen One, but he could demonstrate that he stands up for what he believes in and face Umbridge directly at her trial.”

“Harry isn’t even sixteen yet,” said Sirius, temper flaring. “Grown adults should know better than to place all this on him.”

“People struggle to think rationally when they are scared,” Amelia reminded him calmly. “Should they know better? Yes, absolutely. Do they know better right now?” She shook her head and said, “No, I rather think they don’t. That’s why this headline exists, Sirius.” She sighed. “Rita Skeeter gave the public their first real glimpse of Harry during the Triwizard Tournament, and as horribly skewed as it was, they ate it up and begged for more. Harry being in control of his image should be a greater priority to you. The corruption within the Ministry at the height of You-Know-Who’s reign the last time might just occur once more, but if Harry gets ahead of it and gives the people something concrete –”

“They will be less likely to turn on him should anything like the last time happen again,” Sirius finished for her. He looked over at Harry, seeing, not for the first time, just how young his godson was. Harry stared back at him, green eyes still wide behind his glasses, looking so scared and overburdened it made his heart ache. “She has a point, Harry,” he finally said quietly, hating himself for having to say it. Harry didn’t deserve to have these kinds of burdens placed on him.

“But I don’t –” Harry broke off, shoving his hands through his unruly hair and making it stick up even worse than usual. The resemblance to James struck Sirius quite heavily in that moment. He watched as Harry looked around his room, thinking hard, before he met Sirius’s gaze again. “I want her put away,” he said, voice a little firmer and certain. “I don’t want her in the position to ever hurt anyone else. I said I’d do whatever it takes, and I – I meant it.”

Amelia nodded. “Umbridge’s trial has been set for the second of August,” she informed them. “You’ll receive an owl closer to the day with details about the time and location.” She rose. “I will be having Auror Proudfoot contact the other students,” she added, “but if you wish to provide advance warning, please feel free to do so.” She reached out to shake Sirius’s hand. “I remember the day you were sentenced without a trial, Sirius,” she said sadly. “I was not a fan of Crouch’s rules at the time, and because of that, I have not let a single arrest go without a trial during my tenure as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Whether a person is guilty or not, our justice system should not put anyone away without a fair hearing.”

Sirius nodded his agreement.

“It has been a pleasure to speak with you again, Harry,” Amelia told Harry as she shook his hand next. “My niece Susan has had nothing but high praise for your strength of character and ability to teach.”

Harry blinked, looking surprised. “She told you about the D.A.?” he asked.

“As soon as Fudge started going around saying Albus Dumbledore was putting together an army of students to take on the Ministry, I reached out to her to see what she knew. She was quick to disabuse me of Fudge’s claims and told me the truth. You are an accomplished, strong young man, Harry,” said Amelia firmly, “The public deserves to know this about you above all else.”

Sirius saw her to the front door, giving Harry a chance to be alone for a minute or so. He figured the boy needed a few moments to come to terms with everything that had just been dumped on him. “Despite everything he’s been through,” said Amelia, pausing in the front doorway, “Harry’s will to… carry on is much stronger than most.”

“Abuse can create strong survival instincts,” Sirius replied quietly. “I’m very lucky to be able to be a part of his life and help him find what even footing I can.”

“That you are,” agreed Amelia. “Take care, Sirius.”

“You, too.” Sirius shut the door and returned to Harry’s room just in time to see Remus’s Patronus fly into the room.

Harry had startled and fallen over onto his bed as the giant wolf opened its mouth. “Sirius, you need to come into Headquarters,” Remus’s voice issued from it. “There was an attack early this morning.” The Patronus vanished.

“How did –?” Harry started to ask.

“It’s a special trick with a Patronus,” Sirius answered him quickly, “Dumbledore developed it just for Order members.” He sighed and turned to Harry. “I’ve got to go, but I promise I’ll return as soon as I can. Just… sit tight in here, and stay away from the Muggles, all right?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, getting off the bed. “I will. Be careful.”

Sirius grabbed Harry in a quick hug and set off for the corner of Privet Drive, Apparating at once and landing on the patch of grass at the center of the small square where Grimmauld Place stood. He quickly hurried across it to the door of his ancestral home and let himself in.

Remus was just inside. “Hurry,” he whispered, “they’re about to start.”

“What’s going on?” Sirius asked him quietly. “You know how loath I am to leave Harry alone right now.”

“I know,” Remus told him as they headed for the kitchen, “but Albus said it’s urgent.”

And so it was.

“Emmeline Vance is dead,” Albus announced to the group once they had all gathered. “Killed in the early hours of this morning in an attack not far from Downing Street.”

“We were supposed to meet an hour ago so I could give her my report on the Muggle Prime Minster,” Kingsley spoke up in his slow, even voice, “but instead, I found her body. The Death Eaters made it look like a horrible, drawn-out Muggle murder, but it is quite clear to us she was tortured extensively with the Cruciatus curse before being stabbed to death.”

“How did they get her?” asked Sirius, shaken. He’d only just spoken to her last night. She had been alive a mere handful of hours ago!

“Someone in the Ministry must know I work for the Order,” said Kingsley. “She and I had no other reason to meet.”

Sirius noticed Severus Snape in a corner because he shifted ever so slightly at this. He had yet to speak directly to the man since realizing that he was actually on their side due to his prolonged loyalty to the memory of Harry’s mother. The fact that he had turned spy because of her and possibly stayed a spy only because of her left him feeling deeply unsettled.

“This is a devastating loss,” sighed Albus. “Emmeline’s involvement in our plans was of great importance, and we will miss her.”

“The Muggle news knows about her murder,” added Kingsley. “I’m afraid I must return to my post by the Muggle Minister’s side and do what I can.” He was quickly excused, and the meeting wrapped up shortly thereafter.

Bill, Molly and Arthur caught Sirius before he could follow Remus out and return to Privet Drive. “Ron and Ginny explained what happened yesterday,” Molly told him, eyes shining brightly with her emotions. “I just… how did we never know how bad it really was?”

“Harry was embarrassed about it,” Sirius told her, all-too-aware that Snape hadn’t left the room yet. “Honestly, I think he would’ve preferred to forget most of it ever happened.”

“Ginny didn’t sleep much last night,” Arthur informed him sadly. “She was too wound up about it and kept blaming herself for creating the entire situation in the first place, even had her first panic attack in almost two years.”

“I’m sorry to hear that," said Remus quietly.

"We all suspected that Harry was abused as a child,” sighed Sirius. “The way Harry was ready to leave those Muggles forever when he’d barely even met me spoke volumes once I stopped to think about it, but without him ever admitting anything –”

“Has Potter been complaining about his home life again?” Snape interrupted with a gleam in his eye that set Sirius on edge at once.

“Butt out, Snape,” he snapped despite the calming hand Remus placed on his shoulder. “What’s going on in Harry’s life is no concern of yours.”

Snape smiled unpleasantly. “The Dark Lord entrusted me with the knowledge of everything he saw in the boy’s mind,” he said, and Sirius froze. “He knew I was attempting to teach the boy Occlumency on the headmaster’s orders, and he knew how poorly Potter was doing with it.”

“Like you made it remotely possible for him to really even try,” snarled Sirius, knowing he was rising to the other man’s bait, but unable to stop himself in the face of his godson’s honor.

“Potter lacked the motivation to be successful in my tutelage,” Snape replied coolly, “but that does not mean he was completely inept. The things the Dark Lord found in his mind went beyond what I saw during our lessons together. Potter was able to suppress the worst of his upbringing from me, and I would have never realized this had it not been for what the Dark Lord told me. His skill matched with the unique connection he has to Potter’s mind made it all too easy for him to see the parts of the boy that he has worked so hard to hide away. He is keeping the knowledge between us for the time being,” he added, “but I believe he will use the knowledge to sway others to his side in time.”

This confirmed what Sirius had feared since learning of the mental attack. “We have been afraid of that,” said Remus sadly, and Sirius nodded his agreement. “The public is going to be less likely to trust Albus if they find out because they know he’s the one who put Harry there to begin with.”

Snape nodded and turned to leave.

“Thank you for sharing this information with us, Professor Snape,” Bill spoke up. “After what Ron and Ginny learned yesterday, we’ve been worrying over how much of it You-Know-Who also knew.”

Snape turned back, eyes sweeping over Sirius. “Children who are… abused, tend to act in ways that can be perceived as arrogance,” he said quietly.

“He’s not James,” replied Sirius just as quietly. “I hope you’ve figured that out now.”

Snape eyed Sirius for a long moment, gave a curt nod, and departed. Sirius sighed and leaned against the kitchen table. “That’s probably the most civil conversation we’ve ever had,” he remarked, and Remus chuckled in agreement.

“How is Harry doing?” Molly asked Sirius.

“He’s managing,” he answered. “I had to wake him up from a pretty bad nightmare early this morning, and then…” Recalling the conversation he and Harry had had with Amelia Bones, he quickly launched into that story, noting the pale and worried expressions on their faces.

“We saw the headline this morning,” sighed Molly when Sirius described Harry’s reaction to the day’s edition of the Daily Prophet. “I was so worried about how he’d take it.”

“As was I,” said Remus quietly. “He’s far too young to have to deal with things like this.”

“If Harry’s going to testify in the trial, I know Ron and Ginny will want to be there, as well,” Arthur told Sirius once he finished his tale.

“Agreed,” said Bill nodding. “After everything they learned yesterday, the last thing either of them want to do is leave him alone.”

“I expect that Hermione, Luna, and Neville will feel the same,” said Remus, nodding.

“I should tell you, though, Ron and Ginny are both grounded for their behavior yesterday,” added Molly. “I will not be allowing them to go near those Muggles again. I don’t dare go near them, myself, to be honest.”

“It’s hard,” agreed Sirius. “I don’t know how I’m managing, and I’ve only had the one night there so far.”

“You’ll manage for Harry’s sake if nothing else,” said Remus mildly.

“Did he eat breakfast this morning?” asked Bill. “Only it seems everything that happened has put both Ginny and Ron off food.”

“I can see Ginny skiving off meals, but Ron’s not eating, as well?” said Sirius in surprise. “That’s new for him. Harry didn’t get dinner last night, but he ate a decent amount this morning before Amelia showed up. I’m determined the kid actually puts on some weight to go with the growth spurt he’s suddenly having.”

“A real growth spurt?” said Molly, looking both surprised and pleased. “How wonderful!”

Sirius grinned and nodded. “Anyway, I should be getting back to Harry now. I told him to stay in his room and avoid the Muggles, and hopefully he listened for once.” Molly and Arthur promised to speak to their children as well as reaching out to Hermione, Neville, and Luna, and Sirius departed for Privet Drive.

Vernon happened to be just inside the entryway when Sirius came in and shot an annoyed look at him, but otherwise said nothing. Sirius ignored him and bounded up to Harry’s room, knocking briefly before entering.

Harry was sitting at his desk, reading the article that had been written about him. “Hey,” he said quietly, glancing up. “Everything okay?”

Sirius sighed. “Emmeline Vance was murdered in the early hours of this morning,” he told Harry, who paled and sat up straight. He knew Harry was no doubt thinking of the fact that they’d just barely spoken the night before. “Kingsley says she was murdered close to Downing Street, so it’ll make the Muggle news for sure.”

“That’s…” Harry trailed off, looking unsettled.

“Yeah,” said Sirius, “I know.” He slumped onto Harry’s bed. “Quite the morning we’re having today.”

Harry nodded absently, eyes straying back to the article. Sirius considered, then asked, “What do you make of that?” He gestured to the Daily Prophet.

“They’ve pretty much got the right idea,” said Harry, “even if they don’t know it for sure.” He leaned back against his desk chair and looked at Sirius. “Dumbledore hasn’t said anything about how I’m supposed to defeat Voldemort to you, has he?”

Sirius shook his head. “I’ve tried cornering him a couple times, but all he’s saying is that it’s not the right time to discuss it.” He scowled. “He promised you the truth, so either he doesn’t actually know –”

“Or he’s got an idea, but not enough proof,” Harry finished quietly. “Neither of which is exactly comforting right now.”

Sirius agreed. “What’s most important, though,” he said, “is that you’ve got support. Me, Ginny, your friends, the Order… we’re not going anywhere, I hope you know that.”

Harry nodded again, and Sirius decided it was high time for a proper distraction. He pulled out the playing cards and spent the last bit of the morning doing everything he could to take Harry’s mind off things. This morning had been difficult enough as it was.

Back to index


Chapter 10: Troubled

Author's Notes: I've promised some of you an interaction between Ron and Bill regarding Ginny's revelation that Hermione snogged Krum, and we've reached that point. We've also had some buildup with Hermione over her mother's concern about how Harry's been treated by his relatives that gets some pay-off here with far-reaching consequences for Hermione's character that I'm still exploring. It was necessary to write, but also quite painful. We also get to explore a bit of the deeper parts of Ginny's psyche here. She is very confident, but like any of us, there are insecurities she struggles with. Enjoy!


Chapter Ten: Troubled



There was a knock on Ron’s bedroom door.

He ignored it.

The knocking came again. “Ron?” came Bill’s voice. “I know you’re in there.”

“Go away,” said Ron morosely.

He heard Bill sigh, the lock on his door turn with a whispered incantation, and then the door opened.

“Oh, kid,” sighed Bill after a moment, “it’s not that bad.”

Ron snorted. “Not a kid anymore, Bill.”

“No, I suppose not.” The door shut behind Bill as he approached Ron. He sat down at the foot of Ron’s bed, and Ron barely spared him a glance before resuming his activity of staring out his window at the cloudy sky outside.

“Ginny told me what happened yesterday,” Bill said at length.

Ron didn’t respond.

“Mum says you’re both grounded from going back this summer.”

Again, Ron said nothing.

“I know you feel like you failed Harry –”

“You don’t know what I’m feeling right now, Bill, so leave it alone,” Ron bit out tersely.

He could feel Bill’s eyes on his back. “Enlighten me, then.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Bill snorted. “It’s okay to feel guilty about what happened, you know.”

“I don’t feel guilty.”

“So that’s why you’re avoiding food for the first time in your entire life?” said Bill, sounding faintly amused. “Breakfast was over an hour ago. Mum, Dad, and I all had time for an Order meeting, and you’re still up here.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Not hungry.”

“Very unlike the Ron I know.”

“And what do you know, exactly?” Ron burst out, finally turning to face his eldest brother. “You’ve hardly been around my whole life, you know that? First Hogwarts, then off to Egypt, you barely know a thing about me!”

Bill’s expression was unreadable, and Ron scowled, turning back around to stare out the window again.

“I know,” said Bill quietly after a minute or so of silence. “I can’t change the past, but I’m here now, Ron. And I want to help.”

Ron sighed and turned back to Bill. “Help with what, exactly?” he asked brusquely. “I’m –” He broke off, realizing he was about to say the same thing Harry always said.

I’m fine.

Bill raised his eyebrows expectantly, and Ron groaned into his hands. “Merlin’s balls, I’m acting just like him,” he muttered.

“Well, Harry is your best friend,” said Bill in an amused voice, and Ron looked up to see a small smile on his face. “I’d be surprised if you hadn’t picked up any of his behaviors.”

Ron smiled despite his dour mood. “I don’t really want to talk about Harry,” he finally said. “Yesterday was… a lot, and I’m upset about it, of course I am, but that’s not…”

“That’s not what has you troubled right now,” finished Bill. “Are you going to pull a Harry and sulk all day, or are we going to talk about it?”

Ron laughed softly and shook his head. “It’s just – I learned something back on Thursday, something that I… I dunno, it just bothers me a lot, and I can’t…” He groaned and ran his hands through his hair, frustrated that he couldn’t figure out how to put his thoughts into words.

“You mean Ginny’s comment about Hermione having snogged Viktor Krum.”

“How do you know about that?” asked Ron in surprise. “We didn’t even see you around here the last two days!”

“She told me early this morning,” answered Bill. “She… didn’t sleep well last night. Seems our sister feels really bad about what happened yesterday and her part in it.”

“Well, I mean, it was going to have to come out one way or another,” said Ron with a shrug. “We weren’t leaving it alone, and Harry sometimes lets things slip he doesn’t want to when he’s pressured enough.”

Bill nodded. “Ginny wrote a letter to Hermione already.”

“Not surprised.”

“She borrowed Pig.”

“Don’t care.”

Bill shifted on the bed a bit. “Tell me how you feel about Hermione, Ron,” he said after a moment.

Ron looked away, feeling his face warm. “I don’t know,” he answered at length, “It’s just – she snogged Krum! He was one of the Champions, he was competing against Harry, his headmaster was an ex-Death Eater, and he – why him?”

He hadn’t expected all of that to come out of his mouth. He stared resolutely out the window again, feeling a mixture of shame and rage he couldn’t sort out.

“There’s a lot to unpack there, Ron,” said Bill with surprising seriousness. “Are you upset that Hermione was seeing a world-famous Seeker, that he was competing against your best friend, that he came from a school with a reputation for teaching the Dark Arts… or is it the fact that Hermione snogged someone who wasn’t you?”

Ron had no idea how to answer this question. Was he jealous that Hermione had dated someone famous? Not exactly, though it had stung a bit. He hadn’t really hated that Krum had been a Champion, nor was it so bothersome that Durmstrang had a negative reputation borne mostly from the time of Grindewald’s reign of terror over most of Europe.

That left Bill’s last option.

“Why him and not me?” The words were so softly spoken that Ron wasn’t sure that Bill heard him, but after a moment, Bill moved over next to him and slung an arm around his shoulders.

“You have undoubtedly felt overshadowed a lot,” he told Ron sadly. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to have five older brothers, let alone a best friend who’s fame stems from an event he doesn’t even remember –”

“Harry does remember it,” Ron cut him off stiltedly. “Every time the dementors get close to him, he remembers what happened that night.”

Bill stiffened a bit at this. “That’s… horrible.”

Ron nodded.

“My point is,” Bill continued after a moment, “you probably feel overshadowed by everyone else. Mum and Dad didn’t have a lot of money to spare for your needs, so you got a lot of things second-hand. It’s hard not to feel jealous, but a relationship is different. Hermione isn’t some second-hand thing you’d be getting from someone else –”

“I never said she was!” said Ron hotly.

“But you think it to a certain extent,” Bill responded evenly. “Harry and Ginny both saw other people before they got together. Do you think Harry is angry that Ginny dated that Michael boy?” Ron shook his head. “Do you think Ginny is upset that Harry saw what’s-her-name?”

“No,” sighed Ron. “I suppose not.”

“You can’t fault people for the relationships they had in the past,” said Bill. “You know I’ve seen plenty of girls over the years, and Fleur definitely dated other guys before she met me. I don’t care about who she was with before. I love her, and that’s what is most important.”

He leaned forward to meet Ron’s eyes. “If you care about Hermione as much as I think you do,” he went on, “then you’ll accept that her past is what it is and pursue the future you want with her. If that means snogging some Muggle girl down in the village to get some experience this next week before Hermione arrives, I’m more than happy to offer some pointers” – Ron’s face felt hot again – “but if it means waiting a bit, carefully testing the waters, just sticking to your friendship, whatever, then I’ll support that, too.” His expression grew serious. “What I won’t support is you acting a total git to a girl you’ve known for five years because of a choice she made when you were too thick to see what you really wanted.”

Ron was speechless, but he forced himself to nod. “On that note,” said Bill more lightly, “I do have a suggestion if you’re serious about Hermione.” He reached for the foot of the bed and grasped a book Ron hadn’t seen him bring in. He handed it to Ron, who saw it was entitled Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches.

“Is this –?”

“I got it as a gag gift from Fred and George after I announced my engagement to Fleur,” said Bill with a grin, “but I actually enjoyed it quite a bit. I mean, I was always good with the ladies” – Ron rolled his eyes, but grinned back at his brother – “but if I think it’s useful, you’ll learn from it for sure.”

Ron stared at the book’s cover for a moment before looking at Bill. “Thanks,” he said sincerely. Just then, his stomach gave a very audible rumble.

Chuckling, Bill slid off the bed. “Mum left a plate for you in the kitchen under a Stasis Charm,” he said warmly. “I think she knew you wouldn’t stay up here forever.”

Ron laughed, and, setting the book aside, headed downstairs with Bill to eat. That conversation had been rather difficult, but now, Ron found himself feeling… lighter, almost. He resolved to read the book Bill had given him and commit its teachings to heart.

It was about time he figured out how to take matters into his own hands.



Pigwidgeon was fluttering around Hermione’s room quite haphazardly when she entered, having just finished breakfast. It took her a moment to realize that he was weighed down by the incredibly thick envelope he had clutched in his tiny talons. Trying not to laugh, Hermione reached out and, after a couple tries, managed to catch the tiny owl and remove the letter from his grasp. He collapsed, exhausted, on her desk, and she hurried back to the kitchen to get him a bit of leftover bacon and a small dish of water, which he accepted with a rather feeble ‘hoot’ of thanks. Hermione settled on her bed and quickly opened the envelope, pulling free more sheets of parchment than she had ever seen Ginny use in any of her letters to her.

Dear Hermione,

I messed up. I can’t sleep. I feel like it’s all my fault.

Sorry. I really should explain.

We went to Harry’s yesterday with Sirius. You were right about the trauma thing you talked about when Ron and I visited you on Thursday. Harry has been having flashbacks to when he was trapped in Voldemort’s mind. Every time he flinches or gets this glassy-eyed look, he’s hearing Voldemort laughing at him or mocking him just like he did that night. And we know it was at least two hours of being tormented by him, so there’s a lot of material to draw from. He’s triggered so easily, and you never quite know what’s going to set it off. I’m really worried that now that the truth is out, panic attacks will start to follow. They did for me, after all.

But that’s not what I messed up about. I’m getting to that.

We got him to talk, really talk. We already knew Dudley was a bully, but Harry says his aunt would sometimes try to hit him with objects like a frying pan. She yelled more than anything else, though. It’s his uncle that’s the problem. He actually strangled Harry last summer! STRANGLED HIM, Hermione! Harry said it was just after Mundungus had Disapparated close by, and he had his wand out. His uncle got him round the throat and demanded he put his wand away.

Merlin, Hermione, Harry thinks it’s normal to get smacked round the head when you mess up, and then he goes and says his uncle has only ever hit Dudley once, but he was their son, so why would they want to hit him on the regular? He doesn’t see how contradictory that is because it’s just NORMAL for him. Emotional abuse, neglect, and physical abuse, Hermione! And Harry thinks it’s just how life is for him in this awful place!

Then Harry slipped and almost said a word I don’t think he wanted us to hear when he was talking about his uncle. He said, and I quote, “he mostly shouted a lot and shut me up in my cup – my room.” Do you see what he almost said?

THE CUPBOARD UNDER THE STAIRS USED TO BE HIS BEDROOM.


Hermione stopped reading, the parchment slipping from her numb fingers.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, staring at the comforter on her bed without really seeing it. Out of all the things they had ever suspected about Harry’s life with his relatives, they had never…

The cupboard under the stairs?

How badly could someone not want an innocent child in their home that they would stoop to something so… so horrible?

“Hermione, I heard you hurry down the kitchen and back. Did an owl from one of your friends come to – Hermione, what’s wrong?”

Hermione didn’t – couldn’t – answer. She needed –

She needed to finish the letter.

Scrambling for the parchment, she picked it up as her mother slowly approached her bed and continued on.

Hermione, it’s just like Fred and George described. It only locks from the outside, no light in it, and it’s so small. But they missed an important detail. I can’t blame them, though, you’d have only noticed if the lights in the house were on or if it was daylight – he wrote “Harry’s Room” near the bottom of the door in crayon when he was little. It’s easy to miss if you’re not looking for confirmation of the truth like I was.

Harry says that’s where he lived until his first letter for Hogwarts showed up. They moved him up to ‘Dudley’s second bedroom’ after that. I’m guessing the letter must have listed the cupboard on it. I can’t see why else they would have made the change when they did.

I understand Harry now. The way he risks his life for everyone else, the defiance, the independence, all of it – they taught him that he doesn’t matter. Everyone else comes before him, and you know what rankles me the most? They don’t care. They don’t love him. They gave him a roof over his head, and since he’s still alive, they “did their part.” Can you believe the nerve of them?

I overreacted. We all did. You know I get into rows with Mum almost every day I’m home, but this was so much worse because we were all screaming at each other, me, Ron, Sirius, the aunt, even the cousin. And then Petunia called Harry a freak and I was ready to hex her then and there, but Harry – it was accidental magic, I don’t know many people who still do that at this age, but he unleashed this massive wave of power that knocked everyone off their feet, and then he bolted.

Don’t worry, Hermione, he’s OK. Dumbledore found him and brought him back, and members of the Order came over to set a perimeter just in case before Harry’s uncle came home from work. He’s a real piece of work, and I swear on Merlin’s pants I would happily hex the man into oblivion if Harry would let me. He called me a WHORE, the fat lout! If Sirius hadn’t already taken my wand, he would have had flying bogeys out his nose faster than you could say S.P.E.W.! I did smack him, at least, but I wish I could have done much worse.

Anyway, Dumbledore insisted that Harry still needed to stay for another week to ensure the protection continues, but Sirius is going to be staying with him the whole time to make sure nothing else can happen ever again. I don’t think they were starving him this summer, but Sirius thinks they fed him smaller portions at breakfast and dinner, so he’s likely not been eating as well as he should. And I was right about his sleeping – nightmares, basically every night. I barely slept at all last night myself because I just keep seeing what I did. I even had a panic attack when Ron and I told Mum everything. Hermione, I made this happen. I pushed too hard. Yes, the truth is out in the open now, but was it worth the price Harry paid? I don’t know.

I am glad I know the truth. We’ve all suspected something for years now, and now we know. It’s weird, though. There’s what I thought was going on, and what really happened, and it’s not what I thought, but at the same time, it’s worse than I ever could have suspected. A cupboard? I don’t know how to be OK with that, Hermione. How can I be grateful that Harry’s alive when the cost was his right to be a happy, healthy and loved child? How can I be grateful when I know those Muggles feel NO remorse for what they’ve done? And obviously Voldemort knows the truth, he must have seen it in Harry’s mind that night, and understanding what happened has me so worried about how he will use that knowledge to his advantage. He could bolster his ranks with those who were merely sympathizers before, and that terrifies me. There isn’t a way to go public with the truth that doesn’t leave his side better off than ours. I want to do something other than sweep it all under the rug like it never happened, but we can’t jeopardize Harry or even Dumbledore in any way, and it makes me feel so angry over the whole thing.

Harry deserves justice, but I know he wouldn’t want it, anyway. He probably just wants to finish his stay and move on for the year, but I can’t let it go. Maybe we can’t get justice, but we can at least try to help him heal from everything.

Mum’s grounded me and Ron from going back to Privet Drive. I don’t like it, but I also don’t blame her. I don’t think she wants to go anywhere near that place for fear of what she might do. I shouted a lot and threatened to hex Dudley. Mum would probably hex the lot of them if given the chance. After all, it’s not like she isn’t a capable witch.

I hate this. I hate the truth. I hate those Muggles. I hate that Harry has been so deeply hurt by them. He doesn’t deserve the life he’s got, he deserves so much better it makes my heart hurt to think about it. I want so much more for him, Hermione.

I think I might be able to sleep now. Thank you for reading my novella. You’re a good friend.

Love,
Ginny


Hermione was deeply troubled by the information. Proof of abuse and neglect stared her right in the face. It was not what she had worried it could be, but it was definitely worse than any of them had suspected.

“Cupboard under the stairs?” whispered Jean, and Hermione started, remembering that her mother had walked in on her as she was reading Ginny’s letter. It had taken up four sheets of foot-long parchment from Ginny’s unusually large and slanted writing (clear signs she had written quickly in a very emotional state of mind). Hermione had tossed each sheet aside as she’d read, and she regretted it at the moment.

“Mum…”

“Harry slept in a cupboard under the stairs until his letter for Hogwarts arrived?” Jean’s expression was as troubled as Hermione was feeling at the moment.

“Mum, I –”

“What exactly are the witches and wizards involved in this situation doing about it?” asked Jean sharply. “What did your friend say?”

“Harry’s godfather is going to stay with him full time for the next week –”

“They didn’t remove him from that awful house?”

“Mum,” said Hermione desperately, “Harry has to stay there for safety reasons.”

“What safety reasons could possibly be more important than protecting him from his abusers?” Jean’s voice was raised, something most unlike the normally calm and respectable dentist she usually was. “He’s in a house of people who apparently hated him so much they locked him away in the smallest space they could find! This letter lists emotional abuse, neglect, and physical abuse, Hermione. That’s more than enough to lock up those adults and get Harry and his cousin safely into foster care!”

Hermione shook her head, feeling cornered. “He can’t go into foster care,” she told her mother. “It would be too dangerous for him.”

“More dangerous than sharing a roof with people who hate him?”

“A man called Voldemort is trying to kill him!”

Jean paused, lowering the sheet of parchment in her hands. “You’ve said that name before. Who is he, exactly?”

Hermione bit her lip, hating how blurred the lines suddenly were between her life with her parents and her life as a witch. “He’s evil,” she finally said. “A tyrant. Harry’s famous because Voldemort tried and failed to kill him as a baby. Everyone thought Voldemort was gone for good, but he wasn’t. He survived the Killing Curse he tried to kill Harry with, and about a year ago, he managed to return to full power. He’s… he’s angry that Harry survived, and he’s tried to kill him again and again without success. That’s why Harry’s famous.” She sighed as she looked her mother in the eye. “That’s also why he goes back to the Dursley’s home every summer. Professor Dumbledore enacted an ancient magic that keeps Harry safe from Voldemort so long as he still has a home with his relatives.”

“And a cupboard under the stairs qualified as home?” said Jean disbelievingly.

“It… it just required houseroom,” said Hermione softly. “That wasn’t much, I’ll admit, but it was enough.”

Jean didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I can’t sit here and let this situation continue as it is, Hermione,” she said at last. “I also don’t think you’re hearing yourself. You want Harry to stay with abusers to protect him from a single man –”

“Voldemort has followers who would capture Harry in a heartbeat if given the chance,” Hermione cut her off. “They would track down his relatives and torture them just to try and get Harry to attempt to save them, and I know he would do it, no matter how he feels about them. The magic I talked about keeps all of them safe from Voldemort and his followers. Don’t you see, Mum, the normal rules don’t apply to Harry!”

“I don’t agree with that. Harry’s personal well-being needs to come before anything else.”

It seemed they had reached an impasse.

“You want to report them.”

“Your father and I have waited long enough.”

Hermione sighed. “Would you wait long enough to listen to what Professor Dumbledore has to say about it? He’s the one who placed Harry there in the first place.”

“I might slap him for what he’s allowed to happen to your friend.”

Hermione smiled a bit. “Just – please wait, Mum. Talk with him. You won’t listen to me, but maybe you’ll listen to him.”

“I’ll listen,” said Jean. “It doesn’t mean I’ll change my mind.”

Hermione was soon writing a letter to Professor Dumbledore. She couldn’t wait until Christmas break. She needed him there now.

It was just after lunchtime when there came a knock at the door. Hermione rushed to answer it, grateful to see Professor Dumbledore standing there in resplendent robes of midnight blue. “Professor,” she said in relief. “I’m so glad you were able to come on such short notice.”

“Your letter was rather troubling, Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore with a nod. “Might I come in?”

“Oh, yes, of course!” Hermione stepped back at once to allow the headmaster entry to her home and escorted him to the living room. Her parents were quick to come in, and Hermione perched nervously on the edge of the armchair she took next to Dumbledore while her parents settled on the couch, Hermione’s father, Hugo, looking distinctly uncomfortable while Jean looked determined.

“A good afternoon to you all,” said Dumbledore pleasantly. “It is my understanding that there are some concerns regarding your daughter’s friend Harry.”

“Yes,” said Jean at once. “Hermione’s friend Ginny Weasley sent her a letter this morning stating quite unequivocally that Harry has suffered emotional and physical abuse as well as neglect while in the care of his relatives.”

“This is correct,” said Dumbledore somberly. “We confirmed this the previous evening.”

“Why is he still living there?” asked Hugo. “My wife and I do not see how this is conducive to a healthy or thriving environment for him.”

“A trusted adult is with him at all times.”

“I don’t care,” said Jean shortly. “He should have been removed from that house years ago. Did none of his teachers ever suspect what was going on?”

“No,” said Dumbledore quietly. “I have looked into his public school records in the past, and other than a note home about having his vision checked in fourth year, there was little to suggest they suspected anything at all. If anything, he was in trouble for what we know to be bouts of accidental magic, something that, as you yourselves have experienced with your daughter, our kind have little control over at that young an age. Harry never seems to have had any unusual injuries. He was described as quiet and sickly, with a note explaining his frequent absences were due to illness. He was not a poor student, either, despite the frequent absences.”

“Has Harry ever been sick at Hogwarts?” asked Jean.

“No,” said Hermione, shaking her head. “He’s been the hospital wing a lot, but it was always… sports injuries and the like. Not illness.”

“Who wrote this note saying he was ill frequently, then?”

“It was a doctor’s note,” said Dumbledore. “I do not think Harry’s school had any reason to suspect anything was amiss.”

“What about the oversized hand-me-downs, then? How did that not raise alarm bells?” asked Hugo. “I’m certain Harry’s aunt and uncle always purchased new clothes for their son.”

“I see no evidence that anyone at his primary school ever suspected abuse.”

“How is that even possible?” cried Jean disbelievingly. “How could anyone look at the poor boy and not suspect that all was not well?”

“It my belief,” said Dumbledore, “that Mr. and Mrs. Dursley presented themselves in such a way that no one suspected anything.”

“Or cared,” muttered Jean.

“You know what happened now, though,” said Hugo. “And Harry is still living in that house?”

And Dumbledore explained. And explained. And explained some more. Details beyond anything Hermione had ever wanted to share came to light in the ensuing conversation, but still, her parents would not budge on their stance that the Dursleys needed to be held accountable for their actions.

“And the fact that you placed him there,” said Jean angrily at one point in the conversation. “Did you not know their views on magic?”

“I was aware,” replied Dumbledore evenly. “Harry’s mother certainly loved her sister, but she had spoken multiple times about the damaged state of their relationship. Petunia preferred to pretend that she had no sister most of the time. Still, she took him in.”

“How could protection from this evil wizard be more important than Harry’s right to a loving childhood?” asked Hugo. “I don’t understand how you justified this choice, sir.”

And it went on some more. Hermione kept quiet, waiting for what she was certain was inevitable.

“I cannot in good conscience leave things be,” said Jean firmly after nearly an hour of conversation and heated discussion. “I have to report this to the local authorities. Surely you can understand this?”

“I most certainly do,” said Dumbledore with a respectful nod to Hermione’s mother. “It is important that each of us do that which we know to be right rather than what is easy.” Jean smiled, seeming relieved, but there was something in the headmaster’s voice that gave Hermione pause. “However,” he continued, “there is also the duty one has in war to make decisions which are for the greater good of the many.”

Faster than Hermione could have ever thought possible, Dumbledore had his wand in hand. “Obliviate.”

Jean and Hugo’s eyes slid out of focus.

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to hold back her tears.

“I am sorry, Hermione,” said Dumbledore softly. “Your parents are very good people, and had this been anyone else, I would not have stood in the way of seeking reparations for the harm that had been done to the child in question.”

“But the child in question is Harry,” sighed Hermione, wiping at her eyes.

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore simply as he carefully checked Hermione’s parents. “Although Voldemort himself also knows of the extent of Harry’s childhood, he has only entrusted Professor Snape with the information.” He returned to his seat and spoke to Hermione’s parents again as Hermione processed this. Ginny had worried about this, and Hermione felt horror that Professor Snape also knew everything. She stared at nothing, hearing Dumbledore’s voice again as though from a distance. She dragged herself back to the present moment.

“Mr. and Mrs. Granger, thank you so much for allowing me to come and update you on your daughter’s remarkable progress at Hogwarts. She is incredibly gifted in the magical arts. You should be proud of her.”

Jean and Hugo blinked, confused. “Oh, yes,” said Jean vaguely, “of course. She’s always been one to strive for excellence. I would expect no less of her.”

“Aboslutely,” said Hugo, nodding with a faint smile. “We’re very proud of our daughter.”

Hermione left her parents sitting on the couch shortly after this to escort Dumbledore to the front door. “Voldemort knows,” she said quietly so as not to alert her parents. “Sir, what are his intentions with the information?”

“I believe he will eventually seek to attract more followers to his side with the information,” said Dumbledore, “but for now, he has deigned to keep it quiet.”

Except Professor Snape knows, thought Hermione as she stared at the headmaster. “Shouldn’t we have maybe… wouldn’t it be better to present the information ourselves in a way that wouldn’t have the affect Voldemort might seek?” she asked. “Sir, there has to be a way to control the truth that works in our favor.”

“Wizarding relations with Muggles are already tense, Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore with a sad sigh. “We have had so few known violations of Meridee’s Law in the last few decades, but we are also in a tight spot regarding the situation because it is Muggle cruelty to a magical child. To which laws do we hold the Dursleys accountable? Should it be ours, or theirs? Is it really in Harry’s best interests to hold them accountable?”

“There are no good choices,” whispered Hermione. “I kept telling my parents that, but knowing that Voldemort knows, too…” She sniffed and covered her face with her hands, trying told hold back her tears. She was startled when she felt the headmaster’s hand on her shoulder.

“Sometimes in war there are no good choices,” he sighed as she lowered her hands to look at him again. “Altering your parents’ memories was not an easy choice to make, Miss Granger, but for Harry’s sake, it was necessary. I believe that Harry himself would deny any direct questions or accusations from strangers, and those of us who know the truth are not going to be sharing what we know.” Dumbledore smiled now. “I am aware that Sirius wishes to rectify the clothing situation as soon as possible, and as other adults and peers have tended to view Harry’s penchant for defiance as arrogance” – despite herself, Hermione instantly thought of Professor Snape – “I do not think many will look any deeper.”

Hermione nodded. “Sir,” she asked hesitantly, “do you think – are my parents safe? Voldemort knows all about me, I expect, and my parents are so ignorant to how our world works –”

“The Order is doing all they can to ensure your parents’ safety, Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore kindly. “There may come a time when we are forced to consider other options – the Dursleys will need to go into hiding come next summer when the blood protection ends, for example, but for now, they are safe.”

“Thank you, Professor,” said Hermione with a small smile. “I appreciate it.”

Dumbledore bade her farewell and set off, and Hermione made sure to hide Ginny’s letter away where her mother couldn’t find it. She spent the rest of the day keeping any conversation with her parents as normal and mundane as possible to ensure the Memory Charm didn’t fail in any way.

It was easy to keep the conversation light and airy and happy. It was harder to quiet her guilty conscience. Jean and Hugo had certainly meant well, but Harry… It was different with him. He needed to be protected from the bigger evils of their world. Three Muggles were nothing compared to Lord Voldemort and his followers.

What was it Professor Dumbledore had said? For the greater good. The phrase she recognized as having been Grindewald’s slogan, utilitarian in nature, and yet it succinctly summed up what Hermione had desperately been trying to get her parents to understand. Terrible as the history behind the phrase was, she couldn’t help but cling to words to ease her guilt.

There wasn’t much else that could justify the choices made that day.



Ginny’s stomach rumbled.

She ignored it.

It was all too easy to go off food when she felt so incredibly guilty. She’d developed the habit her first year, and it had been quite difficult to break since then.

Last night had been rough. Ginny had worked herself up into the first panic attack she’d had in nearly two years, and her mother had held her and quietly calmed her down. They had talked at length about what had happened, and while Molly was understandably upset with them regarding how the information had come out, she hadn’t shouted at them. Though, that could have been because Ginny hadn’t been able to get through the whole story before she’d sunk into the panic attack.

Molly had grounded them from going back to Privet Drive that summer, but she’d done so quietly and sadly. “You’re lucky Sirius took your wands when he did,” she had told them gently. “You both came very close to showing the Muggles that we are everything they believe us to be. You can dislike them all you like, but we cannot sink to their level of pettiness and cruelty.”

Still, Ginny hadn’t slept well. She’d written to Hermione, spoken with Bill about a variety of things (including how she’d spilled Hermione’s secret about how far her relationship with Krum had gone right to Ron’s face), and tried to sleep, but she kept seeing the look on Harry’s face when he’d reached his breaking point. She had escaped to the orchard in the early hours of the morning, determined to stay there forever.

Bill had tried to convince her to come inside to eat breakfast sometime after he and their parents had returned from a short meeting with the Order of the Phoenix, but Ginny had refused, feeling only a hint of relief when Bill didn’t magically force her. He’d learned that from the Mind Healer she’d gone to back in Egypt. “You can’t force someone to do something they’re not ready to do, but you can show that you’re there when they are ready.”

Molly had tried to get her inside at lunch, but she’d refused again. Amazingly, her mother hadn’t pushed too hard either, instead returning inside and promising to have food ready when Ginny was up to it.

Would she ever be up to it again?

She hadn’t meant to force Harry into admitting everything like this, and even though she was in agreement with Ron and Sirius that it had needed to happen, the fallout had been… awful. Horrible. She had stripped away every defense callously, almost viciously.

“He mostly shouted a lot and shut me up in my cup – my room.”

The words haunted her almost as much as the sight of those clumsily-written crayon words on the door of the cupboard under the stairs: Harry’s Room.

“Mum’s having kittens about you, you know,” came Ron’s voice. Ginny glanced over her shoulder to see him ambling his way over to her in the late afternoon light, hands shoved in his pockets and thin shoulders hunched.

“I figured as much,” sighed Ginny, turning away to stare at the garden as two gnomes fought over a carrot. “I just – I can’t stop thinking about yesterday.”

“Yeah,” said Ron, dropping down to sit next to Ginny under her chosen tree in the orchard. “Yesterday was rough.”

“It was horrible.”

“The worst.”

Ginny smiled in spite of herself. “I’m glad I know the truth, though.”

“Me, too.”

The smaller gnome was screeching at the larger one for the carrot, which it was just barely clinging to. “I pushed him too hard.”

“You’re pretty good at that.”

Ginny snorted and smacked Ron’s shoulder, though without any heat.

“No one else could’ve done it, though,” added Ron after a moment.

“You don’t know that for sure,” said Ginny quietly.

“That was our whole reason for getting you there, remember?” said Ron with raised eyebrows. “You told Mum that you were probably the best person to figure it all out.”

“You helped.”

“He’s more willing to talk about his childhood around you than he’s ever been with me or Hermione.”

The bigger gnome yanked the carrot away from the smaller gnome at last and ran off, giggling madly as the smaller one gave chase. “I didn’t contribute that much.”

Ron snorted. “He wouldn’t have given us near as much as he did if you hadn’t been there.”

“You give me too much credit.”

“Harry’s my best friend, Ginny,” said Ron stiffly. “I think I’m allowed to decide where credit is due.”

Ginny glanced at him in surprise. “I suppose,” she allowed carefully. “Do… do you think he – that he hates me now?”

Ron actually had to gall to start laughing. Ginny glared at him and waited for his justification of such a horrible reaction, arms crossed over her chest, fingers itching for her wand to jinx him even though she knew she mustn’t give into the childish impulse.

“You – you think he hates you?” Ron finally managed, a wide grin on his face. “Am I the only one who remembers him kissing you goodbye last night?”

“But the look on his face after I apologized –”

“I’m pretty sure that was more from exhaustion than anything else, Ginny,” said Ron, still clearly amused. “He basically hugged you through that entire kitchen confrontation, remember?”

“Yes, but –”

“Seriously,” Ron cut her off, “the idea that he could hate you is about a crazy as the idea that Crumple-Horned Snorkacks are even real!”

Ginny chuckled a bit and shook her head. “I suppose so,” she agreed quietly.

“He’ll get through this,” said Ron confidently. “He’s got Sirius with him at all times for this next week, and then he’s out of there for another year. We’ll see him every day after that, and you can snog him to your hearts’ content” – Ginny’s eyebrows shot up at this – “and we can play Quidditch every day, and Hermione can nag him into talking about his childhood since she’s missed out on all the fun, and you can argue with her about how far to push while you both vie for the chief ‘fussing over Harry’ role with Mum.”

“Wait a minute,” laughed Ginny. “Snog him to my hearts’ content?”

Ron’s face went red, but he actually nodded. “I still can’t say I like… seeing it,” he finally said, “but he’s happier with you. Just… maybe some warning first?”

Ginny sighed and shook her head with a laugh. “You’re an arse, Ronald Weasley.”

“Takes one to know one.”

Ginny really smacked her brother’s shoulder this time. “Ow!” said Ron, rubbing his shoulder with a small scowl.

Ginny grinned at him. “Thank you,” she said. “You’re kind of amazing sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?”

“Don’t push it, Ronald.”

Her stomach growled loudly and Ron raised his eyebrows. “You done starving yourself yet?”

Ginny sighed. Strange as it seemed, talking with Ron had actually made her feel better about everything. It didn’t change Harry’s past, nor did it change the events of the day before, but she felt more confident in being able to move forward to make sure that she did everything she could to help Harry be able to heal.

Snogging him to her hearts’ content would definitely be a bonus to all of that, though.

“Yes,” she finally answered. “I’m starving.”

“There’s the Weasley I knew I was sitting next to,” teased Ron, rising and extending a hand to help Ginny to her feet. She took it and stood, brushing bits of ripped grass and dirt off her jeans before following Ron back to their home.

There was so much to be troubled about, but there was also so much to hope for, to reveal, to heal, and to learn from. Ginny would do everything in her power to see things through.

They owed Harry all of that and more.

Back to index


Chapter 11: Minefield

Author's Notes: Life is so crazy right now! I'm taking a short break between homework assignments that I put off for a couple days (I was busy going to a comic convention with my sister for my birthday) so I can at least post this chapter. I went to a panel for the handsome Matthew Lewis and got a photo op with him while dressed as Luna Lovegood! And then a member of the press from Mugglenet.com saw me and asked for my photo, which really just wrapped up a rather fabulous experience! But yeah, I'm super busy with a lot of stuff going on, like I've mentioned before, so writing has slowed down a lot as a result. Still, I promise that this story will not be abandoned! I'm having a lot of fun figuring out what stays the same from canon and what changes in my plans of future chapters. Thing is, updates are just going to be irregular as I work to balance everything else I have going on. I would love to update weekly, but at this point, don't expect it. I'll update when I can, usually on a weekend, but no promises as to when the next update will be. Thanks for the reviews and input, everyone! I really appreciate every word you all write to me.

So, without further ado, enjoy this next chapter! A bit of dialogue at the end was adapted from HBP chapter 5, "An Excess of Phlegm." Also, a line of Harry's was taken from DH chapter 3, "The Dursleys Departing."


Chapter Eleven: Minefield



Harry's second week at Privet Drive was very quiet in comparison to the first. The Dursleys left Harry and Sirius alone, and they returned the favor in equal measure. Kreacher brought food for them to eat and took care of their laundry so Harry never had to bother Aunt Petunia.

Mrs. Weasley had apparently grounded her children from leaving the Burrow for the entire week because of their “appalling” behavior towards Harry's relatives. Harry missed Ginny quite a bit, but there was also a strange sense of relief he felt at the weeks' distance he would have before being able to see her again. He couldn't quite pinpoint the source of why he felt this way, and he was loathe to bring it up with Sirius until he could figure it out for himself.

Remus Lupin came to visit the day after Madam Bones had been there bearing news of the destruction of Brockdale Bridge when Fudge refused to stand aside for Voldemort. Despite this, Harry and Sirius took him out on a tour of Little Whinging. Now that the truth of the cupboard under the stairs was out, it was becoming a bit easier to talk about other things that had happened in his childhood. Harry could tell by the expressions on the older men's faces that they didn't like anything they heard, but thankfully tempers were kept in check. There was something relieving in talking about the punishments as they had actually occurred, even if it meant occasionally having to pause such discussions to get Harry through another flashback or panic attack (which had started occurring with more frequency now that the truth was out). Unfortunately, the two were often intertwined together, but Sirius had yet to encounter a panic attack he couldn't help Harry manage.

Harder, though, was admitting that he had actually suffered through many periods of near-starvation after having lied to Sirius about it, but Sirius wasn't upset by this. “I lied sometimes, too,” he told Harry as Lupin nodded. “I wasn't always willing to discuss how my parents treated me.”

“I remember the day James told you that his parents had never used any spells or physical harm on him as a form of punishment,” Lupin recalled quietly. “I think that was the day you finally accepted what we'd been trying to say all along about your childhood.”

It somehow put Harry at ease to know that Sirius had struggled to admit to the abuse he had suffered, as well.

When Lupin - Remus - would discuss the things he and Sirius had gotten up to with James and Wormtail during their school years, Harry couldn't help but notice that the stories seemed rather tame in comparison to how Sirius would explain things. “That's Sirius for you,” Remus laughed when Harry pointed this out. “He loves to exaggerate a good tale as much as possible.”

“I do not!” said Sirius indignantly. They bickered about this for a bit before agreeing to disagree.

Honestly, Harry enjoyed every moment of it.

Less fun was the news in the Daily Prophet the very next morning that Amelia Bones had been murdered, and most likely by Lord Voldemort himself. The newspaper was questioning whether or not Fudge was fit for office anymore. And the day after that came the giant attack the West Country.

The Daily Prophet headline on Thursday bore an interesting headline:

SCRIMGEOUR SUCCEEDS FUDGE


“He's better suited for the job right now given the current political climate and his former role as Head of the Aurors,” said Sirius as he read the article while holding a letter, “but he also sent me an owl late last night demanding an audience with you.”

“Why does he want to talk to me?” asked Harry.

“Same reason Fudge did,” said Sirius, showing him the letter he had received. “He wants your support of the Ministry.”

“I don't support them,” said Harry heatedly as he looked over the letter.

“I've already told him to shove it,” Sirius told him firmly. “We're still going through with Umbridge's trial, but I'm not going to let him use you for his own gain in any other way.” He pointed at one part of the article and read it aloud. “It says 'Scrimgeour's representatives admitted that he had contacted Sirius Black and Albus Dumbledore at once upon taking possession of the top job, but refused to comment on the topics under discussion.' Sounds about right,” he scowled. “I bet he tried to convince Dumbledore to override me on this, but seeing as how we're on the same page about at least this issue…” He snagged some toast from the plate Kreacher had delivered and munched on it as he continued to read silently.

Harry looked down at Scrimgeour's letter again. “It's only because people think I'm the Chosen One, isn't it?” he asked.

“Yeah,” answered Sirius, glancing at him. “Where you go, they'll follow.”

Harry didn't much like the sound of that.

On Friday, Harry began cleaning up his room and packing up his things for Kreacher to take the Grimmauld Place the next day. He felt some lingering sadness over not being able to go to the Burrow full-time, but Sirius was firm in his insistence that Harry had to sleep at Grimmauld Place each night.

That evening, after dinner, Sirius said he had to speak with Harry's relatives. “What about?” Harry asked him as he organized the last of his books.

“About next summer,” said Sirius. “Dumbledore says that you need to come back one last time.”

“But the charm ends the moment I turn seventeen,” said Harry, confused. “What good would one extra month do me at that point, anyway?”

Sirius sighed. “One of our concerns is figuring out how to protect your relatives when the protection ends. If Voldemort had them held prisoner, would you try to rescue them?”

Harry paused in his packing, uncertain of how to respond to that. Would he rescue the Durlseys if they were taken by Death Eaters?

“Dumbledore explained it to me that if you left tomorrow with no intentions of coming back, then the charm would break the moment you leave,” Sirius told him. “As much as I don't like them, keeping you safe means protecting their arses, too. And, knowing your uncle, it's probably going to take the whole year just to convince him that they're going to have to go into hiding for their own safety.”

That sounded about right. “So you're going to what, explain this to them tonight?” asked Harry.

“Yeah,” said Sirius. “Should be fun, right?”

That was not the word Harry would have used.

“What?” said Uncle Vernon five minutes later, staring in bewilderment at Sirius. Harry hung back near the kitchen while Sirius explained everything to his aunt and uncle in the living room. Dudley stayed back with him, appearing equal parts curious and confused by the conversation that was taking place.

“We come of age at seventeen in our world,” Sirius explained again with incredible patience, all things considered. “The protection charm Dumbledore created will end once that happens. This creates two problems: first of all, that means Harry becomes permanently vulnerable to attack by Voldemort and his followers, but secondly, it means the protection that you have benefitted from in return” - he looked a bit sour as he said the word - “will end and leave your family exposed, as well.”

Uncle Vernon narrowed his eyes. “Is this some ploy to get the house?”

Harry stifled a laugh as Sirius stared. “The house?” he said, sounding confused. “Why would Harry want this place?”

“Probably all the happy memories,” Harry bit out sarcastically. Voldemort's voice started laughing in his head again, and Harry immediately began to focus on his breathing to stay present.

It looked as though Sirius wanted to either laugh or rant, but he did neither, instead returning his attention to Uncle Vernon. “No, Harry is my heir and subject to inherit all that I own should anything happen to me,” Sirius told him firmly, “which includes a house already.” He couldn't quite contain a smug grin at this.

Harry hadn't known this, but kept quiet about it. He'd ask Sirius more about it later on.

“Voldemort is aware of the relationship - well, lack of, really - that you lot share with Harry,” said Sirius. “Regardless of that relationship, he would send his people here to capture and torture your entire family on the off chance that Harry might actually risk his own life to save yours.” He leaned back in his chair. “Not that I'd encourage him to save your sorry necks, but Harry is incredibly kind despite your abusive nature toward him. I think he would try to save you lot because it's the right thing to do as opposed to the easy thing of letting you suffer for everything you've ever done to him. He rather takes after Lily in that way, don't you think, Petunia?”

Aunt Petunia flushed and looked down, not answering.

“She never loved you.” But Harry already had accepted this, so the words didn't sting. Well, not much, anyway. The laughter and voice were silenced at last.

“So, Harry has to come back next summer,” Sirius went on, clearly having decided that he wasn't going to get a response from the woman. “The Order of the Phoenix, that is to say, the group of us that works to protect Harry and fight the war against Voldemort is going to be preparing a safe house for your family when the time comes to permanently break the protective enchantments next summer. I suggest you start getting your affairs in order during the course of this next year so you can be ready for when that time comes. Members of the Order will be in touch periodically throughout the year to see to it that you are ready when we need you to be.”

“When you need us to be?” Uncle Vernon repeated incredulously.

“Yes,” said Sirius simply. He rose and straightened his jacket. “Harry and I will be leaving first thing in the morning,” he told the Dursleys, “but I expect to see you at Kings Cross next year when term ends. Understood?”

Aunt Petunia nodded quickly, and Sirius and Harry retreated for the night. “I think that went rather well,” remarked Sirius when they entered Harry's room, “don't you?”

“Better than I expected, honestly,” Harry admitted. “You think they'll actually listen to you about getting ready to leave next year?”

“They're going to have to,” answered Sirius with a shrug. “If anything were to happen to them, you would undeniably feel guilty about it.”

This was true. Harry could not abide anyone suffering because of him, and Voldemort knew this, too, would doubtlessly use it against him if given the chance.

“So, what did you mean that I'm your heir?” Harry finally asked.

“Just what I said,” answered Sirius. “Whenever I get around to kicking the bucket, you get everything, including Grimmauld Place and Kreacher if he's still alive.”

“Are you serious?”

“Is that not my name, kiddo?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You're incorrigible,” he groaned, knowing he'd walked right into that one.

Sirius just grinned.



Harry didn't say goodbye to his aunt and uncle before leaving the next morning, but he did catch Dudley on the way downstairs to shake hands before he and Sirius set off for Grimmauld Place. He checked in on the room he had shared with Ron the previous summer to see his things were already there, and then headed down to the kitchen for a late breakfast. Entering, he immediately saw Remus, Sirius, and Tonks all scowling at different parts of the room as they sat at the kitchen table with the remains of their own food still sitting out.

“Have I missed something?” Harry asked awkwardly.

“Mediating these two is bloody rubbish,” said Sirius shortly.

“You don't need to bring Harry into this, Padfoot,” said Remus tightly.

“I don't know about that, Remus,” said Tonks, her hair a deep, angry red at the moment as she cast narrowed eyes at the man. “Seeing as how Harry's at the top of You-Know-Who's hit list and still finds time for love, maybe he can give you some insight on how not to ignore your feelings in the face of all the bullshit that lies between yourself and happiness.”

Harry stared at the three with wide eyes, suddenly wishing he was back with the Dursleys at Privet Drive. Strange as it seemed, things there at least made more sense than this conversation. “Er,” he said. “What?”

“Master Harry needs to eat his breakfast,” Kreacher interrupted as he quickly brought over a platter of sausages and toast for Harry to consume.

“Thanks,” Harry told him vaguely as he cautiously sat down at the table. “What does my relationship with Ginny have to do with anything?”

“It's nothing -” Remus started.

“Remus thinks that he's too old for me,” Tonks cut him off angrily, “but the main issue is that he can't get it in his head that his furry little problem doesn't preclude him from love!”

Harry blinked. Furry little problem obviously meant the fact that Remus was a werewolf. “Oh,” he finally managed in response.

“Everyone's started calling you the Chosen One,” Tonks went on, “but I don't see that stopping you from being with Ginny, do I?”

Harry frowned at her. “Should it stop me?” he asked, looking around at the others. “Voldemort is going to try and target everyone I care about, right? So, should I not be with Ginny? I mean, would that keep her safer?”

And then it hit him like a punch to the gut.

“I… I love you.”

Voldemort had heard Ginny say those incredible, life-changing words to him when she had saved him from dying that night at the Ministry. He knew how she felt about him. Hadn't he also seen how Harry's feelings for her had started to change over the last year?

“He said you've always noticed me, but you didn't understand why.”

He knew, Harry was certain of it. Ginny was in as much danger as he was by saying those words to him. Had Harry put her in more danger by actually being in a relationship with her?

And yet… the way she looked at him, the way she spoke to him, her touches, her kisses, every single time she said the words “I love you”, it made him feel so incredibly happy it was as though he must be living someone else's life, someone happier, safer, normal even. How could he give that up? And hadn't Ginny proved by saving him that night that love was more powerful than anything Voldemort could do to him? It was her love that had saved him from the second possession, Sirius's love for him that had brought him out of hiding to save him and Ginny in the Department of Mysteries, and love that had his friends and family seeking to support him through every trial, past and current.

“It was your heart, your ability to love and be loved, that saved you.”

Oh.

“You have people who care about you, who love you. V-Voldemort has never had that, and I know it's going to be why he fails again.”

Voldemort only saw weakness when it came to love. He had exploited it, used it against Harry, and yet he had lost the fight that night, had suffered defeat in losing some of his followers, not obtaining the prophecy, and failing, once more, to kill Harry.

If love could help Harry do all of that… Why would he give it up? Love was a strength, not a weakness.

“Don't you start going all noble on me now, Harry,” Tonks interrupted his thoughts fiercely. “I'm more than willing to drag Ginny over and have her talk some sense into the both of you!”

“Voldemort already knows, though,” said Harry quietly. “Even if I pushed Ginny away, it wouldn't change how she feels or - or what he knows about her and me. I mean,” he added hastily, “she'd probably hex me or something if I broke things off with her, but I think…” He looked up at Tonks and Remus. “I think she and I are safer and… stronger together.”

Tonks stared at him for a few seconds before turning back to Remus. “The bloody teenager gets it better than you!” she all but raged at Remus, who remained stone-faced, eyes averted. “I know how you feel about me, and I feel the same way. Heading off to hang out with all the werewolves for the Order isn't going to change that. Nothing you say is going to change the fact that I love you!”

“You deserve someone young and whole,” said Remus stiffly.

“Young doesn't necessarily mean whole,” said Harry bitterly, thinking of his flashbacks and panic attacks. “Ginny deserves someone who hasn't been so privy to Voldemort's mind like I have…”

“But there's no one else she would rather have,” said Sirius, voice firm and certain. “The heart wants what it wants, I've said it before, Moony, and Tonks, for some blasted reason I don't understand, wants you.”

There was a moment of silence. Harry started eating as the adults stared at nothing in particular again.

“James would've wanted you to be happy,” said Sirius at last.

“If we could not bring him into this, too -” Remus sighed.

“He went and got married, had a baby,” Sirius continued loudly as he shot a quick grin at Harry, “and outright refused to let fear dictate his life.”

“He went into hiding.”

“For Harry, you idiot!” Sirius snapped at Remus. “You know he and Lily would've kept fighting with the Order if Voldemort hadn't deliberated targeted their child!”

Harry felt his face warm as he tried to focus on his food. His parents had died to protect him, and he wondered if they would have lived longer lives had he never been born. Voldemort's laughter started in his head again, and he closed his eyes to try and block it out.

“James said we mustn't allow fear to rule our lives,” Sirius pressed on. “And I happen to agree with that wholeheartedly. Should I be telling Harry not to get close to anyone just because Voldemort went and painted a giant target on his back?”

Harry stiffened, and the laughter in his head grew louder. Breathe, he ordered himself firmly. In and out, slow like Sirius showed you.

“No,” sighed Remus, “you shouldn't.”

“So stop making excuses,” said Sirius bluntly. “If you don't like Tonks, fine, tell her and be done with it. But if you do, and I know you do, then stop being a coward and do something about it.” He rose and stalked from the kitchen.

Tonks smiled after him. “I can see why he's Mum's favorite cousin,” she said fondly.

Harry smiled a bit as he continued to focus on his breathing.

“I thought you'd be more hungry, Harry,” Tonks suddenly said to him. “You've easily shot up a couple inches since I saw you last week.”

Harry didn't answer, still focused on taking deep, even breaths.

“I think he's trying to avert a panic attack,” said Remus, sitting up straighter. “Sirius and I had to help him with a couple back on Sunday when I went for a visit.”

“I'm fine,” Harry grit out as he realized he was clutching at the edge of the table hard enough to turn his knuckles white. “Just - just give me a minute.”

Tonks and Remus remained silent as Harry slowly banished the laughter from his mind. I'm at Grimmauld Place, I'm safe, I'm awake, he's not here, he's not really here in my mind… “Sorry,” he finally muttered, embarrassed.

“No, Harry,” said Remus sadly, “I'm the one who should be sorry. I didn't mean to set off any triggers -”

“It's not your fault,” said Harry, keeping his gaze fixed to his plate. “It feels like pretty much everything is a trigger in my head after - after what he did to me. I just - I never know what's going to set it off.”

“Severus described it to me as if your memories were a sort of minefield,” said Remus, nodding. “There's no way to know for sure which memories or thoughts will trigger the land mines."

Harry's insides went cold. “Snape knows?” he whispered, utterly horrified and humiliated at the thought. Although their Occlumency lessons last year had brought up some unpleasant memories from his childhood, the worst of it had remained tucked away due to everything else that had been going on with the visions, Umbridge, and his own stubbornness. “Who told - did you -” And suddenly, he knew the truth. “Voldemort told him.”

“The stories that I'll be able to tell using these delightful memories of yours…” The laughter was back and louder than ever.

Something touched Harry, and he recoiled, shoving himself away from it, breath coming too fast, and he heard voices, but they didn't make sense to him. His chest and throat felt tight, it was hard to breathe, and the laughter was painfully loud, swallowing up everything around him beyond endurance, and there was no escaping this, the endless torment that consumed his mind and everything around him.

Another touch came accompanied by a new voice, but it was just as terrifying as everything else and he scrambled away in desperation, seeking… what, he wasn't sure of, not anymore. He curled over, now down on his knees, desperately gasping for air. Too loud, too loud too loud too loud please stop, not safe, please just - no no no no no -

Something soft and gentle met overheated skin, and it felt like the first soothing drops of cool rain on a hot summers' day. Harry stilled despite the fear and cruel laughter that was his everything and the something began to touch his arms, his neck, his face, and it felt glorious and calming in a way that nothing else could ever manage, a familiar flowery scent filling the air as he tried to breathe.

“Harry, it's me, it's Ginny… I'm right here, do you feel me? C'mon, luv, I need you to breathe with me.” The words were slow to penetrate the fog that surrounded him, but eventually Harry recognized the touches and voice of his girlfriend. Feelings that Harry couldn't begin to describe overwhelmed him, and he blindly reached out for Ginny, pulling her close to him as her arms wrapped around him, and he could hear her heart beating, feel her chest slowly rising and falling against him, and he sought to follow the slow and even rhythm, to match it because it was real and he needed something he could understand in this haze of fear he was so lost in.

“I'm right here, Harry,” whispered Ginny, fingers running through his hair as he held her close. There were other voices around him, but Harry couldn't understand them, so he focused on what he could understand: Ginny, the feel of her against him as her gentle touch soothed the raw fires in his mind, the flowery scent of her shampoo filling his lungs. Slowly, the tightness in his chest loosened, his breaths came more easily, and his heart began to slow as the laughter and mocking voice were silenced once more.

“Gin?” he rasped out, realizing his eyes were squeezed shut. Ginny's fingers in his hair stilled for a fraction of a second before resuming their comforting action against his scalp again.

“I'm right here, Harry,” she repeated gently, voice coming from just above him. “You're with me in Grimmauld Place, you just got here this morning. D'you remember?”

Harry nodded a bit, still listening to her heart beat and feeling her chest rise and fall. Then he realized that the reason he could hear her heart was because his head was pressed right up along the soft swell of her breast. And this led to the further realization that, as he forced his eyes open, he had shoved himself into a corner of the kitchen and had pulled Ginny right into his lap. And they weren't alone, either.

He caught a glimpse of Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Mrs. Weasley, and Ron standing nearby and looking down at him before he slammed his eyes shut again, tensing up. Face heating with fear and embarrassment, Harry tried to pull away from Ginny, but her arm around his shoulder tightened. “Shh,” she whispered, fingers still in his hair, “stop thinking so much and just breathe for me, all right?”

Harry forced himself to listen to her and focused on matching her breathing again, slowly relaxing against her. It was a few minutes before she spoke again. “What happened, luv?”

Harry turned his head further into her chest, eyes still clamped shut. “Snape knows,” he bit out. “Voldemort told him, and he -”

“It's my fault, I'm afraid,” Remus spoke in a quiet voice from somewhere to Harry's right. “Professor Snape revealed to Sirius last Saturday that Voldemort had told only him about everything he saw in Harry's mind, and given his unique understanding of the mind through his frequent use of Occlumency and Legilimency, I sought him out to better understand what's going on in hopes of helping Harry cope. I revealed some of what he told me, but it - it set off a panic attack, instead.”

A bad one, thought Harry, still doing his best to match the rise and fall of Ginny's chest. He was starting to shiver a bit as the sweat on his body slowly cooled.

“I tried to get through to him,” Remus went on, “but he sank into it so quickly I ended up calling for Sirius.”

“Which obviously didn't go any better,” came Mrs. Weasley's voice, sounding… annoyed? No, it was sad. Why did she sound sad?

“No,” sighed Sirius. “I've got through to him before, but this was fast and sudden and - well, beyond what I could manage this time. That's why I Flooed you to get Ginny here. I - I knew she'd be able to get through to him.”

There was a moment of silence.

Harry was starting to feel embarrassed again. He hadn't responded to anyone but Ginny this time?

“I'm glad you had me come,” Ginny finally spoke up. “Nowhere else I'd rather be.”

“While sitting like that?” came Ron's incredulous voice.

“Ronald!” said Mrs. Weasley reprimandingly.

“Sorry,” whispered Harry, loosening his grip on Ginny as he opened his eyes again. “I - I didn't realize -” His face was flushed in both embarrassment and shame. Why had he reacted the way he had?

“Of course not,” said Ginny quickly, carefully moving from his lap but remaining crouched before him, one hand still at the nape of his neck, the other on his chest. "I can tell you from personal experience that it's normal to lose track of your surroundings in the middle of a panic attack.”

"You've -?"

Ginny nodded. "A few times, yeah," she admitted. “I… had one just last week after Ron and I saw you last.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “About?”

“Pushing you too far,” she whispered. “You weren't ready, and I didn't respect that. I'm really sorry, Harry.”

“I said it was okay,” said Harry quickly.

“The look on your face suggested otherwise,” Ginny answered him dryly.

Harry considered this and realized she was right. Having the truth pulled out like that had been… “I know you care,” he finally said, “but being forced into that situation like that -”

“Was horrible,” finished Ginny softly.

“Yeah,” said Harry. “And I - I know I needed to talk about it, but… not like that. It's not up to you to make decisions about my life. I think… well, I have enough of that going on right now.”

Ginny's eyes were shining with unshed tears. “I know,” she whispered. “I swear to you, Harry, I won't do that ever again.” She gave him a trembling smile, and Harry felt the buried resentment that he hadn't understood why he'd been harboring over the past week vanish in an instant as he pulled Ginny to him in a fierce hug. “I love you, Harry,” she told him. Her smile was brighter when she pulled back, and he smiled in return.

Harry struggled to his feet with Ginny's help, and she guided him back over to the kitchen table where the remains of his breakfast lay. He really wasn't all that hungry anymore, though, so Sirius banished the remains and settled back down, everyone else fallowing suit.

“When did the flashbacks start happening?” asked Sirius after a few seconds of silence.

Harry hesitated for a moment. “The press conference,” he answered quietly. “It was just - just his voice, but my scar wasn't hurting or anything and then I realized the things he was saying were - it's always things he said or showed me when I was trapped in his mind that night.” He realized he'd never asked how long he had been under, how long it had lasted. “How - how long was I asleep that night?”

Ron and Ginny looked at each other from where they sat on either side of Harry. “About five hours,” Ron finally answered uncomfortably. “You didn't start thrashing around until about the third hour, though, and Madam Pomfrey couldn't get us to leave after that because nothing she did could calm you or wake you. We just -”

“We had to hold you down,” admitted Ginny, “keep you from falling off the bed or hurting yourself. Madam Pomfrey tried magical restraints, but that honestly seemed to make it worse, so we all stayed, instead.”

“I didn't dream anything else,” said Harry, staring at where his hands were intertwined with Ginny's on the table. “The whole time it was just him and what he was doing.”

Harry felt, rather than heard the intake of breath around the table. Ginny's hands tightened on his.

He had possibly survived through roughly five hours of Voldemort prying into his mind, taunting and shaming everything that had ever made him who he was? No wonder his mind was a ravaged minefield of unpredictable land mines that were triggered without warning at the worst moments. It had felt as though every memory and thought in his mind up to that point had been prised apart, found wanting, and mocked. It had been utterly dehumanizing and violating.

Suddenly, words Dumbledore had said floated back to him, and they were as disquieting now as they had been then.

“An adult in charge of your care and safety purposefully injured you, while another essentially raped your mind.”

Rape.

Harry had been aware what that word meant in the oblique sense, sexual assault and physical violation, but that the word could also be applied to the violation of his mind was… difficult to come to terms with.

There had been too much to come to terms with in the last month. Harry wished he could sleep without any dreams for a solid year at this point.

A long hour passed in the kitchen as the adults gently pressed for information about Harry's most noticeable triggers (basically anything to do with the Dursleys, for example) and what he had fully endured in that nightmare of an experience. It was only Ron and Ginny sitting on either side of him, Ginny holding his hands, and Ron clasping his shoulder that got him through it without another panic attack, though it didn't silence the mocking words or the laughter.

“Do we maybe need a code word in public?” suggested Ron at one point. “If something triggers Harry unexpectedly.”

“I don't know,” said Harry nervously, and Ginny squeezed his hands reassuringly.

“It should be something that people wouldn't understand, but we would,” she said. A few words were thrown around before Tonks hit on the winning phrase.

“How about 'land mine'?”

Harry still wasn't comfortable with the whole idea of a code word to alert others that he was having a flashback and needed help. He was fine!

“There's nothing wrong with needing help,” Remus was quick to reassure him. “In fact, I know we would all like to see you be more willing to admit when you're in need of help.”

“I know the Dursleys have placed importance on your being as independent as possible,” added Mrs. Weasley gently, “but it's the support of those of us who love you that will get you through this.”

There was that word again. Love.

“I hope you understand that I love you,” Mrs. Weasley told him softly, and he couldn't help but notice in that moment that her eyes were the exact same shade of brown as Ginny's. Ginny squeezed his hands and leaned against him comfortingly. “I have a large family, but I see you as part of it just as much as my own children, and I want nothing less for you than the safety and support you deserve.”

Harry wasn't going to cry. “Thank you,” he forced out hoarsely. “That means -” But he had no words. Ginny scooted away just enough for Mrs. Weasley to engulf him in one of her warmest hugs.

Ron and Ginny were allowed to stay with Harry until dinner, and they helped him unpack and settle into his room, Ron talking about their dad's promotion with the Ministry, and Ginny describing what Hermione's home was like.

“Dad's now in charge of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects,” said Ron, sounding mildly enthused. “It pays a lot better than his old job, and he's got what, ten people reporting to him now!”

“Wow, that sounds impressive,” said Harry. “What does his job entail, exactly?”

“Swindlers like Dung are popping up with all these so-called protective potions that are really gravy with a bit of bubotuper pus added,” answered Ginny, “or instructions for defensive jinxes that actually make your ears fall off instead.”

“There have been some nasty things that were obviously planted by Death Eaters, though,” added Ron. “Dad confiscated a box of cursed Sneakoscopes just two days ago, for example.”

Ginny grinned. “Mum keeps telling him his job is very important and that it's just silly to miss dealing with spark plugs and toasters and stuff.”

“Muggle rubbish, she calls it,” said Ron.

Harry could imagine that conversation quite easily. Mrs. Weasley had never been very approving of her husband's love of all things Muggle.

Once his room was settled (“I'm throwing out these socks,” said Ginny insistently, holding a particularly horrible pair of Uncle Vernon's socks by the tips of her fingers), they spent the rest of the day playing gobstones and Exploding Snap, although they were able to get Sirius to join them for a few rounds of Poker, as well. After the intense morning Harry had had, the rest of the day was quite relaxing. It was just what he needed.

Mrs. Weasley invited him and Sirius to come over to the Burrow the next afternoon when Hermione would arrive to spend the rest of the summer break with them. Sirius accepted, good-byes were said, and he and Harry had a quiet dinner that Kreacher provided for them, their conversation about anything and everything except the minefield in Harry's head. Truth be told, Harry had had his fill of that topic of conversation for the day, if not the rest of the month. When it was time for bed, Sirius bade him a good night, and they went their separate ways, Harry eager to see Hermione again the next day.

Back to index


Chapter 12: The Favor

Author's Notes: Homework sucks almost as much as lesson planning, but here we are, anyway! This chapter went a bit more quickly because parts of it do come from HBP chapter 4, "Horace Slughorn". I do feel that there are certain things that are going to stay the same, and this is one of those things. You'll see what I mean as you read this chapter. I tried to make this chapter my own as much as possible, though. Enjoy!


Chapter Twelve: The Favor



Despite his best efforts to do so, Harry couldn’t sleep.

Tossing and turning for a solid three hours as his thoughts refused to settle left Harry feeling both frustrated and hungry, so he decided to head down to the kitchen to see if he could find something to eat or maybe ask Kreacher if he could get him a snack of some kind.

What he found instead was Professor Dumbledore, alone, sipping a cup of tea with his left hand and looking quite relaxed.

“Ah, Harry,” he said with a genial smile, “unable to rest, either, I take it?”

“No, sir,” said Harry, feeling very awkward in his pajamas (these ones he’d nicked from Ron when he outgrew them; the waistband fit much better than anything Dudley’s hand-me-downs had ever had to offer) and a pair of old slippers Sirius had found in a closet upstairs. “It doesn’t happen too often, though.”

“Sometimes the mind can be incredibly difficult to quiet,” said Dumbledore, nodding knowingly. “Tea, Harry?”

“Thanks, Professor.” Harry sat down at the kitchen table as Dumbledore pulled out his wand with his right hand. His eyes were immediately drawn to it, seeing that the hand was blackened and shriveled; it looked as though his flesh had been burned away.

“Sir,” Harry couldn’t help but ask, “what happened to your hand?”

Dumbledore glanced at his hand with a small smile. “I’m afraid that’s a story for another time, Harry. It is a rather thrilling tale and I wish to do it justice.” A cup of tea slid neatly onto the table before Harry, and he sipped from it, still feeling awkward.

“How are you settling in here, Harry?” asked Dumbledore after a few minutes.

“Oh, er… okay, I suppose.” The morning hadn’t exactly been pleasant, but the rest of the day had been fine. Silence fell in the kitchen once more.

As he finished the last sip of his tea, Dumbledore spoke again. “I wonder if, since you are already awake, you might do me a favor and help me with a problem that I’ve been struggling to rectify?”

“Sir?”

“You are aware that, once again, I find myself short one member of staff.”

This was true. Umbridge had been arrested and was being held in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for her crimes against Harry.

“How can I help with that?”

“I have a teacher in mind,” answered Dumbledore, “an old colleague of mine, but he has proven difficult to both track down and persuade. However, the man is attracted to the famous, the successful, and the powerful, and I believe that meeting you with all the press you’ve garnered of late” – Harry flushed at the mention of the press, recalling their newest obsession with calling him the ‘Chosen One’ – “might convince him to come out of hiding to teach at Hogwarts.”

Harry considered this. He didn’t much like using his fame in such a way, but then again, hadn’t Madam Bones said he ought to be more in control of his image? This might be a way to practice doing just that, now that he thought about it.

“What exactly would I need to do?” Harry asked slowly.

“Just meet the man, have a chat with him,” said Dumbledore easily. “I am certain he will be drawn to you despite his best efforts and can be persuaded to take the job once more. I do not think the whole thing would take very long.”

Harry hesitated. “Why him?” he asked. “Couldn’t you find someone else?”

“I could,” said Dumbledore, “but he is an expert in his field, and his return would be rather advantageous to the school.”

Harry considered this, and finally nodded. “Okay, sir,” he said. “I’ll er, go change really quick, then.”

Dumbledore beamed and dismissed him, thought not before asking Harry to make sure he had both his wand and his Invisibility Cloak “just in case.” Hurrying back to his room, it suddenly occurred to Harry that he ought to ask Sirius for permission before heading off with the headmaster. Would Sirius find it acceptable that he was about to go who-knows-where with Dumbledore?

Possibly not, now that Harry considered it, but then, he wanted to trust Dumbledore, and it didn’t seem like a difficult favor to do for him. Convincing a former teacher to come out of hiding probably wouldn't be that hard, after all, not to mention that Dumbledore said it wouldn’t take long. He would be safe with the headmaster, he was certain of at least that.

There was also the fact that Sirius had lost a lot of sleep over the previous week thanks to Harry’s nightmares. The man had to be exhausted from dealing with Harry’s issues. This would ensure he got a break while Harry was unable to fall asleep. Deciding against waking Sirius up, Harry dressed and hurried back down to the kitchen. “I’m ready, sir,” he said.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore rose, banished the remains of their tea, and led Harry up to the front door. They stepped outside into the brisk, chilled air and went over to the little patch of grass in the middle of the square. “Take my left arm if you will, Harry.”

Harry knew what was coming, but still didn’t enjoy the sensation of Side-Along Apparition any more than he had the first time. “Where are we?” he asked once he could breathe again.

“This,” Dumbldore pronounced as they set off past an empty inn and a few houses, “is the charming village of Budleigh Babberton.”

“And why are we all the way out here? Couldn’t we have just Apparated right into your old colleague’s house?”

“It would be quite as rude as kicking down the front door to do such thing,” Dumbledore answered calmly as they rounded a corner and went past a telephone box and a bus shelter. “Courtesy dictates that we offer fellow wizards the opportunity of denying us entry. In any case, most Wizarding dwellings are magically protected from unwanted Apparators. At Hogwarts, for instance –”

“– you can’t Apparate anywhere inside the buildings or grounds,” said Harry quickly. “Hermione told me.”

“And she is quite right.” They proceeded up a steep, narrow street lined with houses. All the windows were dark. The odd chill that had lain over Privet Drive for the last two weeks persisted here too. The more he thought about it, the more it reminded him of dementors.

“Sir,” he said after a moment, “the misty chill in the air…”

“That,” Dumbledore sighed, “is the result of the dementors that abandoned Azkaban. Fear not, Harry, there are none close by, but I am afraid that they are breeding, which is the source of all this mist we are experiencing across the country.”

Dementors could breed? Harry was incredibly disturbed by the thought.

They walked in silence for a little ways before Harry spoke again. “Sirius received a letter from the new Minister about meeting with me.”

“Yes,” said Dumbledore, “he has reached out to me about you, as well. Rufus Scrimgeour is a very capable wizard, having previously been the Head of the Auror office, and is certainly a more decisive and forceful personality than Cornelius in many ways. He has also fought Dark wizards for most of his life, and as such, he does not underestimate Lord Voldemort. However, he has listened to Cornelius regarding the idea he came up with in his final days of office of having you throw your support behind the Ministry. Such a move is purely political, of course,” Dumbledore added with a sidelong glance at Harry.

Harry grimaced. “I don’t like the idea of being used like that,” he admitted, “especially if it means tricking people into thinking I support the Ministry after everything that happened over the last year.”

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore, directing Harry around a corner and continuing on. “Sirius and I have had some disagreements regarding your care since the events at the Ministry last month, but we are both of the same opinion that your image should not be tarnished in such a way.”

Harry wondered just how much they had argued about him since that life-changing night. He had noticed some tension in the Dursley’s kitchen the other night, and he knew that Sirius had attempted to try and get more information out of Dumbledore about how to defeat someone immortal more than once. He decided to just ask.

“Sir,” he ventured, “that night, when you told me everything, you didn’t say exactly how I’m supposed to defeat Voldemort.”

Dumbledore sighed. “The reason for that,” he answered at length, “is the information I will be imparting in our lessons together this coming school year is beyond the firm foundation of fact. Voldemort has done much to conceal his past, including the lengths to which he has gone to achieve immortality. If you will recall, you told me after Voldemort’s resurrection in the graveyard that he claimed to have gone ‘further than anyone’ in his quest to conquer death. I have been seeking out what exactly it was he did that has allowed him to exist beyond a rebounded Killing Curse, to be able to make such a claim as he did that night. Ah, this is the place, Harry, just here…”

“So, you have an idea, at least,” said Harry as they neared a small, neat stone house set in its own garden.

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore, which was quickly followed by him stopping abruptly and saying, “Oh dear. Oh dear, dear, dear.”

Harry stumbled to a halt before he could walk into the headmaster and focused on the house once more, realizing the front door was hanging off its hinges. His heart sank. If Sirius found out about this trip, including the possibility that Harry’s life had been in jeopardy in any way, he’d be furious.

Dumbledore glanced up and down the street.

“Wand out and follow me, Harry,” he said quietly.

He opened the gate and walked swiftly and silently up the garden path, Harry at his heels, then pushed the front door very slowly, his wand raised and at the ready.

“Lumos.”

Dumbledore’s wand tip ignited, casting its light up a narrow hallway. To the left, another door stood open. Holding his illuminated wand aloft, Dumbledore walked into the sitting room with Harry right behind him.

A scene of total devastation met their eyes. Harry had never seen the like of it before. Chairs upturned, grand piano smashed, the grandfather clock in the corner battered almost beyond recognition…

“Not pretty, is it?” Dumbledore said heavily, wand light revealing something darkly red and glutinous spattered over the ripped wallpaper. He moved slowly into the middle of the room, Harry nervously looking around him as he waited to be greeted by a dead body.

There was nothing. “Could someone have attacked him and then dragged him off?” he finally asked.

“I don’t think so,” said Dumbledore quietly, peering behind an overstuffed armchair lying on its side.

“You mean he’s –?”

“Still here somewhere? Yes.”

And without warning, Dumbledore swooped, plunging the tip of his wand into the seat of the overstuffed armchair, which yelled, “Ouch!”

“Good evening, Horace,” said Dumbledore, straightening up again.

Harry’s jaw dropped. Where a split second before there had been an armchair, there now crouched an enormously fat, bald, old man who was massaging his lower belly and glaring up at Dumbledore.

“There was no need to stick the wand in that hard,” he said gruffly, clambering to his feet. “It hurt.”

The wandlight sparkled on his shiny pate, his prominent eyes, his enormous, silver, walruslike mustache, and the highly polished buttons on the maroon velvet jacket he was wearing over a pair of lilac silk pajamas. The top of his head barely reached Dumbledore’s chin.

“What gave it away?” he grunted as he staggered to his feet, still rubbing his lower belly. He seemed remarkably unabashed for a man who had just been discovered pretending to be an armchair.

“My dear Horace,” said Dumbledore, looking amused, “if the Death Eaters really had come to call, the Dark Mark would have been set over the house.”

The wizard clapped a pudgy hand to his vast forehead, clearly annoyed he had missed something so crucial. Dumbledore offered to help him set the house to rights, and Harry watched in amazement as the grandfather clock was reassembled, the grand piano was put to rights, the chandelier pieces returned to their rightful places as it reaffixed itself to the ceiling, and the blood (“On the walls?” said the wizard called Horace. “Dragon.”) was wiped clean from the walls.

One last plunk from the piano sounded, and the room became silent.

“Yes, dragon,” repeated the wizard conversationally. “My last bottle, and prices are sky-high at the moment. Still, it might be reusable.”

Harry watched as he stumped over to a small crystal bottle standing on top of a sideboard and held it up to the light, examining the thick liquid within.

“Hmm,” he mused. “Bit dusty.” He set the bottle back down and sighed.

Then he spotted Harry.

“Oho,” he said, his large round eyes flying to Harry’s forehead and the lightning-shaped scar it bore. “Oho!”

“This,” said Dumbledore, moving forward to make the introduction, “is Harry Potter. Harry, this is Horace Slughorn.”

Slughorn turned on Dumbledore, his expression shrewd. “So that’s how you thought you’d persuade me, is it? Well, the answer’s no, Albus.”

He pushed past Harry, who couldn’t help but notice how the man’s face was turned resolutely away as though he were trying to resist a great temptation. It seemed Dumbledore was on the right track by asking Harry for this favor. He couldn’t help but wonder what was so great about this man that he ought to come out of retirement, though. An expert in his field? What field was that, exactly?

“I suppose we can have a drink, at least?” asked Dumbledore. “For old time’s sake?”

Slughorn hesitated, then gave in. Dumbledore silently directed Harry toward a chair not unlike the one that Slughorn had so recently impersonated, which stood right beside the newly burning fire and a brightly glowing oil lamp. Harry was sure this must have been done specifically to keep him as visible as possible. When Slughorn, who had been busy with decanters and glasses, turned to face the room again, his eyes fell immediately upon Harry.

“Hmpf,” he said, looking away quickly as though frightened of hurting his eyes. Harry fought to conceal a grin as Slughorn shoved a drink at Dumbledore, who had sat down without invitation, before thrusting the tray at him. He silently took the offered drink and watched as Slughorn sank into the cushions of the repaired sofa in disgruntled silence. His legs were so short they did not touch the floor.

Dumbledore asked after Slughorn’s health, and Harry got to hear a litany of ailments. It seemed Slughorn was determined to keep his answer to working at Hogwarts a firm “no.”

“You’re not yet as old as I am,” said Dumbledore at one point in the conversation as Harry watched silently.

“Well, maybe you ought to think about retirement yourself,” said Slughorn bluntly. His eyes had found Dumbledore’s injured hand. “Reactions not what they were, I see.”

“You’re quite right,” said Dumbledore serenely, shaking back his sleeve to reveal the tips of those burned and blackened fingers; the sight of them made the back of Harry’s neck prickle unpleasantly. “I am undoubtedly slower than I was. But on the other hand…”

He shrugged and spread his hands wide, as though to say that age had its compensations, and Harry noticed a ring on his uninjured hand that he had never seen Dumbledore wear before: it was large, rather clumsily made of what looked like gold, and was set with a heavy black stone that had cracked down the middle. Slughorn’s eyes lingered for a moment on the ring too, and Harry saw a tiny frown momentarily crease his wide forehead.

Dumbledore asked about Slughorn’s precautions against intruders as Harry finished and set aside his drink, and Slughorn admitted he hadn’t bothered waiting to see if any Death Eaters would come after him once rumors began to spread of Voldemort’s return; indeed, he had been on the run for the last year, never staying in one place for more than a week.

“It sounds a rather tiring existence for a broken-down old buffer in search of a quiet life,” Dumbledore commented. “Now, if you were to return to Hogwarts –”

“If you’re going to tell me my life would be more peaceful at that pestilential school, you can save your breath, Albus!” Slughorn cut him off. “I might have been in hiding, but I’ve still heard about the arrest of one Dolores Umbridge –”

Harry convulsively grasped at his right hand and dug in his nails over the scarred flesh to try and forestall the flashback, but it came, anyway. Umbridge standing over him, a grim smile twisting her toad-like features as she pointed her wand right at him and screamed out the Cruciatus Curse. She was laughing – no, Voldemort was laughing as he was locked in a prison of fire that spread into his very bones –

“Harry! Harry, look at me.”

The flashback ended abruptly, and Harry suddenly found himself still sitting in the same chair as before, breathing harshly. Dumbledore was kneeling before him with his uninjured hand tightly clasped over Harry’s, the other gently pressed against his shoulder. Harry looked into his blue eyes and tried to breathe more slowly, remembering the calming technique Sirius had used with him multiple times now to forestall any panic attacks over the past week.

“That’s my boy,” said Dumbledore quietly, “even and slow, in and out, that’s right…”

“Sorry,” whispered Harry. “L-land mine.”

Fortunately, Dumbledore seemed to understand what Harry was trying to say and nodded, gently patting his left hand over Harry’s before withdrawing it. Harry released his right hand and saw he’d dug in the nails of his left hand hard enough to draw blood. Dumbledore waved his wand and the tiny, crescent shaped wounds sealed over at once, though the words scarred into his skin remained: I must not tell lies.

“Merlin’s beard,” Slughorn suddenly said, “it’s all true, isn’t it? She actually tortured the poor boy last month!”

Harry cast his eyes down, silently counting breaths and doing his best not to think about it.

“Teachers who so blatantly abuse my students do not last long at Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore firmly as he rose and returned to his seat. “Dolores Umbridge learned this the hard way. Harry will be bearing witness to her atrocities this past year in August to ensure that she is put away for a very long time.” He looked at Harry and smiled. “I daresay the public opinion will be in his favor these days, after all.”

Harry tried to smile back. He didn’t really want to be here, anymore, and wished he knew how to send messages with his patronus. Having Sirius here might have been better than just he and Dumbledore. He didn’t quite know what to make of the look Slughorn was giving him now, and averted his eyes once more.

“I wonder,” said Dumbledore abruptly, “if I might use your bathroom.”

“Oh,” said Slughorn, startled. “Second on the left down the hall.”

Harry felt even more unsettled at being alone with the other man after the way he had just embarrassed himself.

“Are you quite all right, my boy?” Slughorn finally ventured to ask.

Harry nodded tightly. “Having Umbridge for a teacher wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience,” he admitted. “I can’t say I liked her all that much.”

Slughorn nodded, then said, “You look very like your father.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told,” said Harry.

“Except for your eyes. You’ve got –”

“My mother’s eyes, yeah.” Harry had heard it so often he found it bit wearing.

“Yes, well… You shouldn’t have favorites as a teacher, of course, but she was one of mine. Your mother,” Slughorn added, in answer to Harry’s questioning look. “Lily Evans. One of the brightest I ever taught. Vivacious, you know. Charming girl. I used to tell her she ought to have been in my House. Very cheeky answers I used to get back too.”

“Which was your House?”

“I was Head of Slytherin,” said Slughorn. “Oh, now,” he went on quickly, seeing the expression on Harry’s face and wagging a stubby finger at him, “don’t go holding that against me! You’ll be Gryffindor like her, I suppose? Yes, it usually goes in families. Not always though,” he added thoughtfully. “Your godfather, Sirius Black, for example – in Gryffindor after generations of Slytherin heritage. Shame, that. He’s quite talented. I got his brother, Regulus, when he came along, but I’d have liked the set.”

“That’s an odd way to speak about them,” Harry couldn’t help but say. “You sound a bit like a collector who was outbid at an auction.”

Slughorn stared at him a moment, but guffawed quite loudly. “You certainly have her cheeky attitude, I must say!” he said. “I remember I was most surprised to realize she was Muggle-born, I thought she must have been pure-blood, she was so good in both Charms and Potions – well, anything she did, really.”

“One of my best friends is Muggle-born,” said Harry, “and she’s the best in our year.”

“Funny how that sometimes happens, isn’t it?” said Slughorn.

“Not really,” said Harry coldly. He wasn’t sure he liked the man all that much.

Slughorn, however, was quick to try and disabuse him of the notion that he was prejudiced, showing Harry photographs of the many students whom he had helped through his many various connections, a full mixture of Muggle-born, half-blood, and pure-blood witches and wizards. He spoke quite fondly of all of them, pointing out the owner of Honeydukes, the editor of the Daily Prophet, and even Gwenog Jones, captain of the Holyhead Harpies. Harry immediately thought of Ginny and knew she’d love to meet the woman as she was the captain of her favorite Quidditch team. Slughorn also spoke of the gifts they frequently showered on him for the help he had provided in securing their current jobs.

“All these people know where to find you, to send you stuff?” Harry finally asked him. He couldn’t imagine how the man had managed to stay hidden from the Death Eaters if these people could so easily find him to deliver hampers of sweets, free tickets, and more.

The smile slid from Slughorn’s face as quickly as the blood from his walls.

“No,” he answered, looking astonished at the admission. “I have been out of touch with everybody for a year.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “It wouldn’t have to be like that at Hogwarts,” he pointed out.

“Teaching there would be tantamount to declaring my public allegiance to the Order of the Phoenix!” Slughorn countered him immediately.

Harry couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “You really think every teacher at Hogwarts is in the Order?” he asked derisively. “That’s rubbish. Most of them aren’t, I’ve met pretty much the entire Order myself. And,” he went on at Slughorn’s surprised expression, “I reckon the staff are safer than most people while Dumbledore’s headmaster; he’s supposed to be the only one Voldemort ever feared, isn’t he?”

Harry had been sure that Slughorn would be one of those wizards who could not bear to hear Voldemort’s name spoken aloud, and was not disappointed: Slughorn gave a shudder and a squawk of protest, which Harry ignored.

“The only teacher who’s ever died at Hogwarts was working with Voldemort,” Harry went on blithely, “and he got what he deserved. As of right now, there are no Death Eaters at Hogwarts.”

Slughorn shot him a shrewd look. “What about Severus Snape?” he questioned. “I heard the rumors back in the day that he joined You-Know-Who’s ranks.”

“Not a Death Eater,” said Harry with a shrug, not caring to elaborate on that particular point about the man acting as a double-agent for their side. “Look, if you’re as good a teacher as Dumbledore seems to believe, then Hogwarts would be more than glad to have you. The school’s never been attacked. It’s got to be safer there than constantly being on the run, I’d expect.”

Slughorn seemed to consider Harry’s words for a long moment. “This is… a very good point you make, Harry,” he said slowly. “I suppose… it might be prudent to place myself somewhere rather untouchable…”

“What do you teach, anyway?” asked Harry. Given that Slughorn had specifically mentioned Charms and Potions in relation to his mother’s talents, he wasn’t entirely certain that the man had ever taught Defense Against the Dark Arts.

“Oh, Potions, my boy,” answered Slughorn.

Wait, what?

What about Snape?

Harry suddenly remembered Percy’s words from his very first night at Howgarts. “He teaches Potions, but he doesn’t want to – everyone knows he’s after Quirrell’s job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape.”

Dumbledore was giving him the job that no teacher had managed more than a year in?

That meant that it didn’t matter if Harry passed his Potions O.W.L., he realized with a sinking feeling. He’d more than easily aced Defense Against the Dark Arts, so Snape would still be his teacher no matter what he did. There was no escaping the man. Harry hated it, but if he was going to help Dumbledore out, then he needed to accept this reality and push on.

Besides, if the job really was jinxed, Snape would be gone before the school year was over, anyway, and Harry would at last be rid of the man.

“What grade do you accept for N.E.W.T. level students?” asked Harry, forcing his mind back into the moment. “Only Professor Snape has always insisted on nothing below Outstanding and I don’t know what I got just yet on my O.W.L.'s.”

“I accept Exceeds Expectations as well as Outstanding,” answered Slughorn. “Or well, that’s what I used to do, anyway.”

Harry considered this. “Do you insult students who make mistakes?”

Slughorn’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Merlin’s beard, no!” he exclaimed. “Good teachers encourage learning experiences from mistakes, don’t they?”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. “Then if you come back, more students might like that class,” he said. “Snape always favors Slytherin students, so the atmosphere in there is… tense.” Harry could think of much more colorful words to describe Snape’s classes, in all honesty, but wasn’t sure he should voice any of them where Dumbledore could possibly overhear.

“The students don’t like Potions class?” said Slughorn, sounding aghast. “Please don’t tell me that includes you.”

“It’s a tie between it, Divination, and History of Magic,” Harry answered honestly. “I’ve wondered at times if a different teacher could’ve changed that.”

Slughorn frowned, seeming to be very deep in thought now. Harry decided to just go for it.

“I think you’d be safer there than being in hiding all the time,” he said firmly. “I also think you’ve probably been missing all that free stuff your former students used to give you.”

Slughorn hesitated, then opened his mouth –

Dumbledore suddenly reentered the room, holding onto a magazine he’d likely taken from the loo, and Slughorn jumped as though he’d forgotten he was in the house.

“Oh, there you are, Albus,” he said. “You’ve been a very long time. Upset stomach?”

“No, I was merely reading the Muggle magazines,” said Dumbledore cheerfully. “Do you mind if I keep this one?” he asked, holding up the magazine. “I do love knitting patterns!”

Harry couldn't quite contain a grin as Slughorn nodded, a bewildered expression on his face.

“Well, Harry,” Dumbledore continued, “I do think that we have trespassed upon Horace’s hospitality quite long enough; I think it is time for us to leave.”

Not at all reluctant to obey, Harry jumped to his feet. Slughorn seemed taken aback.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes, indeed. I think I know I lost cause when I see one.”

“Lost…?” Slughorn hesitated. “I know why you brought him here, Albus, but I…”

“Do not worry yourself about it at all,” said Dumbledore pleasantly as he retrieved his traveling cloak and slid the magazine into an inner pocket. “Hogwarts would have been glad to see you back again. Our greatly increased security notwithstanding, you will always be welcome to visit, should you wish to.”

Slughorn stared, agape as Dumbledore pulled on his traveling cloak and Harry pulled up the zip on his jacket.

“Good-bye, then.” Dumbledore reached out for Harry’s shoulder and went to guide him from the room.

“All right, I’ll do it!”

Harry and Dumbledore looked around to see that Slughorn had all but leapt to his feet.

“You will come out of retirement?” asked Dumbledore, sounding as though he were surprised, though Harry knew it was all an act.

“Yes, yes,” said Slughorn impatiently. “I must be mad, but if what the boy says is true about the current loathing of my beloved subject, then yes!”

“Wonderful,” said Dumbledore, beaming. “Then, Horace, we shall see you on the first of September.”

“Yes, I daresay you will,” grunted Slughorn.

As they exited through the front door, Slughorn’s voice floated after them, “I’ll want a pay rise, Dumbledore, and Professor Merrythought’s old office!”

Dumbledore chuckled. The front door shut behind them with a firm snap.

“So,” said Harry, grinning widely, “how’d I do?”

“Quite excellently, Harry,” answered Dumbledore with a proud smile. “You showed Horace exactly how much he stands to gain by returning to Hogwarts. Did you like him?”

“Not exactly,” admitted Harry, the grin fading. “I suppose he seems nice enough, but the way he talked about my mum as though it was so surprising that a Muggle-born could make a good witch… Without Hermione, I’d struggle a lot more in some of my classes. The type of blood you have doesn’t automatically determine your abilities.”

“You will often find that pure-blood supremacy is deeply embedded in our culture,” said Dumbledore with a slow nod. “Even in those who do not think they are prejudiced. Horace, though, he rather likes his comfort, regardless of where it comes from. He formed a kind of club of his favorites with himself at the center, making introductions, forging useful contacts between members, and always reaping some kind of benefit in return. He doesn’t want the occupy the throne himself, Harry; rather, he prefers the backseat – more room to spread out, you see.”

In more ways than one, Harry thought.

“I tell you all this,” Dumbledore continued, “not to turn you against Horace – or, as must now call him, Professor Slughorn – but to put you on your guard. Meeting you has drawn him out of hiding, just as we hoped, but he will go further and try to collect you, Harry. You would be the jewel of his collection: ‘the Boy Who Lived’… or, as they call you these days, ‘the Chosen One.’”

“I can’t say I like any of that,” muttered Harry. “I’m just a kid who keeps ending up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “I assure you, Harry, that there is much more to you than that.”

There was a moment of silence.

“You’re giving Sn – Professor Snape the Dark Arts job, aren’t you, sir.” It wasn’t a question.

Dumbledore stopped walking and turned to face Harry. “It is a strategic choice,” he admitted. “Professor Snape stepping in to protect you last month meant that he was forced to reveal Voldemort’s scheme to get you to the Department of Mysteries. As much as Voldemort trusts any of his followers, the events of that evening, and Professor Snape’s role in those events, caused some damage that needed to be repaired.”

“Giving Professor Snape the job he’s wanted all these years was – damage control?”

“In a sense, yes,” said Dumbledore. “But there is much to potentially gain from Professor Slughorn’s return, as well.”

“Like being collected by Professor Slughorn,” said Harry bitterly. “I agreed do the trial for Umbridge, and that’s hard enough, but hanging around a man who wants to use me for the scar on my forehead is pushing it a bit. Sir,” he amended hastily.

He wanted so badly to trust Dumbledore, but the vague way in which he spoke, the secrets, the lies he’d endured all these years… Harry was finding it difficult to trust as he once had. There had been a lot of damage done in the last year.

“Sometimes,” said Dumbledore after a long pause, “we are all forced to do things that we would rather not for the sake of our cause. I’ve already told you that I have made sacrifices in the name of war before for the greater good of the many. It is not unlike sacrificing a knight to check the king in a game of chess, I should think.”

Harry winced a bit, remembering Ron doing exactly that to get him and Hermione one step closer to the Philosopher’s Stone their first year. “Which piece does that make me, then, sir?” he asked boldly.

Dumbledore’s piercing gaze met his. “You are the king,” he answered simply before striding forward once more. Harry stared after him for a few seconds, trying to take in the answer.

Without you, the war can’t be won, he reminded himself. You have to fulfill the prophecy one way or the other.

He’d never considered himself in this way before, though. Ron used to explain when he was first teaching Harry how to play chess that the king had to be protected at all costs. A checkmate did signal the end of the game, after all, but the king was also limited in its ability to move. Others had to protect it, even be sacrificed for it to keep it safe and win the game.

Harry wasn’t so sure he liked the idea of being like the king on a chessboard, and he certainly didn’t care for the idea of other sacrificing themselves for him. Hadn’t his own parents’ deaths been enough?

Hurrying after the headmaster once more, Harry did his best to put the idea from his mind. He didn’t want to continue along that line of thought anymore.

Eventually, Dumbledore reached a point he deemed safe enough to use for Apparating. Harry grasped his arm and took a solid breath before he was sucked through that dark, oppressive tube and landed on the small patch of grass outside of Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore quickly escorted Harry to the front door and opened it to reveal the panicked and angry face of Sirius.

“Where were you?” he demanded so loudly as they entered that his mother’s portrait immediately began to scream, the curtains that usually hid her flying open to reveal her horrid face as she screamed obscenities at them.

“My apologies, Sirius,” said Dumbledore loudly over the racket. “Harry was quickly assisting me with a small problem.”

“A small problem?” Sirius shouted back at him. “You’ve been gone for over an hour!”

Harry was surprised he’d been gone that long, and that Sirius even knew about it.

“I knew you’d try something like this once Harry was free of the Dursleys for the summer,” raged Sirius as his mother shrieked about blood traitors besmirching her ancestral home. “What were you doing with him? Sharing state secrets?”

“Sirius,” Harry spoke up, “it wasn’t like that, I was just –”

“Don’t try me right now, Harry,” Sirius cut him off harshly. “Go to your room and wait for me. I need to clear the air with the headmaster right now, and I can’t do it if you’re going to take his side.”

Harry was startled by the order. Sirius had never acted like this toward him before. He hesitated for a moment, but obeyed, heading up to his room on the second landing as Sirius continued to shout over his mother’s screams and shutting his bedroom door, feeling completely bewildered.

Maybe Harry didn’t fully trust Dumbledore as he once had, but it had just been a favor, and Harry had been safe the entire time, hadn’t he? “Maybe I should have told him where I was going before taking off,” he pondered aloud.

“That would have been ideal, yes,” came the voice of Phineas Nigellus, Sirius’s great-great grandfather and a former headmaster of Hogwarts. His portrait was located in Harry’s room, but he had another portrait in the headmaster’s office at Hogwarts, so it was easy to keep an eye on him here. Harry abruptly wondered why Sirius hadn’t put him in a different room to keep him from being spied on, especially given his current mood toward the headmaster.

Harry glared at the portrait, but said nothing else, instead redressing in his pajamas and clambering into bed.

Sirius had already stopped shouting, and the portrait of Mrs. Black had been silenced now, but Harry was exhausted from all the walking, Apparating twice, and the visit to Slughorn. Despite his desire to stay up and wait for Sirius, he ended up falling asleep, instead.

Back to index


Chapter 13: The Locket

Author's Notes: I originally planned for this chapter to be much longer, but the flow of it wasn't working for me, so it got split into two chapters, instead. On the plus side, this means that, barring disaster, I'll have the next chapter completely ready by next weekend!

So, some things have stayed the same, but other things must change. Credit for some dialogue in this chapter goes to DH chapter 10, "Kreacher's Tale". Enjoy!


Chapter Thirteen: The Locket



“Master Sirius.”

Sirius let out a grunt, stirred from a dream where he was running free with Moony and Prongs in a forest under the full moon, and forced his eyes open to see Kreacher standing almost snout-to-nose with him. The sight was revolting, and he jerked away, sitting up with a groan.

“What is it, Kreacher?” he said, rubbing his eyes and shoving his hair from his face.

“Master Sirius asked Kreacher to tell him if Master Harry ever leaves the house without Master’s permission,” said Kreacher.

The words took a moment to penetrate his brain, but when they did, the last vestiges of sleep vanished, leaving Sirius wide-awake. “Shit,” he hissed, forcing himself out of bed and kneeling before Kreacher. “Talk to me, Kreacher,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“The Headmaster was here,” said Kreacher at once, “he directed Kreacher back to his cupboard and made tea. Master Harry came down and the headmaster asked Master Harry for a favor.”

What? Sirius gaped at Kreacher, trying to process what he was hearing.

“What was the favor?” he demanded.

“Dumbledore seeks out a former teacher for his school,” said Kreacher, wringing his hands and looking quite agitated, something quite unusual for the house elf. “He was telling Master Harry that the man he seeks will be attracted to his fame, and Master Harry agreed to go with him. Kreacher was hiding in his cupboard, but he listened, and they left so Kreacher came here to tell Master Sirius.”

Sirius was going to have to amend his orders to include stopping Harry from leaving with anyone for any reason unless Sirius already knew and had approved it. “Any idea where they went?” he asked sourly.

“Kreacher doesn’t know,” said Kreacher, looking upset. “Kreacher is not bound to Master Harry yet, he cannot track him without the binding.”

Sirius had forgotten about this particular piece of magic that needed to be performed. House elves were capable of tracking underage wizards, but only if they were direct descendants of the family the elf served, or if a special binding ceremony was performed between the master, the elf, and the underage child. Even though Sirius had named Harry as his heir, there was still this additional step he had needed to take, but hadn’t thought about as of yet between Harry’s stay with the Dursleys and his struggles with the flashbacks and panic attacks. He had a lot to fix once Harry returned.

Sirius dressed and went down to the kitchen with Kreacher to wait. After some time passed, his thoughts drifted to the rapport he’d been building with his house elf.

Kreacher had told him much about his brother’s life the last few years he was alive, and while he’d gotten the feeling that the house elf knew what had happened to his brother, he was reticent to ask.

Well, no time like the present.

“Kreacher,” he said quietly, “there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you for some time now, because I think you know the answer, but I’ve been… scared to ask at the same time because – well, I’m not sure I want to know the truth.”

“Master?”

Sirius hesitated, then went for it. “How did my brother die?”

Kreacher stiffened at once. “Kreacher knows,” he said, “but it i-is a hard story to share, Master Sirius, a-and Master Regulus ordered Kreacher n-not to tell…”

“I understand,” said Sirius quietly, “but he was my brother, and even though I left, I never stopped caring about him. I need to know. I… I order you to tell me what happened to him."

Kreacher’s lower lip quivered, and Sirius was startled to see the elf start to cry.

“A year after Master Regulus joined the Dark Lord’s ranks,” began Kreacher in a quavering voice, “he came down to the kitchen to see Kreacher. Master Regulus said… he said…”

Sirius was startled to see Kreacher wrap his tiny arms around his torso and start rocking a bit in place.

“He said that the Dark Lord required an elf.”

“What did he need an elf for?” asked Sirius, confused.

“For a task,” answered Kreacher. “Master Regulus said it was an honor for him and for Kreacher, who must be sure to do whatever the Dark Lord ordered him to do… and then to c-come home.”

Kreacher abruptly sank to the ground, still rocking himself and staring to breathe faster, quietly sobbing.

“So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord did not tell Kreacher what they were to do, but took Kreacher with him to a cave beside the sea. And beyond the cave there was a cavern, and in the cavern was a great black lake…”

This tale was utterly bizarre, and Sirius struggled to understand what any of this had to do with Regulus. He urged the elf to continue, though. “What happened there?” he asked.

“There was a boat, and Kreacher and the Dark Lord rode it to an island in the center of the lake. There was a b-basin full of potion on the island. The D-Dark Lord made Kreacher drink it…”

The elf was now quaking from head to foot. Sirius listened, barely breathing.

“Kreacher drank, and as he drank, he saw terrible things… Kreacher’s insides burned… Kreacher cried for Master Regulus to save him, he cried for his Mistress Black, but the Dark Lord only laughed…”

Sirius shook his head slightly, aware his mouth had fallen open, but unable to shut it as the story continued.

“He made Kreacher drink all the potion… He dropped a locket into the empty basin… He filled it with more potion.

“And then the Dark Lord sailed away, leaving Kreacher on the island… and Kreacher needed water, he crawled to the island’s edge and he drank from the black lake… and hands, dead hands, came out of the water and dragged Kreacher under the surface…”

Inferi? Sirius was shocked. “How did you get away?”

“Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back,” the elf said.

Of course! Sirius had forgotten for a moment that since Kreacher hadn’t been bound to Voldemort, he was obliged to do exactly as Regulus had asked, to do his bidding and then return home. “What happened when you got back here?” he asked.

“Master Regulus was very worried, very worried,” croaked Kreacher. “Master Regulus told Kreacher to stay hidden and not to leave the house. And then… it was a little while later… Master Regulus came to find Kreacher in his cupboard one night, and Master Regulus was strange, not as he usually was, disturbed in his mind, Kreacher could tell… and he asked Kreacher to take him to the cave, the cave where Kreacher had gone with the Dark Lord…”

“What happened?” Sirius asked, though he thought he already knew.

“M-Master Regulus took from his pocket a locket like the one the Dark Lord had,” said Kreacher, tears pouring down either side of his snoutlike nose. “And he told Kreacher to take it and, when the basin was empty, to switch the lockets…”

“He drank the potion,” Sirius guessed.

Kreacher sobbed and nodded. “He ordered – Kreacher to leave – without him. And he told Kreacher – to go home – and never to tell my Mistress – what he had done – but to destroy – the first locket. And he drank – all the potion – and Kreacher swapped the lockets – and watched… as Master Regulus… was dragged beneath the water… and…”

The house elf dissolved into tears, and Sirius sat before him, aghast at what he had heard. Merlin… his brother hadn’t died a Death Eater…

“He died trying to stop Voldemort,” he whispered, running a shaky hand through his hair. “What happened to the locket, the one you took?”

Kreacher heaved a great sob and scurried to his cupboard, reaching inside and revealing a heavy locket of solid gold, a series of emeralds set into the surface in a serpentine ‘S’ shape. He slowly approached Sirius and placed it in his hand, tears still leaking from his watery eyes. Sirius held it up to his face, studying it closely. It was strangely cold to the touch and, holding it still closer, he thought he could hear… ticking?

No. It was like a metallic heart was beating inside. “What is this?” he whispered to no one before refocusing on Kreacher. “You haven’t been able to destroy it,” he said.

“Kreacher tried and tried,” the house elf cried, “but it would not open… Kreacher punished himself, he tried again, he punished himself, he tried again. Kreacher failed to obey orders, Kreacher could not destroy the locket! And his Mistress was mad with grief, because Master Regulus had disappeared, and Kreacher could not tell her what had happened, no, because Master Regulus had f-f-forbidden him to tell her what had happened in the c-cave…”

Sirius watched as the house elf gave into his grief utterly and completely. What Regulus had done… sacrificing himself for… this? Sirius looked at the locket again. If Voldemort had gone to such lengths to hide the thing… it had to be important, he was certain of it.

He said nothing for quite some time, allowing Kreacher to let out the fear and grief he’d been feeling all these long years, the cold locket ticking away in his hand. “Do you know what this is?” he finally asked quietly. “Did my brother explain what it was to you?”

Kreacher shook his head. “He only said it must be destroyed. Kreacher thinks it must be opened first, but… Kreacher cannot open it.”

Sirius considered this. “You’ve done very well, telling me this, Kreacher,” he said. “I know you feel you’ve failed my brother, but you haven’t, I promise you. You told me what happened, and now that I know, I can figure out what this is and see to it that it’s destroyed for good.” He set the locket on the table and knelt before the tiny elf. “I am proud of what you’ve done, keeping this locket safe all these years, and for telling me the truth. I promise to make sure that my brother didn’t die in vain.”

The elf sobbed harder, but nodded. “Thank you, Master Sirius,” he croaked, and then his ears suddenly perked up. “Master Harry is back,” he whispered, and Sirius snatched up the locket, shoving it in his trouser pocket as he tore out of the kitchen. He arrived at the front door just as it opened, revealing the faces of his godson and Albus.

The rage and panic Sirius had felt upon learning that Harry had left surged to the front of his mind, and he let loose at the headmaster without thinking, not caring when he woke the portrait of his mother, or when he snapped at Harry and callously dismissed him to his room. “What were you thinking?” he bellowed at Albus as his mother shrieked behind him and Harry quickly retreated upstairs. “Harry is not in the position to go running around with you, especially not without telling me first!”

“He was perfectly safe with me the entire time,” said Albus calmly.

“That’s not the point!” Sirius retorted fiercely. “Why didn’t he come and find me before running off with you? Did you tell him not to?”

“I did not,” answered Albus. “I merely asked for a favor, and he agreed.”

"Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness!" shrieked the portrait of Walburga Black. Sirius continued to ignore her.

“Why was I not informed, then? You should have found me first, Harry should have found me! I had to find out from Kreacher that my godson had run off with you for who knows how long –”

“I assured him the trip would not take long.”

“You were gone for over an hour!”

“Which you have already pointed out, Sirius,” said Albus, finally starting to sound frustrated.

Good.

“Harry is my responsibility, Albus, not yours!” snarled Sirius, too worked up now to back down from this inevitable fight that had been building slowly between them for far too long. “You’ve spent too many years manipulating him from behind the scenes, manipulating me, and clearly the fact that I’m a free man means nothing to you! You – you carry on, same as always, don’t you?”

“Sirius –”

“Prophecy or not, I am his legal guardian, Albus! I make the decisions regarding his care and safety, where he goes and who he goes with, and you – you just waltz in here like you always do!”

“Sirius –”

"Blood traitors! Vile abominations!"

“Why did you need a child to help you get a teacher out of retirement?” demanded Sirius over his mother's wails. “Surely you’re more than capable of convincing grown adults to do your bidding without the help of my godson!”

“It was Horace Slughorn.”

Sirius stopped, pulled out his wand, forced his mother’s portrait into silence, and headed for the kitchen without a word.

Slughorn?

He felt a surge of dark pleasure upon seeing that Albus had followed him for once in his ridiculously long life. Kreacher had obviously retreated to his cupboard, because he was nowhere to be seen. Sitting down at the kitchen table once more, Sirius tried to keep his temper in check.

“Why would you want Slughorn to come out of retirement?” he asked bluntly.

“I believe,” answered Albus, “that he has important information that I need to help Harry win the fight against Voldemort.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “And you had to use Harry to get him to come back?”

“Harry’s fame and notoriety were advantageous to the circumstances,” was Albus’s reply.

Sirius scowled at the insufferable old man. “We both agreed to keep him away from Scrimgeour to avoid using his fame in such a way, and then you go and do this?” He leaned forward. “Why didn’t you talk to me about it, first?”

“I would have,” answered Albus, “but I could not pass up the opportunity to secure Harry’s help when it arrived as it did. There was no guarantee that Horace would have stayed put for much longer once I finally located his current whereabouts.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “What were you doing here, all alone, in the middle of the night, then?” he said. “I don’t buy the act, Albus.” He shook his head. “You were here in hopes that Harry would just happen to have another sleepless night and come down here where you could just happen to be around. The manipulation has to stop, Albus!” He shoved away from the table and stalked the length of the kitchen. Kreacher’s tale paired with Harry running off with the headmaster was proving to be a bit much.

“Every time I think we’re finally on the same page about Harry, you go and do something that just shows me yet again that your plans and schemes matter more than the people involved in them,” he told Albus fiercely. “I couldn’t care less about Harry’s role in this godforsaken war when you’re around, Albus. The way you use us, the secrets, the clever manipulation, using your bloody mind games on a child to ensure things play out the way you want them to –”

“I have never deliberately placed Harry in harm’s way,” Albus cut him off firmly.

“You’ve never stopped him from heading into it himself the way you ought to have done all these years!” retorted Sirius with clenched fists. “You admitted you watched him more closely than he was ever aware of last month, remember? Clearly you always knew, but you deliberately chose not to act and let him… what, test his mettle? The number of times he’s almost died because you stood by and did nothing, it just –” He broke off, swore violently, and began stalking the length of the kitchen once more.

“There is something else troubling you, Sirius,” observed Albus calmly.

Sirius shot a nasty glare at Albus, hand unconsciously drifting to the strange locket he’d shoved into his pocket. “I – I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You encourage Harry to share everything that troubles him,” Albus pointed out. “It would be rather hypocritical to not do the same for yourself.”

“I don’t know that you’re the person I want to talk to right now,” Sirius groused angrily. “What if you’d been attacked while tracking down old Sluggy?”

“You know that Harry was perfectly safe with me,” said Albus, still with that maddeningly calm air about him. “Harry convinced Horace to come out of retirement, which means I now have a new Potions Master.”

“What about Snape?” asked Sirius, then froze. “You’re not – you’re giving him the Defense job?”

“You know that Severus’s position was jeopardized by stopping Umbridge and revealing Voldemort’s scheme,” said Albus. “We needed something to help him regain Voldemort’s favor. Having Horace return and giving Severus the job he has always coveted did just that.”

Sirius snorted. “Bet he was thrilled,” he muttered, slumping back down at the table and reaching into his pocket. He was still uncertain about trusting Albus with what he had learned, but if the locket he now possessed somehow had something to do with Harry being able to stop Voldemort once and for all… And Kreacher had said it had been well protected by Voldemort himself, even, which meant had it to be important.

Deciding to act, Sirius withdrew the locket and dropped it onto the table.

There was complete silence for a long moment.

“Where did you find that, Sirius?” asked Albus quietly, and Sirius was silently pleased to see he appeared shaken for the first time since bringing Harry back.

“It turns out my brother died to get this thing out of a cave by the sea,” said Sirius bluntly. “Voldemort used Kreacher to put it in some kind of basin, and Regulus had him take him back to switch it out for a fake locket. He was killed by Inferi in a lake inside the cave, and Kreacher was tasked with destroying this thing, but couldn’t do it on his own.” He gestured to the locket. “I take it you know what it is and why Voldemort went to such lengths to hide it away.”

Albus nodded, not saying anything.

“Well,” Sirius pressed impatiently, “what is it?”

After a long moment, Albus finally spoke. “It is a Horcrux,” he said simply.

Sirius stared. He knew the term, he’d heard it somewhere before –

A memory rose, unbidden, of being forced to read some of the Dark books his family owned as a child. It had cropped up in one of the ancient tomes, and he’d asked his father what the word meant.

“It is a piece of the soul,” his father had answered, “encased in an object for safekeeping. It prevents the owner from ever truly dying.”

“No,” Sirius said loudly. “No, that’s not –” He shook his hand and rose again to pace the kitchen. “I barely even know what it is, my father said the knowledge of how to make one was lost centuries ago…” He turned to face Albus. “That’s what he did,” he whispered. “He made a Horcrux, locked up a piece of his soul.”

Albus sighed. “I believe he made more than one,” he admitted, holding up both hands to reveal that his right hand was deadened, black and burnt, and that a strange ring was located on his left hand. “This was hidden in Voldemort’s ancestral home,” he said, gesturing to the ring. “It is a relic of the Peverell line, and taking it almost killed me.” He shook his right hand slightly. “This locket,” he went on, looking at the locket on the table, “belonged to Salazar Slytherin, and I had plans to begin my search for it once school had resumed.”

The emerald design on it made sense, Sirius thought vaguely.

“There was also the diary that Harry destroyed four years ago.”

That made three already! “How many more do you think there are?” he forced himself to ask.

“I don’t know for sure,” sighed Albus. “However, I am certain Horace does, though the memory which I believe reveals this truth has been obscured, and poorly at that. He is ashamed of whatever truth lies in what I have discovered thus far, and I need to know what I’m missing to prepare Harry to do what he must.”

Pieces fell into place in Sirius’s mind faster than he could keep up with them. “You want Harry to get this memory you need,” he said. “But the only way he can do that is if he forges some kind of relationship with the man, and Merlin, Slughorn wouldn’t be able to resist the fame Harry has amassed – against his will, I should add – so eventually he’s going to give in and give Harry what you need.”

“This is about Harry’s survival,” said Albus. “I need that information to help Harry ensure he is able to defeat Voldemort once and for all.”

Sirius returned his gaze to the locket. It looked so innocuous, sitting there in the oil lamplight of the kitchen, but knowing what truly lay inside it… “Tell me everything you’ve figured out so far,” he said firmly. “After that… we need to discuss how to proceed from here. I assume this is what you meant to tell Harry once term resumes?”

“Yes,” said Albus, “but my planned method was using a series of memories I’ve collected from Voldemort’s past to help him better understand how the man thinks in hopes of having him help me figure out what the other Horcruxes might be. However, part of that relies on Harry securing the complete memory from Horace.”

Sirius considered. “Tell me what you know first,” he said. “I intend to be involved in every step going forward regarding Harry’s part in this, is that understood?”

Albus hesitated a bit longer than Sirius preferred, but he nodded. “Agreed,” he said. “You are Harry’s guardian, and I believe he will accept guidance from you a bit better than from myself.”

Sirius felt a bit smug over this admission, but kept his face expressionless for the moment. “Thank you,” he said. “Now, tell me everything.”

What followed was a long and harrowing conversation regarding how exactly Horcruxes were created (knowledge Sirius would wish he could scour from his mind permanently), a brief outline of the memories Albus had collected, and what Horcruxes were already known. This was all discussed between sips of brandy and even Firewhiskey, Kreacher providing snacks for the two men silently as they talked, voices slowly growing hoarse as the hours dragged on.

In the early hours of the morning, Sirius dragged the conversation back to Harry leaving with Albus. “I should’ve come with you both,” said Sirius, scrubbing hard at his face and thinking of sending Kreacher to fetch some Pepper-Up potion to get through the upcoming day. “Not knowing where he was, Albus… It was almost as bad as the Triwizard tournament a year ago.”

“You knew he was with me.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Sirius. “I lost James and Lily by trusting the wrong person.”

“You know that I am not the wrong person, Sirius,” said Albus calmly.

“You’re not exactly the right person, either,” snapped Sirius. “Not when it comes to Harry. I need to know where he is at all times. This… tonight can’t happen again.”

“I understand that, Sirius,” said Albus after a moment. “I believe I can respect your wishes in this matter so long as Harry remains underage.”

Sirius barely resisted rolling his eyes. Trust Albus to phrase things in such a way. He certainly knew that once Harry was of age, he was technically no longer in charge of his godson, but he knew he’d be damned if he ever allowed Albus near Harry again without his express permission, first.

It wasn’t until Albus was ready to set off that Sirius remembered he had told Harry to wait for him in his room, but Kreacher let him know that Harry had fallen asleep shortly after heading upstairs and had (for once) slept soundly the rest of the night. He found he was too wound up to fall back to sleep himself, and instead spent some time after Albus departed in the kitchen by the fire, brooding over the events of the night and everything he had learned.

Albus had taken the locket with him, promising to figure out how to destroy the Horcrux inside, or keep it safe until the correct method could be discovered, and Sirius couldn’t help but feel a bit more clear-headed with it out of his hands. To have held something so dark, so evil… he shuddered at the thought.

The biggest thing, he realized, was that Regulus had died a hero, and no one knew the truth. When the war was won, he hoped to be able to share the truth of his brother’s death and see to it that he earned the recognition he deserved post-mortem. It was the least he could do for the brother who hoped to never face him in battle on opposite sides of the war.

“Master Harry is beginning to stir,” murmured Kreacher, and Sirius, heart heavy with guilt, frustration, and determination, went upstairs to await the discussion he knew had to happen.

Back to index


Chapter 14: Support System

Author's Notes: The next chapter, as promised. Harry and Sirius get a chance to talk, we finally get back to the Weasleys and Hermione, and Molly tears Albus a new one. Enjoy!


Chapter Fourteen: Support System



When Harry woke the next morning, Sirius was sitting in a chair by the door, clearly brooding. Sitting up, Harry grabbed his glasses nervously, sliding them onto his face to see that Sirius’s expression matched his body language.

“I’m sorry I left with Professor Dumbledore without telling you,” he offered quietly after a moment’s hesitation.

“Tell me what you were thinking, Harry,” was all Sirius said, his tone steady and even.

“I couldn’t sleep, and the headmaster was downstairs,” answered Harry, trying not to squirm at the intense look Sirius was giving him. “He asked if I could do him a favor, and I – well, I used to trust him completely, and it didn’t seem that difficult a thing to do, you know?” He fidgeted a bit.

“And the reason you didn’t let me know?”

“He said it wouldn’t take that long,” Harry shrugged. “You – I’ve woken you up almost every night this past week, so I thought you probably needed the sleep, and I figured it probably wasn’t a big deal, it was just Dumbledore, it’s not like he’d deliberately put me in danger –”

“But you don’t know that for sure,” Sirius cut him off, finally sounding upset. “And damn my need for sleep!” he added in frustration. He sighed and raked a hand through his long hair. “Harry, your childhood was all about either having every move dictated, or just being made to stay out of the way, and it’s obvious to me now that it means you make some rash choices.”

“It wasn’t rash, it was just Dumbledore,” said Harry, confused. “And you’re one to talk about making rash decisions,” he continued before he could stop himself.

“We’re not talking about me right now,” said Sirius tightly. “We’re talking about you.”

“And I think talking about me means talking about you, too,” Harry shot back, temper rising despite his best efforts to keep it in check. “You’ve encouraged me to break rules before, you know, not to mention coming to the train station in your Animagus form last year when everybody said not to. You keep saying the Dursleys were poor excuses for guardians, but I don’t know that you’ve consistently set a better example!”

There was a long moment of silence. Sirius’s face was unreadable, and Harry worried that maybe he had pushed his godfather too far. What kind of punishments was a man who had been raised in a house that embraced the Dark Arts capable of?

“You’re right.”

The words were said quietly, but startled Harry all the same. “Sirius?”

Sirius let out a heaving sigh and slumped in his chair. “I have not set the best example for you,” he said. “I've spent years dwelling on my wrongdoings, and I have let that hold me back from acting the way I ought to.” He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and turning his grey-eyed gaze to Harry. “You are fifteen years old, and you have yet to have the guidance you really need.”

“Sirius,” said Harry, “I didn’t mean –”

“Yes, you did,” said Sirius flatly. “You are reckless, but so am I. You and I both learned to be that way from atrocious home situations, and neither of us has had what we needed to change those patterns of behavior.” He ran his hands through his hair again, staring at the floor. “Of course, it’s all more complicated with you because of the prophecy and everything that keeps getting dumped on you, but Molly’s right. You really need more structure and support in your life.” He straightened up in the chair. “So, here’s what it comes down to:

“You are my responsibility, and as such, I need to always know your whereabouts. Setting aside the fact that a deranged madman wants to kill you, you are still underage and require a certain amount of adult supervision.”

“Meaning what, exactly?” asked Harry, wary at the words.

“If we go places that we don’t know for a fact are safe, then myself or another adult I have approved needs to be with you,” said Sirius firmly. “If we are somewhere safe, like the Burrow, then just knowing where you are in that area is sufficient.”

That didn’t sound too bad. “Okay,” Harry agreed.

“The next thing we need to discuss is Kreacher.”

“What about him?”

“He is bound to me, but because you’re my heir, he needs to be bound to you, as well.”

“Why?”

“I had no idea where you were last night,” said Sirius simply. “Kreacher is able to find the location of underage wizards in his care, but he couldn’t track you once you left with Dumbledore because you’re not my blood. I don’t want that to happen again. If he’s officially bound to you, then he will be able find you until you turn seventeen. After that, he will always be able to come to you when you call, no matter where you are.”

“Seriously?”

“What have you learned about using that word in my presence?” said Sirius with the first traces of a smile.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Not to use your name in vain, I’d expect.”

Chuckling, Sirius rose from the chair and seated himself at the foot of Harry’s bed. "I’m struggling to trust others with your care and safety, Harry," he said quietly as he sobered once more. "The first time I did that, your parents died and you ended up in the care of the worst Muggles I've ever met. Then there was the Triwizard tournament, not to mention this past year… I am going to do everything in my power to make sure none of that never happens again."

Harry considered this perspective and thought he could understand that.

"I get it," he finally said in an equally soft voice. "I guess that… I'm struggling with the idea that someone actually – cares about me like that."

"You'd best get used to it," said Sirius gruffly. "I'm not going anywhere, kiddo."

After breakfast, Sirius officially bound Kreacher to Harry, an experience which was both bizarre and enlightening. Harry couldn't decide which part was the strangest: how quickly it happened, the strange language in which Sirius had chanted to enact the binding, or how pleased Kreacher seemed to be by the whole thing. It was hard to think negatively of the house elf when he was truly happy for the first time since Harry met him a year earlier.

Harry wondered what Hermione would think of him purposefully binding a house elf to him.

He got the chance to find out that afternoon when they went to the Burrow to spend time with Ron and Ginny while they waited for Hermione to arrive. Her parents had insisted on driving to Ottery St. Catchpole to drop her off with all her things as well as sign over consent for the Weasleys to oversee Hermione’s testimony as temporary wizarding guardians at Umbridge’s upcoming trial. Apparently, Dumbledore had convinced them that it was in their best interest to have this done. To be honest, after witnessing the trials of Death Eaters in Dumbledore’s Pensieve and being on trial himself, Harry wasn’t so sure it would have worked out well had the Grangers attended the trial next month. He rather thought that they might be confused and even appalled by the way in which the court system worked for witches and wizards.

Harry, Ron, and Ginny quietly observed a rather tearful farewell between their friend and her parents. Hermione would be spending Christmas with her parents this year, and promised to write every week to update them about how she was doing. Harry watched Hermione as her parents returned to their car to make the drive back home, wondering at the expression on her face. It seemed sad and resolute, but also… guilty?

But then the look was gone so quickly Harry wasn’t quite sure he’d even seen it. She was suddenly bright and happy, chatting with Ginny about a book they had both apparently been reading as Mrs. Weasley levitated her things inside the house.

Harry and Ron hung around in Ginny's room as Ginny and Hermione got her things settled, Harry sitting on Ginny's bed and petting Crookshanks, Hermione's cat, as he looked around the room. He'd never been in Ginny's room before, and he was unsurprised to see that Ginny's room was small, but bright, with a large poster of the Wizarding band the Weird Sisters on one wall, and a picture of Gwenog Jones on the other. This reminded Harry of his trip with Dumbledore to recruit Horace Slughorn as the new Potions teacher. He filled in his friends about what had happened the previous night.

"Snape teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?" said Ron in a horrified voice. "What's he thinking?"

"Snape's position as a spy was jeopardized that day in Umbridge's office," said Harry heavily. "Apparently he really upset Voldemort by giving away his plan to get me into the Department of Mysteries."

"It makes sense," said Hermione, straightening up from having put clothes in the second dresser set up in the small room for her to use. "Giving him the job means that Dumbledore trusts him even though Voldemort is certain that he's really a Death Eater."

"Still," said Harry, "the job's jinxed, isn't it? No one's ever lasted more than a year. Maybe we'll finally be rid of him."

"Harry," said Hermione reproachfully, "how can you say that? You know he's really on our side."

"Only because of my mother," Harry reminded her tersely. "Sirius said they were friends, right? He probably had unrequited feelings for her, and it's just –"

"Disturbing," finished Ginny with a nod. "His loyalty hinges on feelings for Harry's mother and possibly nothing else. Who wouldn’t be bothered by that?"

"I wish I could just ask him and get a straight answer that doesn't include him insulting me or my dad," Harry admitted with a bitter note. Ginny paused in helping Hermione unpack to hug him tightly, the floral scent he now knew so well filling his nose as he clung to her.

"I know," she said softly. "I wish you could, too.”

"So this Slughorn guy likes to collect people?" asked Ron.

"Yeah," said Harry as Ginny pulled away, "apparently he's good friends with Gwenog Jones." He gestured to Ginny's poster. "Seeing that reminded me of meeting him last night."

Ginny brightened. "Do you think he'd introduce me?" she asked. "I'd love to be good enough to play on her team."

"Dumbledore made it sound like his so-called club got to meet all his connections that he's made over the years," said Harry with a shrug. "I expect he'd do the same thing again this year."

"Well," said Ron slowly, "I suppose he can't be worse than Snape, can he? And you said he accepts Exceeds Expectations for N.E.W.T. level?"

"That's what he told me," said Harry.

"I do hope we get our O.W.L. results soon,” sighed Hermione.

The conversation drifted, unfortunately, to Harry's childhood and everything his friends had learned over the past two weeks.

"Ginny wrote about it all to me," said Hermione sadly, "but to keep all that hidden for all these years, Harry?"

The cold laughter in his mind started right on cue, and Harry reached for Ginny before he could even process what he needed. “Your friends would think so much less of you if they knew the truth I can see in your mind.”

No, Harry told himself fiercely, that's not true. Ginny started running her fingers through his hair, calming him as he banished the cruel words from his mind.

"Land mine?" said Ginny quietly. Harry nodded.

"I'm so sorry," said Hermione, looking absolutely distraught. "I just triggered a flashback, didn't I?"

Harry shrugged. "Not exactly difficult to do," he admitted in a low voice. "And some days are better than others."

As the afternoon neared dinnertime, Hermione asked about Kreacher. "He's actually not that bad now," Harry told her. "Obviously the house still isn't all that great to live in, but it's much safer now, and Kreacher actually cooks and cleans. And…" here Harry hesitated, worried about how Hermione would react to this next part. "Okay, so I didn't tell Sirius I was going out with Dumbledore last night, and he got really upset because he didn't know where I was, but apparently Kreacher could've tracked me down. Only trouble is, house elves can really only track you if they have an idea of where to look – or if they are – well, bound to you."

Hemrione stared at him for a long moment. "You bound yourself to him," she stated flatly.

"Sirius insisted," said Harry quickly. "He's already named me as his heir, so I'd inherit Kreacher no matter what. And you know we can't just set him free with everything he knows."

Hermione's lips twisted as she considered this. "Is he happy?" she finally asked.

Harry considered the question, and then nodded. "The advice you gave Sirius seems to have helped a lot," he said. "You always said we should've been kinder to him, and you were right."

Hermione smiled a bit. "I suppose I can't ask for much better, all things considered," she sighed, and Harry knew that was probably the best he’d get from her on the topic.



Sirius watched Harry and Ron follow Ginny and Hermione upstairs to Ginny’s room to settle the older girl in for her stay at the Burrow. “What do you do for discipline?” he suddenly found himself asking aloud.

Molly was in the middle of sorting out laundry in the living room, and looked up, appearing startled. “Beg pardon?” she asked.

“If there’s a rule in your house, and your kids break it, what’s the consequence?” Sirius couldn’t get his conversation with Harry from that morning out of his mind, and kept dwelling on what it meant to be a good role model.

The truth was that he hadn’t been the best role model for Harry. After pushing and prodding for the truth, he’d gone and raised a ruckus to the point that Harry had bolted. And then there was the matter of the previous night.

“Do they know the rules? What rules are good rules to even have?”

Molly raised her eyebrows. “You’re only just asking me this now you’ve a teenager to be responsible for?”

Sirius paused for a moment, considering her words. “Yes, that about sums it up,” he finally said, feeling a bit sheepish. “Albus showed up late last night on the off-chance that Harry couldn’t sleep, and Harry went off with him to go recruit Professor Slughorn.”

“Oh, Horace Slughorn is returning to Hogwarts?” said Molly in surprise. “Then what will Professor Snape teach?”

“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” answered Sirius, “but that’s not my issue. It’s that –”

“Harry went off without telling you first, didn’t he?”

Sirius nodded. “Exactly.”

Molly sighed and set aside the laundry basket, patting the couch seat next to her. Sirius sat down heavily and immediately leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and pushing his hands into his hair.

“He called me out this morning on my past behavior,” he said to the carpet. “I… I really didn’t think he could reach a point where he’d actually do that.”

He felt Molly’s hand on his shoulder. “Harry has long held a secret and desperate desire to have the kind of life Ron has, I think,” she said quietly. “That includes the chaos around here, certainly, but above all else, he seeks the structure of a loving and supportive family. And what’s more, he wants that with you, Sirius.” Lifting his head, Sirius saw the warm smile on Molly’s face as she looked back at him. “You already have his trust, dear,” she told him, eyes glistening a bit as she squeezed his shoulder. “And you have his love. Let that love and trust be the foundation, and the rest will come.

“Now, that’s not to say that he won’t push at the boundaries, because he will,” she added briskly, “especially when he’s also so close to being of age, but you need to learn to establish those boundaries and hold to them.” From there, she launched into details regarding her own rules and consequences, and by the end of it, Sirius felt a mixture of trepidation at the work he had to do in order to give Harry the structure and support he needed, and unending gratefulness that Harry had chosen his friends so well he’d ended up with the love and support of the Weasley family. He and Molly had not always seen eye-to-eye about Harry in the past, but it was obvious that she cared deeply and wanted the best for him. They both did, and it was something to build a good relationship from.

It also helped that she firmly took his side regarding Dumbledore’s ploy to get Harry’s help the previous night and was determined to give the Hogwarts headmaster an earful the next time she saw him. Sirius firmly hoped he would be around to witness her laying into the older man. No one could cow a person like the wrath of Molly Weasley.

At Molly’s invidation, Sirius and Harry stayed for dinner before returning to Grimmauld Place for the night. He stayed up until Kreacher had assured him that Harry was truly asleep before he allowed his own exhaustion to finally claim him.



Molly was a witch of her word. “When I see the headmaster next, he will be getting an earful from me,” she had promised Sirius.

The next meeting of the Order of the Phoenix three days later was her next opportunity, and well…

She let Albus have it.

Sirius had joined Fred, George, and Bill in a corner to munch on some popcorn, and he was grinning at her, obviously quite pleased as she tore into the headmaster.

“He’s only fifteen, Albus!” she raged at him. “We did not just spend the last year of Harry’s life trying to keep him safe only for you to go and take him on a midnight stroll to Merlin knows where!”

“You know he was perfectly safe with me, Molly.”

“That’s beside the point!” snapped Molly irritably. “Safe or not, you are not his guardian in our world, Albus! Merlin knows I’ve done my best to give that boy some sense of normalcy, but even I am not his guardian. Sirius is, and unlike you, Sirius has no ulterior motives behind the scenes regarding Harry’s life! I know Sirius would have been more than fine with your plot to lure Professor Slughorn out of retirement had you spoken with him first and invited him to come along.”

“There was no guarantee Horace would respond well to Sirius showing up, as well,” said Albus patiently.

“Not from what Harry says,” piped up Bill. “Told me and Sirius last night about how Slughorn wished Sirius had been in Slytherin like his brother. What were his words, Sirius?”

Sirius grinned. “He got Regulus when he came along, but he’d have liked the set of us.”

“Sounds like Sirius’s presence wouldn’t have been adversely received,” pointed out Fred.

“Might’ve asked for monetary favors seeing as how Sirius got the whole Black fortune,” added George with an amused expression.

“Exactly,” said Molly firmly. “Harry’s safety is important to all of us, Albus” – there was a questionable expression on Severus’s face that she chose to ignore – “but none more than his actual guardian.”

“You weren’t defending Black’s position a year ago,” Severus spoke up unexpectedly, and a few other members of the Order nodded. “In fact, I recall you advocating heavily that the headmaster oversee the boy’s protection.”

“Seeing as how Sirius was still a fugitive at that point in time,” replied Molly coolly, “I stand by my words at the time in which they were given. Obviously, things have changed, and it is important to change with them. Sirius is proving himself to be a competent caregiver. I see it every day since Harry finally left those Muggles for the summer.” She looked directly at Sirius. “I see a man burdened by guilt who is determined to do the best he can. He talks to me and Arthur frequently to make sure he is doing right by Harry. How could I ask for more proof that he is capable than that?”

Severus said nothing, so Molly turned back to Albus. “I demand you offer Sirius the same support you have given both myself and Arthur in regards to the safety and wellbeing of our children,” she said. “Harry has suffered enough trouble without a true, caring guardian, and now that he really has one… Sirius deserves the same trust and respect you afford us every day.”

Albus nodded. “I agree with you on this,” he finally answered. “Harry is more than deserving of stability. He is very lucky to have you for an advocate, Molly.”

The meeting proceded as usual after that, and life went on, but Molly found that the last vestiges of distrust and worry she’d continued to hold regarding Sirius were, at long last, put to rest, and the changes in their friendship thereafter became warm and comfortable. Sirius had lost so much in his few short years of life, but the effort he put into doing better by Harry meant far more than words could ever express.

Molly knew, more than anything, that both Sirius and Harry were deserving of a summer spent in a place that was safe, and she was willing to do whatever it took to ensure her home was just that.

In the coming days, Sirius would laugh more easily, engage with her children and husband in a warm and friendly manner, and pester her with questions about independence and responsibility. It was everything she could have hoped for, and much more. He caught Harry in frequent hugs, joked with Ron and Ginny, and even discussed advanced magic concepts with Hermione.

At long last, Molly felt she was coming to know the real Sirius Black, as he had always been meant to be.

Back to index


Chapter 15: Summer at the Burrow

Author's Notes: I have been working hard on 6 different IEPs for my students (Individualized Education Program) that were all due within the space of about a week, which included scheduling meetings, contacting related service providers (speech, occupational therapy, physical therapy, adaptive physical education, orientation and mobility, the list just keeps going for my particular subset of students). That took so much time on top of my homework that writing had to be set aside for a little while. Thankfully, I've only got 3 more IEPs this month, 2-3 meetings next month, 2 meetings in January, and then nothing until March. So I'm hoping to get back into a bit more of a regular writing routine with this week finally out of the way. It's easier to balance writing with just my regular lesson planning and my homework for college.

Anyway, this chapter has taken some time to develop (some dialogue taken from HBP, chapter 5 "An Excess of Phlegm"). I had a difficult time keeping the events completely chronological because of the way certain ideas flowed into important scenes, but everything in this chapter takes place from the day Hermione arrives at the Burrow to the day before Harry's birthday. It all also kind of builds on itself, as well, adding in important elements that lead to the final scene, which is definitely one of my favorite things I've written thus far. This is a very happy, almost sappy chapter, if you will, but after everything else Harry has been through, I thought he was more than deserving of some time to be happy and safe. Enjoy!


Chapter Fifteen: Summer at the Burrow



Harry's life quickly fell into a new pattern now that he was no longer stuck at Privet Drive. He and Sirius would eat breakfast at Grimmauld Place, and then they'd spend the rest of the day at the Burrow, Harry frequently playing two-a-side Quidditch with his friends (he and Hermione against Ron and Ginny; Hermione was dreadful and Ginny excellent, so they were reasonably well matched), or sneaking off with Ginny for time away from everyone else.

The evenings spent at Grimmauld Place consisted of games with Sirius and Tonks (and occasionally Remus), talking quietly by the fire, or Sirius breaking out his collection of records to begin Harry’s musical education. It was through these evenings that Harry learned his mother loved the Beatles and would sing songs like “All You Need Is Love” or “Hey Jude” to Harry when she rocked him to sleep. His father had been more partial to Led Zepplin and Bon Jovi, but liked to bellow along to most any song when he’d had too much to drink, whether he knew the words or not.

It was both wondrous and painful to learn these kinds of things about his parents. More than once, Harry wished there had never such a thing as the prophecy, let alone Voldemort himself. So many lives had been cut short or damaged as a result of Voldemort’s machinations.

“You think you’ve got your whole life in front of you, so much time to make choices and explore the kind of life you really want,” said Sirius quietly when Harry confided his frustration and sadness to him. “The truth is that none of us really knows how long we’ve actually got before it all comes to an end. It either makes us more careful, or more reckless. Your dad and I were very reckless until he found something that made him want to be more careful.”

“What was that?” Harry asked him.

Sirius smiled. “You. The moment Lily told him she was pregnant with you, he chose caution for the sake of Lily and for the chance to be your dad. He and Lily had already taken great risks for the Order – that whole ‘thrice defied’ Voldemort part of the prophecy – but the idea of becoming a dad was more important than the risks he’d taken for the Order before then.” He grinned. “I tried to talk him out of it, but he was committed to being more careful.”

“And a good thing, too,” said Remus as he entered the kitchen, Kreacher immediately scurrying over with a hot meal as Tonks followed him in. Remus looked as though he needed it. Harry knew his old professor was doing undercover work for the Order with the werewolves, so it was always a blessing whenever he could be there. “Sirius got in a tussle with some Death Eaters a week later and spent a week at St. Mungo’s to recover.”

Tonks dropped down next to Remus and kissed his cheek. “James probably could have prevented that from happening,” she said.

Remus shook his head. “They were looking specifically for James.”

“Why?” asked Harry.

“He had helped with the capture of Dolohov, and the Death Eaters were angry about it,” said Sirius. “I almost got taken out by Rosier in the struggle, but then the Aurors finally showed up and he was killed when he tried to fight he way out of the situation.”

Harry remembered both of these names. When he had accidentally accessed Dumbledore’s Pensieve his fourth year, the ex-Death Eater Karkaroff had mentioned both names in an attempt to free himself from Azkaban.

Remus sighed. “James did feel remorse for not having been with you, but Lily and I talked sense into him.” He smiled at Sirius. “You were a bit more careful after that, though.”

“It was in St. Mungo’s when he and Lily asked me to be godfather,” admitted Sirius. “Lily begged me to be more careful because they both wanted me to be able to be there for you.” He looked at Harry now. “That was the day I realized you were our future.”

Harry briefly thought of the picture of the Order Mad-Eye Moody had shown him the previous summer. So many lives lost, but those who still remained and the next generation had stepped up, the fighting spirit of those passed on continued in their actions and determination to win the fight once and for all.



Harry, Ron, and Hermione received their O.W.L. results two days after Hermione arrived at the Burrow, and Harry was pleased to find that he had passed every subject he needed to continue to pursue his ambition of becoming an Auror, including an Outstanding in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Exceeds Expectations in Potions ("Take that, Snape," he muttered to himself).

"Your dad and I both considered being Aurors, but then we chose to focus on our roles in the Order, instead," Sirius told Harry when he told him about his plans. "I think you'd be brilliant at it!”

Ron had managed scores that would enable him to be an Auror, as well. “Good thing, too,” remarked Ginny. “Ron needs someone to keep him in line,” she added before dodging the slice of toast her brother threw her way.

Harry had seen Ron and Ginny interact plenty over the years, but the teasing jibes Ginny easily slung at Ron were more apparent than ever now.

“C’mon Ron!” shouted Ginny from one side of the orchard as Ron failed to stop Harry from scoring for the third time in a row. “Where’s the guy who helped us win the Quidditch cup?”

“Shut it, Ginny,” scowled Ron. “You realize how slow we all are compared to Harry’s Firebolt.”

“I’m sure it takes more than a fast broom to make a good player,” said Hermione, wobbling dangerously as she attempted to catch the ball Harry tossed over to her.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” demanded Ron, ears going bright red.

“I wouldn’t do any better on Harry’s broom, now would I?” said Hermione crossly, landing on the grass to retrieve the dropped ball. “Why you lot keep making me play when I’m so horrible at this…”

“Consider it payback for all the lectures you’ve given us about our study habits,” said Harry, grinning. Ron’s face cleared at once and he started to laugh as Hermione glared up at Harry.

“Really, though,” said Ron. “None of us ‘cept Ginny’s got summer homework, anyway, so it’s best spent doing things that are fun!”

“We clearly have different definitions of the word ‘fun’,” Harry heard Hermione mutter as she mounted her broom once more to resume the game. He stifled a grin and zoomed off, pleased that Hermione kept trying no matter how much she complained about her lack of Quidditch talent. It made the days much more fun and relaxed. Better still, Harry never had flashbacks when he was in the air; flying and playing the game with his friends really seemed to get him out of his head and away from the trauma lurking within.

“Get your head out of the clouds, Harry!” Ron suddenly shouted, and Harry blinked and took off across the orchard, ready to engage in the game once more.



When Sirius caught Harry and Ginny the third time they had snuck away from everyone else, it was with Harry's hands starting to drift up under the back of Ginny's shirt, which prompted a rather embarrassing conversation that evening after they returned to Grimmauld Place.

“Now then,” said Sirius, rubbing his hands together after they settled down in the drawing room, “I think it’s time for the Talk.”

Harry remembered Sirius saying this was going to happen, but he was still no better prepared for it now than he had been that night. “Do we have to?” he tried, already knowing the answer.

“It’s necessary,” Sirius told him firmly. “You need to know about intimacy, safe sex, and the finer points of pleasure.”

Harry’s face felt very hot, and stayed that way for some time after.

Sirius was surprisingly unabashed about sharing what he knew, and quite thorough at that. Harry finally interrupted during the how-to’s of ensuring female pleasure. “D’you think my dad would’ve talked about any of this the way you are?”

Sirius laughed. “Everything I’m telling you I learned from Fleamont Potter himself, actually, so yes, most definitely.” At Harry’s confused expression, he added, “Your grandfather. Now pay attention, this is very important knowledge I’m imparting to you!”

“Fleamont?” said Harry skeptically. “You’re taking the mickey.”

“No, that was his name,” answered Sirius. “He also invented Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion. That’s where the current Potter wealth you inherited comes from.”

Harry stared.

“Anyway,” said Sirius, “you’re distracting me. Pay attention!”

And on it went. Even though Harry was interested in everything Sirius was telling him, it was still quite mortifying to have to sit through. He wasn’t sure how he’d be able to look Ginny in the face again after this.

"Now, I didn't tell Molly that I caught the two of you today," Sirius informed Harry as he finally wound down, "but that was a one-time deal. Be more discrete in the future, all right?"

Harry flushed and nodded. Trust Sirius to insist on knowledge and discretion rather than forbidding Harry and Ginny from seeking solitude together.

When Harry went to the Burrow the next morning, one look at Ginny had his face positively burning and he kept his eyes firmly affixed to the floor.

"Is everything all right, dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley, concerned. Sirius grinned.

"We just had a talk last night about the birds and the bees," he explained cheerily, and Harry thought that facing one of Hagrid’s Blast-Ended Skrewts would be preferable to the knowing look from Mrs. Weasley and the amused grin he spotted on Ginny's face.

"Don't worry, Harry," she told him brightly, "I went through that back at Christmas when Mum found out I was dating Michael Corner."

"I bet Sirius was more thorough," Harry mumbled to her, and she blushed despite her continued grin.

"Well, I suppose we’ll have to compare notes, then," she replied cheekily. Sirius burst out laughing as Mrs. Weasley tutted, but Ginny just grinned more widely, seized Harry’s hand, and pulled him outside while yelling for Ron and Hermione to hurry up and join them in the orchard.

There was a word, Harry knew, for what he felt in that moment as Ginny looked at him over her shoulder, fiery hair dancing in the sunlight and her brown eyes brighter than ever. For the moment, he set it aside, thinking only of the full day of laughter and friendship awaiting him.



The day after Hermione came to stay at the Burrow, Bill showed up at dinner with Fleur Delacour. “’Arry, eet ‘as been too long!” she cried the moment she spotted Harry. Without warning, she swooped down on him and kissed both cheeks in greeting, leaving his cheeks feeling as though they were burning, Ron with an amused grin, Hermione rolling her eyes in exasperation, and Ginny silently fuming.

“Hey,” he finally managed. “It’s er, good to see you.” Then he spotted a ring on her left hand. “Hang on, are you –?”

“Eet eez because of you that Bill and I met last year,” said Fleur, beaming at Harry. “’E ‘elped me wiz my job at Gringotts, and we ‘ave spent so much time togezzer, and well –” She grasped Bill’s hand firmly. “Just over two weeks ago, ‘e proposed!”

“We’re getting married next summer,” said Bill, grinning at Harry. “Grand outdoor thing, in the back garden.”

“Wow, congratulations!” said Harry, and Fleur broke into a radiant smile and swooped down on him again. When he finally broke away from her, Ginny was scowling in the corner, though she looked slightly mollified when she realized that Harry was completely embarrassed by Fleur’s display.

“She’s awful,” she muttered when Harry approached her. “Obviously she’s going to be nice to you, though.”

Having both been Champions in the Triwizard Tournament, Harry did get along with Fleur well enough, but Mrs. Weasley was quite stiff around her. It wasn’t hard to see why she was struggling, though, because Fleur always seemed the haughty young lady Harry had first met his fourth year in her presence. He couldn’t figure it out.

“What do you even do around ‘ere every day?” Fleur asked loudly at dinner the fourth night Harry was there for dinner. “Zere’s only cooking and chickens as far as I can see.”

The fact that Bill just happened to be outside talking with Mr. Weasley and Sirius about Order business didn’t slip past Harry’s notice.

“We play two-a-side Quidditch in the orchard,” said Ron quickly.

“Reading,” piped up Hermione.

“Snogging,” was Ginny’s unabashed reply, which made Harry’s face warm as Mrs. Weasley began to scold her only daughter. Ginny listened to the whole lecture, face completely unrepentant.

It was true, though. They did snog a lot.

Harry finally asked Ginny the next morning what was going on with the animosity between Fleur and Mrs. Weasley. “Mum hates her,” said Ginny firmly.

“I do not hate her!” came Mrs. Weasley’s voice from the kitchen. She marched into the living room, hands on her hips as she shot an exasperated look at her daughter. “I just think they’ve hurried into this engagement, that’s all!”

“Yeah, I might have picked up on that when Bill told us the news,” said Ginny, raising her eyebrows. “‘But you’ve barely known each other a year,’ you said.”

“Which is not very long,” replied Mrs. Weasley tersely. “I know why it’s happened, of course. It’s all this uncertainty with You-Know-Who coming back, people think they might be dead tomorrow, so they’re rushing all sorts of decisions they’d normally take time over. It was the same last time he was powerful, people eloping left, right, and center –”

“Including you and Dad,” said Ginny slyly.

“Yes, well, your father and I were made for each other, what was the point in waiting?” said Mrs. Weasley dismissively. “Whereas Bill and Fleur… well… what have they really got in common? He’s a hardworking, down-to-earth sort of person, whereas she’s –”

“A cow,” said Ginny, nodding. “But Bill’s not that down-to-earth. He’s a Curse-Breaker, isn’t he, he likes a bit of adventure, a bit of glamour… I expect that’s why he’s gone for Phlegm.”

“Stop calling her that, Ginny,” said Mrs. Weasley sharply as Harry laughed. “Well, I’d better get back to the dishes… mind yourselves today, please.” Looking a bit careworn, she returned to the kitchen.

“She wasn’t that bad that first night Bill brought her,” sighed Ginny after a moment, “but I suppose she was trying to put on a good front to hide her true nature.”

“So… you think they’re making a mistake,” said Harry slowly.

“Every time she’s come over since Bill announced the engagement, she just focuses on him and ignores everyone else,” said Ginny with a scowl. “Well, everyone except you these days, anyway. Bill was even talking about having her come and stay for a few days to get to know everyone better, but Mum actually refused and said Fleur needs to join the Order first before she gets to stay here for security reasons.”

That was surprising. Mrs. Weasley, turn away a potential guest?

“Wow,” Harry managed after a moment. “That’s…”

“Phlegm’s really only nice to you, anyway,” continued Ginny.

“Well, I mean, she and I –”

“– were Champions, I remember,” said Ginny, “and then there’s Ron…”

Ron’s behavior around Fleur was confusing. He seemed determined to be polite at all times, but sometimes he’d open his mouth and some ridiculous, breathy compliment would come tumbling out. Or else he’d stick his elbow in the butter dish in a bizarre mirroring of Ginny’s behavior towards Harry four summers ago. He always had this look on his face after like he realized he’d been acting like a complete twat, and then he’d go strangely silent. After a week of this, Harry finally cornered him to try and figure it out.

“I don’t like Fleur,” said Ron stubbornly. “I – I struggle with that Veela thing she’s got going on, that’s all.”

“Right,” said Harry, unconvinced. “She’s here almost every night, though, so surely you’d be more used to –”

“I fancy Hermione.”

Ron’s face was redder than a tomato, and he wouldn’t meet Harry’s gaze. Harry blinked, completely taken aback by the forthright admission. “What did you say to Hermione first year when she said there was no wood to light a fire with the Devil’s Snare?” he demanded.

Ron actually managed to turn a deeper shade of scarlet. “I’m not an imposter, Harry!”

“Answer the question, then,” replied Harry with crossed arms and raised eyebrows. “What did you say to Hermione that night?”

Ron groaned and rolled his eyes. “I asked her if she was a witch or not. Happy now?”

Harry nodded slowly. “Okay, so do you mind explaining how you’re suddenly capable of making such a direct admission of fancying someone? I mean, I’ve suspected it for a while now, but this” – he waved a hand in Ron’s general direction – “is weird.”

Ron sighed. “Look,” he said, “Bill gave me this book about two weeks ago. Let me show you.”

Ginny and Hermione were helping Mrs. Weasley out in the garden at the moment, so it was easy enough to slip away to Ron’s room. Harry plopped himself comfortably on Ron’s bed while Ron dug around in his trunk and pulled out a book.

“Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches,” Harry read the cover dubiously. “You’re willingly reading a book about something other than Quidditch.”

“Shut it,” said Ron without heat, dropping down next to Harry on the bed and opening it.

“Compliments,” Harry muttered as he looked through the table of contents, “gifts…”

“It’s not all about wandwork,” Ron quipped. Harry snorted.

“I’ve figured out that much for myself, thanks,” he said. “So, Hermione…”

“I don’t want to muck things up,” said Ron quickly. “We’ve been friends for years now, but I just…” He groaned and flopped backwards onto his bed. “Ginny told me that Hermione snogged Krum back in fourth year,” he said.

“Okay,” said Harry neutrally. He hadn’t known this, but it wasn’t exactly surprising, either. The international Seeker had seemed quite taken with Hermione that year.

“I talked with Bill about it, and I don’t – she’s important to me.”

“I get that,” said Harry. “She’s very much the sister I never had.” He hesitated. “When did you realize you saw her differently?”

“The Yule Ball,” said Ron, confirming Harry’s suspicions. “But I – I have no experience, and I always seem to be putting my foot in my mouth at the wrong moments, but I’m hoping this book will help me figure it out so when I do, you know, ask her, I do it right.”

This seemed logical to Harry, so he resolved to give Ron the space he needed to figure things out. He just hoped that their friendship wouldn’t suffer as a result.

Of course, it was hard to see that Ron wanted to make a difference after he knocked over his glass of pumpkin juice that evening when eagerly passing a basket of rolls to Fleur and went so red his face matched his hair. Hermione, as per usual, went strangely silent and stiff, suddenly ignoring Ron for the rest of dinner.

Harry noticed Sirius and Mr. Weasley watching his two friends, and saw them both send secretive smiles to each other as Fleur prattled on about wedding plans. They were always polite in Fleur’s presence, whatever it was they truly thought of her, but Ginny could not be dissuaded from referring to the French woman (though at least out of her earshot) as Phlegm, which made Harry laugh every time despite himself.

He really loved Ginny's jokes and personality. And well, everything about her. He often kept her company when she was working on her summer homework, or when she was collecting produce from the garden for her mother. She didn’t seem to mind that he followed her just about everywhere. The flashbacks and panic attacks actually tended to pass more quickly when she was around.

“Sorry,” he mumbled once after a particularly bad flashback involving a comment Bill had made one evening at dinner about the upcoming trial of Umbridge.

“Harry,” said Ginny firmly, “I love you, and I need you to know that you have nothing to be sorry for.”

It was hard to believe this after years of having to apologize for every little thing, but Ginny refused to let a single apology go without reminding Harry that it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t long before Ron and Hermione started saying it, as well as Sirius and even Mrs. Weasley. Everyone seemed determined to make sure Harry knew he wasn’t at fault for the way his brain worked.

He was grateful for it, but it felt overwhelming at times, too. Those were the times Ginny seemed to recognize that he needed space, and would pull him outside to a quiet part of the orchard to just sit and be. She didn’t talk to him or make him talk to her, but instead would let him breathe, let him figure things out. For the first time in his life, Harry found himself experiencing moments of incredible happiness and contentment, and more often than not, Ginny was the source of that.

This, however, always led him back to the realization he'd made back at that Muggle park in Little Whinging.

Love.

With every passing day, Harry found himself falling more and more for the vivacious redhead. As July carried on, she developed a sort of sixth sense as to when he was having a flashback, and could even halt a panic attack before Harry realized he was having one. It was strange, but also incredible, the way she could read him, and he sometimes wondered how much of it came from years of watching him from afar, and how much of it was just her.

But how to tell her of the way he felt? He'd bungled things with Cho, but it had always felt rather uncomfortable talking with her, probably because they’d had so little in common. She was pretty and played Quidditch, but otherwise...

Ginny was so easy to talk to about anything and everything, and it was never awkward with her. But telling her this, it was different. He didn't want to make a mess of things with her.

"That will not happen," said Sirius firmly when Harry finally confided in him. "You already know she loves you, kiddo. You just tell her and let the romance flow naturally."

This seemed a bit rich coming from a man who had been determined to stay a bachelor his whole life (well, prior to being incarcerated, anyway), but he did have a point. Ginny loved him and made sure he knew it everyday. She wasn't going anywhere.

“What?” said Ginny one evening as they sat under a tree away from everyone else. Harry had needed some space, and Ginny had realized it without him saying a word yet again.

Harry startled, realizing that he had been staring at her for some time now, thinking of the way he felt about her. His face warming, Harry mumbled, “Nothing,” and looked away.

He could almost feel Ginny frowning, but stared determinedly at an ongoing tussle between two garden gnomes and a worm. Ginny stayed quiet, almost as though she was waiting for something, though Harry couldn’t figure out what that might be.

Finally, Ginny spoke again. “There’s something that’s been on your mind for a while now,” she said softly.

Harry frowned a bit, wondering what she meant.

“I’ve seen it every time you spend even a part of the summer with us,” she added after a moment, “not to mention this past Christmas.” Harry glanced up to see her gazing at him. “I think part of you keeps wondering if this is real, if it’s something you’re deserving of.”

“You have never been deserving of anything, boy.”

“He’s lying to you,” Ginny’s voice interrupted the flashback, and Harry sucked in a breath as he came to, meeting Ginny’s bright brown eyes, her hands tightly clasping his.

“Is he?” Harry finally said, surprised at the words that he spoke. “I was never happy before I met your family.”

“Those Muggles did it on purpose because of what you are,” said Ginny fiercely, shaking his hands a bit with her own. “It was never about you, it was about them, their insecurities and fear about what you’re capable of. Harry, they placed fear and prejudice above everything else, and they – they let that dictate the systematic neglect and abuse of a child who’d already lost so much!” She shook her head, expression so intense and blazing it made Harry’s heart pound.

“You have always been deserving of love and happiness,” Ginny continued. “I know you’re accepting that what was done to you growing up was wrong, but you’re still questioning your right to be happy. That’s why I bring you out here, why Hermione puts up with Quidditch every day, why my mum makes your favorite foods, why Ron demands Quidditch every day.” Harry cracked a small grin despite himself at this. “It’s – it’s why Phlegm dotes on you, and Bill holds his tongue when he wants to act the overprotective brother.” Ginny smiled warmly at him. “It’s why Sirius brings you here every single day, rain or shine, why Remus is going undercover with werewolves but still comes to visit you every chance he gets. It’s why Tonks spends time with you and Sirius at Grimmauld Place every night, why my dad just smiles every time I tell you how much I love you.” She gripped Harry’s hands more tightly now. “It’s why the Order fights every day to keep us safe, why my parents are putting up with the extra security and having our post searched. We do it because you deserve it, every last ounce of happiness we can offer.”

Harry didn’t know what to say, but Ginny didn’t seem to need to him to say anything. “I love you, Harry,” she whispered, “and I would happily spend the rest of my life showing you that love.”

Harry stared at Ginny, awestruck and feeling the urge to say what was really on his mind more than ever before. Just then, however, he heard Mrs. Weasley’s voice.

“Harry, Ginny! Suppertime!”

Ginny smiled, leaned forward to firmly kiss Harry, and then she was on her feet, pulling him upright and leading him back to the Burrow. Harry followed, mind elsewhere as he considered everything Ginny had said to him. To be deserving of that much love and care when he’d been less than the worms in Aunt Petunia’s garden… but he knew he couldn’t completely trust his own mind on the matter. He did know, however, that he could trust Ginny.

That he did trust Ginny.

When it came right down to it, this summer break was turning out to be the best Harry had ever experienced, even with the landmines he frequently hit, or the news of people disappearing, dying, or being attacked by dementors. Sirius and the Weasleys were devout in their given task of keeping Harry safe, for which he was equal parts guilty and grateful.

Sadly, any news that came their way regarding anything to do with the Muggle world always put Hermione in a somber mood. “The Order’s keeping an eye on my parents,” she admitted to Harry quietly one evening after Mr. Weasley had come home bearing news of dementor attacks in Hendon, which wasn’t far from her home. “Still, I can’t help but worry that the next time someone comes back with bad news, it’ll be about them. I want so badly for them to be safe.” She sighed and leaned back into the couch they were sitting on while waiting for Ron and Ginny to finish helping their mother wash up after dinner as Sirius, Mr. Weasley, and Bill talked Order business outside.

“How much do your parents know about what’s going on?” Harry asked her.

There was an unreadable look in Hermione’s eyes as she stared past him to the living room window. “Not much,” she finally answered. “They’ve asked more questions since they had to come to Hogwarts last month, but they don’t know enough to really worry about me.”

Harry frowned. “But I thought that’s what parents are supposed to do,” he said. “Worry about you, I mean.”

“Of course,” said Hermione quickly as she looked his way without actually meeting his eyes, “but we have Mr. and Mrs. Weasley for that, Harry. And Sirius, obviously, as well. That’s the problem, though.” She finally met Harry’s gaze with her own. “My parents are Muggles, so they don’t understand a thing about our world or our culture, let alone the bias and prejudices we struggle with. They… find it all rather confusing, to be honest.” She smiled sadly. “Obviously, they love me, don’t get me wrong, but it sometimes feels as though they don’t quite know what to do with me, especially since my life has shot in such a drastically different direction than they first thought it would.” She reached out for Harry’s hands and clasped them tightly in her own.

“If my parents really understood what’s been going on in the news, they would have insisted on leaving the country,” she said earnestly, “on getting me out and trying to keep me safe. But they can’t do that, not really.”

“Hermione –” Harry started, but she cut him off.

“I know where I belong, Harry,” she told him, “and that is right here with you and this family we’ve made.”

Harry blinked several times and looked away, deeply touched by Hermione’s words. When she suddenly pulled her hands away and threw her arms around him, he hugged her back, feeling so grateful for the friends and family he had gained since starting at Hogwarts.



As Harry's birthday neared, so too did Umbridge's trial. Neville and Luna had readily agreed to testify in court against Umbridge (though Sirius had taken to calling her "Umbitch" when he and Harry were alone), and it soon became common to see them traipsing around the Burrow and the surrounding grounds with Harry and the others. Luna had convinced her father to abandon their hunt for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks to be there for the trial because she wanted to support her friends.

"She didn't have friends before," Ginny confided to Harry. "I mean, she had me, but everyone else in our year thinks she's, well..."

"Loony?" Harry guessed dryly.

"To be fair," said Ginny quickly, "she hasn't been quite the girl I knew since her mum died, but she never stopped talking to me my first year, even when I was at my most withdrawn. I've always appreciated that about her."

Harry couldn't imagine Luna being any other way given her unique gift of not giving a damn what anyone else thought of her. Harry wished he was capable of the same thing, but given that he'd spent most of his life being put down, it was difficult to not seek out approval from others.

When approached with the idea of having Neville and Luna over almost daily, Mrs. Weasley actually turned to Sirius and asked him what he thought. Sirius appeared startled by this. “Well,” he said slowly, “I think it’s safe to say they have both proved themselves good and loyal friends. I don’t think having them come over would jeopardize Harry’s safety in any way.”

“Agreed,” said Mrs. Weasley firmly. “Merlin knows the Longbottoms have long been supporters of of the Light, and we’ve known the Lovegoods for so long… Luna used to come over all the time before her mother passed, poor dear.”

And so it was decided.

On the days that they were there, Neville couldn't be persuaded to play any kind of pick-me-up Quidditch (he had developed a rather healthy fear of flying after breaking his wrist their first year), and Luna claimed the orchard was in danger of a wrackspurt infestation, which would make it too difficult for her to fly because they made your brain go all fuzzy. Having already accepted Luna's fanciful belief in things that didn't even exist in the Wizarding world, no one questioned this, though Hermione did have that exasperated look on her face that she tended to get whenever Luna talked about the things her father printed in his magazine, the Quibbler.

Sirius jokingly asked Luna if her father could get him in touch with Stubby Boardman, the man he'd claimed in an article a year ago was using Sirius's name as a cover to hide his true identity. "I can't promise anything," she told Sirius, "but I'll have Daddy see if he can make it happen. Stubby takes his own safety very seriously, you know."

Ginny met Harry’s eye and they both had to look away to keep from laughing.

Sirius was always up for a good laugh, sharing stories of pranks he’d pulled in his school days with Ron and Ginny, and sharing some embarrassing stories of all the ways in which Harry’s father had tried to convince his mother to go out with him, some of which left everyone shooting Harry amused looks that made him feel rather appalled by his father’s teenaged ego.

“Luckily for me, that ego didn’t carry over,” said Ginny one evening with a grin when Harry expressed utter disbelief at one story involving James, Sirius as Padfoot, a Krup, a pair of angry bowtruckles, and two weeks’ worth of detention from the now-retired Professor Kettleburn, the previous Care of Magical Creatures teacher.

Ron snorted. “Harry doesn’t even have an ego.”

“I do, too!” Harry insisted as Bill started to laugh from where he and Fleur were cuddled by the fire. “I’m not complete rubbish at everything."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “I’m sorry, but who was it just last year saying that he ‘had a lot of help’ with all the incredible things he’s managed over the years? Remember saying how first year was ‘luck’, or second year’s ‘if Fawkes hadn’t turned up’, or third year being a ‘fluke’ because of the time turner –”

“So he’s extremely modest, then,” cut in Ginny, laughing a bit as Harry scowled at his friends. “Don’t worry, luv, I can happily stoke your ego as far as snogging is concerned.”

Sirius roared with laughter as Ron blanched and Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. Bill raised his eyebrows at Harry, who felt distinctly hot under the collar and decided to stare intently at his knees.

“Eet eez important to ‘ave some ego, zough,” piped up Fleur. “Ego eez ze foundation of self-confidence, after all.”

“In that case,” said Bill, and Harry looked up to see a bit of smirk on the man’s face, “Harry’s allowed ego in Quidditch, right? Youngest Seeker in a century, Ron bragged about it in at least three letters he sent me his first year.”

“Also Defense Against the Dark Arts,” put in Hermione quickly. “You’re quite good at Charms, Transfiguration, and Herbology, as well as Potions, Harry.”

“And snogging,” said Ginny firmly. “You lot can’t leave snogging out of it.”

Harry’s face was positively burning now.

“Merlin’s pants, Ginny,” groaned Ron, “do you have to talk about my best mate that way?”

“Language, Ronald,” said Bill. “Clearly you aren’t setting a good enough example for our sister to follow.”

“You’re one to talk,” said Sirius with a grin, “sitting there with Fleur draped all over you.”

“It's not my fault the French don’t shy away from public displays of affection,” said Bill easily, arms tight around his fiancé.

“You know me so well, Bill,” said Fleur, leaning in to kiss him. Ron scowled at his brother and looked away while Ginny mimed gagging all over the rug, causing Hermione to choke on the sip of tea she’d just taken as Harry pressed his lips together, trying hard not to laugh.

Sirius chuckled. “We’ll develop a healthy ego in you yet, kiddo,” he remarked to Harry as Ron thumped Hermione on the back.

Some days, though, Sirius was there for the harder conversations, offering kindness and strength for those who needed it. One wet day near the end of July, that person was Neville.

“Gran keeps going on about my excellent choice in friends,” he told Harry with a flushed face as they warmed themselves by the kitchen fire; Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had gone upstairs to change out of their wet clothes, having been caught out in the sudden bout of rain now drenching the outdoors, and Luna had decided to Floo home early rather than submit to the drying charm Sirius had used with both Harry and Neville. “She said our parents were all friends at school, too.”

“Frank’s a good man,” said Sirius from the kitchen table as he sorted through a pile of missives regarding the Black estate (“It’s a never-ending process, this,” he’d told Harry once). “He was two years ahead of us, but he was always kind and just, if a bit quiet.” He looked up with a smile. “You remind me quite a bit of him, Neville,” he said. “Alice was always outgoing and determined to do the right thing, and once she latched onto Frank, that was it for the both of them.”

Neville had gone quite pink in the face. “Gran frequently says I’m not much like my dad,” he mumbled.

Sirius rose at once and strode over to Neville, placing firm hands on his shoulders. “Those who grieve frequently remember only the very best of the people they love,” he said knowingly. “Your grandmother has never stopped grieving the horrible fate your parents met. I don’t think she really sees your father as he is because she cares so deeply about who he was. At the height of his time, he was a strong and gifted Auror, to be sure, but he was still the kind, just, quiet man I knew in my days at Hogwarts.” He bent down a bit to meet Neville’s eyes. “I went to visit them a few weeks ago with Augusta’s permission,” he admitted quietly.

Neville’s eyes widened in surprise. “They didn’t recognize you, did they?” he asked sadly.

“No,” said Sirius. “They did not. But I still see those parts of them, Neville. I can see that same love and kindness in them both. And when I said your name, Alice smiled.” He smiled at Neville before glancing at Harry. “The ones who love us never truly leave us,” he said. “I know your parents love you still, even if they aren’t able to express it the way other parents do.”

Harry hastily looked away as Neville wiped at his eyes, trying to afford him some modicum of privacy. “Thank you,” Neville whispered at last. “I – I want to do them proud.”

“You’ve already done that,” said Sirius. “Both of you.”

Neville looked at Harry and gave him a watery smile. Harry returned it, thinking himself lucky to have Sirius for a godfather, and Neville for a friend.



The day before Harry's sixteenth birthday, he finally found the perfect opportunity to talk to Ginny about his growing feelings for her without fear of interruption. Mrs. Weasley had headed to the market with Fleur (neither women seemed pleased to be in each other’s company as they left) to purchase things they would need for Harry's birthday dinner the next evening, and Ron and Hermione were with Luna, visiting Neville at his home for his birthday that day since they were a bit less likely to be targeted by any Dark witches or wizards than Harry or Ginny. After they all left, Sirius only said, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do" with a knowing wink in Harry and Ginny’s direction before settling down in the living room to answer a series of missives regarding his estate and who knew what else.

Ginny immediately dragged Harry outside to one of the better hidden spots they tended to use when they wanted to be alone. As they approached the hidden alcove set on the edge of the orchard, Harry's heart began to race from a combination of nerves and excitement. He wanted the first time he said those words to be only between the two of them, but could he really go through with it?

Harry laughed as Ginny pulled him down to the ground. "Eager, are we?"

Ginny pushed him onto his back and leaned over him, an almost predatory look in her bright brown eyes. "You have no idea," she said before she closed the distance between him, mouths crashing together as Harry wrapped his arms around Ginny's lithe frame. The idea that he'd ever done anything close to this with anyone other than Ginny seemed unfathomable. There was only Ginny, the flowery scent of her surrounding him, and it was everything that Harry could ever want or need. Her hands were under his shirt now, and he gasped into her mouth as she touched him. The sensations were incredible.

Harry needed to get a grip on his mind before he lost his nerve, and gently pushed Ginny away. "Hang on," he said breathlessly to Ginny's annoyed and frustrated expression. "I need – I wanted to…" He swallowed hard, unsure of what to do next.

"What is it, Harry?" asked Ginny, pushing her mane of hair away from her flushed face. Harry sat up, just taking her in for a moment, everything from her bright eyes and fiery hair to her freckled skin.

"You're so beautiful," he said without thinking, and Ginny's flush deepened as she smiled.

"You're not so bad looking yourself," she teased, and Harry snorted.

"I mean it, though," he told her earnestly, unable to keep from touching her, one hand on her shoulder while the other ran through her hair. "I – these last few weeks, it's been like… like something out of someone else's life, someone happier and safer than I've ever been, and I – I never thought I'd ever get to experience or – or deserve something like this." He swallowed again. "I realized a few things recently," he admitted.

"What?" asked Ginny quietly, seeming to sense Harry’s need to talk.

"I realized that you're in as much danger as I am, for one thing," he sighed. "When you saved me that night."

"I know," Ginny admitted. "What I did – I don't regret it for a moment, but knowing how Voldemort likes to use the ones we love against us… it's terrifying."

Harry nodded. "He might do exactly that, you know."

"I don't care!" exclaimed Ginny. "I've already told you this before –"

"Bit hard to forget," said Harry with a grin.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Love is a strength," she said, "and all the pity to Voldemort for not understanding that." She placed her hands on Harry's chest. "I'm not going anywhere," she said.

"I don't want you to," Harry told her firmly. "That's the other thing I realized."

Ginny frowned a bit as Harry took a steadying breath. "Harry?" she asked softly.

I can do this, he told himself firmly.

"Ginny," he said, willing his voice to remain steady, "I… I love you."

For a moment that seemed to stretch on for an eternity, Ginny stared at him. Then, the most incredible smile spread across her face, and her hands moved from his chest to cup his face. "Say it again," she whispered, eyes brighter than normal.

"I love you," repeated Harry, more confidently this time. Ginny's smile somehow grew bigger.

"Again," she demanded, and Harry couldn't stop himself from smiling, too.

"Ginny Weasley, I love you," he told her, and she let out a delighted laugh.

"I love you, Harry," she said, and then she was kissing him as she'd never kissed him before. The intensity of it left Harry feeling lightheaded as he responded in kind, the love he felt for Ginny filling him with joy beyond anything he'd ever experienced before. He lost himself to the sensations, Ginny's love and presence the only things he knew as they explored each other beneath the trees of the only place Harry had ever felt truly safe.

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Chapter 16: A Proper Birthday

Author's Notes: Because having an actual birthday party is important, amiright? Anyway, this chapter is another dose of fluffy goodness from Ginny's POV. Some dialogue taken from HBP chapter 6, "Draco's Detour".

I struggled a ton with a gift that Ginny could give to Harry. I've read so many awesome fics with wonderful presents, and I could not make up my mind for way too long! Finally, I decided that since Ginny has made her own get-well cards before, that she's a bit more hands-on in the things she gives Harry. I also decided that Fred and George ought to step away from their shop for one evening to celebrate their benefactor (and get in some teasing regarding Harry's relationship with Ginny). That was really fun to write. So, without further ado, get ready for another dose of sappy goodness before we hit more angst and drama (Umbridge's trial is the next chapter). Enjoy!


Chapter Sixteen: A Proper Birthday



Ginny stepped through the kitchen fire of Grimmauld Place to see Kreacher busy cooking quite the breakfast spread. She breathed in the delicious smells and smiled, knowing Ron would be jealous to have missed the food.

She had been planning this with Sirius for weeks now, to come over first thing in the morning to have breakfast with him and Harry before spending the rest of the day at the Burrow. This way, she could give Harry his birthday present alone without the teasing she knew would come from Fred and George when they turned up for dinner that evening, and Sirius could spring the surprise Ginny had helped him with. It would be worth having dragged herself out of bed far too early. She wasn’t generally a morning person, but for Harry, she’d do anything.

It was also a chance to escape breakfast with Phlegm – Fleur, who had joined the Order a week earlier and would be spending the rest of their vacation with them at the Burrow now that she had met Molly’s requirement for security reasons. Ginny still thought that was a good one.

The animosity between Fleur and Molly was only getting worse with her there all the time now, which had led to Ginny frequently pulling Harry somewhere, anywhere other than in her presence. She felt a bit bad leaving her mother to deal with the other woman all the time, but not bad enough to actually do anything about it.

"Miss Ginny is here early," Kreacher proclaimed in his deep, gravelly voice. He sounded pleased, something Ginny had never before heard from the old elf. "Master Harry is still sleeping."

"That's what I was hoping for," said Ginny with a grin. "How long until breakfast is ready?"

"Miss Ginny has thirty minutes," said Kreacher, and he appeared almost… cheerful.

"Wonderful," said Ginny. "Thank you, Kreacher."

The house elf bowed to her before busying himself once more with breakfast preparations, and Ginny left the kitchen, bemused by the elf. Harry really hadn't been joking when he said Kreacher was happier now. She hadn’t seen it quite so much the two times she had seen him at Privet Drive this summer, and it was a bit hard to reconcile this version of the elf with the one she had first come to know the previous summer.

Reaching the second landing, Ginny tiptoed her way over to Harry's bedroom door and carefully pushed it open, pleased to see that Kreacher was right and Harry was still asleep. His messy hair was spread over his pillow, sticking up in every which way over his pale skin, cheeks slightly flushed in sleepy warmth. She could just make out his scar beneath his fringe, his entire countenance one of deep contentment.

Ginny knew Harry didn't think much of his appearance, but looking at him in that moment, all she could see was the handsome boy she loved so deeply it almost hurt.

He loves me.

Ginny crept into the room, silently shutting the door behind her. Pausing, she set Harry’s present down on the floor, and then slowly approached Harry's bed. She knew she had to be careful in how she woke him; Ron claimed to have been smacked before by waking Harry abruptly. Hopefully her method of rousing him would be well received.

Harry was curled on his side in the middle of the bed, and Ginny carefully climbed in, sliding down beneath the covers on her side facing Harry. He shifted a bit in his sleep, but didn't wake.

Feeling a tingly thrill deep inside, Ginny inched closer, cautiously reaching out a hand so she could start to run her fingers lightly through his hair. Harry issued a rumbling sound and shifted closer, emerald eyes slowly drifting open and meeting Ginny's. He smiled, warm and sleepy, one hand clumsily drifting over her side to her back so he could pull her against his chest. "Hey," he mumbled, blinking slowly.

Ginny closed the space between them and kissed him softly. "Happy Birthday, Harry," she whispered when she pulled away.

Harry let out a pleased-sounding moan and tightened his grip on Ginny. "I'll take a birthday every day if this is how I get to wake up," he murmured before claiming her lips, Ginny giving in completely as she wrapped her arms around Harry, pressing herself flush against him. The kiss was passionate and thrilling and everything Ginny could ever want. Eventually, Harry pulled away and whispered, "I love you, Ginny."

Ginny felt a smile on her face and gave into it, hugging Harry tightly. "I love you so much," she whispered back to him. "Do you want your birthday present?"

"You mean that wasn't it?" Harry asked her with a grin as she extricated herself from his embrace and sat up.

"That might have been a part of it," replied Ginny with a grin of her own, sliding from the bed to retrieve the small package she had left by the bedroom door. She paused to turn on the lights in the room before settling next to Harry on his bed again as he sat up and put on his glasses.

It had been incredibly difficult to decide on what to give Harry since she'd never felt comfortable enough to do so before now, and she'd been further stymied by her inability to go much of anywhere after Snape had confirmed a couple weeks earlier that Voldemort definitely desired to kill both her and Harry himself. Trips to the market with her mother were banned for her indefinitely, and she could only go to Diagon Alley if she, like Harry, was accompanied by some kind of security detail. It was funny, she mused, the effect that those three little words had had on her life.

Despite it all, she wouldn't change a thing.

"Here," she said, thrusting the package at Harry nervously. "I had to get Luna's help since I can't go anywhere without security tailing me" – Harry's lips quirked, his face understanding – "but I hope you like it."

"I'm sure I will," said Harry, immediately pulling off the wrapping paper with an almost childlike enthusiasm, reminding Ginny sharply of all the birthday gifts he had been deprived of as a child.

She hoped to have the rest of her life to make up for all those years he'd missed.

Harry finished opening the package and stared silently at Ginny's gift.

"I thought about getting you a new watch at first," said Ginny, suddenly desperate to fill the silence, "but that's actually a traditional gift you get when you turn seventeen, and Mum's already told Sirius she has the perfect watch in mind, so you can expect that from her next year, and I know you don't wear any kind of jewelry, but I paid Luna to get the supplies and teach me how to make it, and –"

"I love it," Harry cut her off as he carefully lifted the leather cord bracelet from the box and examined it. Ginny admired again the natural shades of brown Luna had managed to find; she had carefully taught Ginny how to weave the pieces together one evening a week earlier after Harry had returned to Grimmauld Place for the night. "Put it on me?" he asked her with a small smile.

Ginny reached out and carefully tied the bracelet onto his right wrist. He held up his wrist for a moment to look at it before pulling Ginny against him in a firm hug. "Thank you, Gin," he whispered.

They stayed that way for a few moments before Ginny found Harry's lips and lost herself to his kisses once more, silently grateful that the portrait of Phineas Nigellus had been moved to a different room in the house. She didn’t need that old codger telling them off.

Sometime later, loud pounding on the bedroom door interrupted them, and they broke apart right as the door burst open. Sirius strode in, grinning widely as a series of packages floated in behind him. "Happy Birthday to my favorite godson!" he proclaimed loudly.

"I'm your only godson," Harry pointed out as he tried to flatten his hair from the incredibly messy state Ginny had left it in as Ginny discretely readjusted her top.

"Details," Sirius waved him off, using his wand to direct the packages to the foot of Harry's bed. "Anyway, Kreacher will have breakfast ready in about ten minutes, which should be enough time to open all this."

"What is all this, anyway?" asked Harry. "And why are there so many packages?" he added incredulously.

"I told you he'd react like this," said Ginny as she slid off the bed.

"I don't recall disagreeing with you," replied Sirius mildly. "Harry, you don't know what it's like to be spoiled, let alone have a proper birthday, and I'm here to rectify the situation."

Harry flushed quite predictably, which only endeared him to Ginny that much more. "I don't –" he started.

"You're not Dudley," Ginny cut him off. "And you know your relatives always did that on purpose." Harry's eyes went slightly glassy, a sign Ginny knew meant a flashback. Without hesitation, she grabbed his hands and pressed her forehead against his, taking slow and obvious breaths. Seconds later, Harry drew back, eyes clear and focused again.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"What have I said about apologizing?" said Ginny quietly.

Harry sighed and answered, "I have nothing to be sorry for."

“We might have to start calling it ‘Ginny’s rule,’” she told him with a grin. “We’ve already got land mine and minefield, what’s one more code phrase?”

Harry chuckled and rolled his eyes. “I guess it’s better than fresh-pickled toads and blackboards.”

Ginny felt her face grow hot. “You still remember that?”

“What are we talking about now?” asked Sirius.

“My second year, Professor Lockhart hired dwarves to deliver singing valentines around the school on Valentine’s Day,” said Harry, shooting Ginny a look that seemed a mixture of amusement and embarrassment. “Ginny sent me one that was delivered in front of Malfoy.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Do tell,” he encouraged his godson.

Ginny sighed and decided to just put it out there. She didn’t usually sing, but since she’d never been able to block the experience from her mind, the tune was permanently stuck in the depths of her brain forever.

“His eyes are as green as a fresh-pickled toad,
His hair is as dark as a blackboard,
I wish he was mine, he’s really divine,
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.”


There was a moment of silence before Sirius burst into laughter.

“You still remember it?” Harry asked her, cheeks pink.

“You clearly haven’t forgotten it,” Ginny shot back. “I am so sorry I embarrassed you like that.”

“Not your fault,” said Harry with a shrug. “It wasn’t that I hated it, but having it happen in front of Malfoy, well…”

Ginny nodded. “Makes sense,” she sighed. “But we’re off-track. You’ve got presents to open!”

Sirius nodded approvingly as Ginny stepped away. "We wish to spoil you because we love you, kiddo, and you are more than deserving," he said firmly. "Now, get a move on, I don't want to be late to the delicious spread Kreacher's made up for us."

Harry smiled, eyes shining with unshed tears, but he finally nodded and started in on the packages.

Sirius had sent Ginny several Muggle catalogues of clothing options, and she'd spent a rather fun evening after Harry had gone back to Grimmauld Place picking out a new wardrobe for him with input from Hermione, Molly, and even Fleur (“Eet eez well-known zat zee French ‘ave zee best fashion sense, you know!” she had said; Bill had shared his agreement as Ginny was forced to keep her face flat rather than start retching in revulsion). Ron had seemed rather confused by the whole thing, even though he was in complete agreement that Harry shouldn't have to keep wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs that drowned out Harry's actual size.

Harry's expression was sheer disbelief as he opened each package to reveal a variety of t-shirts, jeans, trousers, button-up shirts, pants, socks, and more. "I – I don't even know my size," Harry confessed at one point.

"I had Kreacher discreetly take your measurements in your sleep," said Sirius, ignoring the perturbed look on Harry’s face, "and I had Ginny look through a bunch of catalogues to pick out what things I should buy."

"Hermione, Mum, and Phlegm helped a bit, too," said Ginny.

Harry raised his eyebrows as he opened yet another package, this time pulling out brand-new trainers. "I've never even owned this much clothing," he said. "I don't even – how do I –?"

He swallowed hard as he looked up at Ginny and Sirius. "Thank you," he finished softly. "This… it means a lot to me."

Sirius enveloped Harry in a warm hug before telling him to get dressed. "Kreacher will put everything away and burn your old things," he added. "I'll see you downstairs in a minute." He left the room, and Ginny approached the bed.

"I know you don't usually care much about what you're wearing," Ginny told Harry seriously, "so I'm going to pick out your outfit for today, sound good?"

Harry chuckled. "Whatever you say, Gin."

Ginny grinned at him and dug in, pulling out a dove grey t-shirt, dark blue jeans, and the packages of new socks and pants with the black trainers Harry had just opened. "You know I'd love to stay and watch," she said cheekily, making Harry blush, "but this Weasley is starving!"

Harry laughed, climbed off the bed to kiss her quite thoroughly, and sent her downstairs to get started on breakfast while he changed.

"I see you didn't stick around to watch him get dressed," said Sirius with a teasing grin.

"I want to be surprised by the finished look," she replied coolly, knowing the smirk playing around her mouth gave her away. "But really, I think Mum might be capable of mild Legilimency, she'd ask if I tried anything like that and see right through any lie I might try to tell her."

"Which sounds contradictory to the stories I've heard about getting your brothers in trouble," said Sirius with raised eyebrows.

"That was different," said Ginny dismissively. "Most of the time they'd already done something they shouldn't. I was just selective about when I'd tattle on them."

Sirius let out a loud, barking laugh at this. "Merlin, James and Lily would've loved you!" he exclaimed.

"You really think so?" Ginny couldn't help but ask.

Sirius nodded. "Absolutely," he replied.

The words made Ginny feel a deep, glowing warmth. How she wished that she could have known them.

Just then, Harry stepped through the kitchen door nervously, and Ginny’s mouth went dry. “Wow,” she breathed.

The only clothing Harry had that fit him before now was his school uniform and Quidditch robes, but even then, the bulky robes they wore hid most of Harry’s frame, anyway. Now, however, Ginny could see that Harry, while skinny, actually had a lean, masculine figure that she’d touched, but hadn’t really seen before since Harry was incredibly self-conscious about his body. His shoulders seemed almost broader in a shirt that actually fit him, the V-neck collar highlighting his collarbone just enough to leave her wanting to see more. And the jeans…

Her mother would probably scold her something fierce if she had dared to say one word of what she was thinking in her presence. She did it, anyway.

“You’ve got to do a proper turn so I can see how those trousers hug your arse.”

Harry’s face went a rather endearing shade of pink, and Sirius roared with laughter as Ginny grinned, unabashed.

“You realize the scolding you’d get from your mother if she’d heard you?” Sirius managed as he beckoned Harry to come and sit down. “You’re not even fifteen yet!” He let out another bark of laughter.

“It’s only eleven days from now,” Ginny replied as Harry sat down next to her. She reached out and pulled him close to kiss him. “Besides,” she added when she drew back, “I know what I can get away with saying depending on who I’m with. You just think it’s hilarious,” she told Sirius. “Obviously, my mum would insist on another talk about proper behavior, so I tend to watch my tongue around her.”

“Smart girl,” said Sirius as they dug into the breakfast spread Kreacher had set out on the table. “Thanks, Kreacher, this is delicious.”

Harry and Ginny echoed their thanks, as well, and dug in. Breakfast was a pleasant affair, but soon enough, it was time to Floo to the Burrow. Ginny went first and stepped out of her family’s fireplace to see her mother on the couch reading the most recent issue of Witch Weekly while Ron and Hermione played chess nearby.

“Good, you’re finally back!” exclaimed Molly, tossing the magazine aside and rising to embrace Ginny. A moment later, Ginny turned to catch Harry by the shoulder as he stumbled out of the green flames.

“Harry,” said Hermione at once and sending the chessboard flying as she straightened, the pieces shouting angrily as they tumbled to the floor. Ron startled at the sudden motion and looked around, jaw dropping as he took in Harry’s appearance. “You look – amazing!”

Harry blushed yet again as the fireplace flared green and Sirius stepped through.

“Yes,” mused Molly, “it does wonders to wear clothing that’s the appropriate size for your frame.”

Harry was still rather flushed. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

Ron, who had been trying to gather up the chess pieces, apparently gave it up as a bad job, because he was clapping Harry on the shoulder and dragging him outside, demanding Ginny and Hermione follow to go play two-a-side Quidditch. Hermione sighed, but Ginny grinned and pulled the older girl outside with her as Sirius and Molly headed for the kitchen, talking in low voices, but looking peaceful rather than worried.

The day was perfect. They played out in the orchard all morning before heading inside for lunch and the arrival of Neville and Luna. Arthur and Bill were gone at work, while Fleur was busy outside decorating for Harry’s birthday dinner that evening with Molly. As per usual, this seemed to involve more snide comments between the French girl and her mother than it did actual decorating. Enough people were coming over that it was best to eat outside, but it seemed neither woman could agree on the setup.

“Seeing as it is my home, I would think that I know best how to set things up,” said Molly as Ginny dragged Harry towards the kitchen door, Ron and Hermione quickly following them.

“But I ‘ave been raised to know zee most tasteful ways to decorate for a young man’s birthday party, Molly. Sometimes you need fresh eyes to see how maximize a space such as zees.”

“We are not stepping in all the Phlegm around here,” said Ginny firmly as she shut the kitchen door on that conversation, and Harry nodded his agreement.

Finally, Neville and Luna arrived, and Harry immediately wished Neville a belated birthday and gave him a book about magical plants of the Amazon that Sirius had purchased for him on Harry’s behalf.

“Thanks, Harry!” Neville grinned, excitement lighting his round features. Ginny was pleased to notice that he seemed a bit more confident than usual, and that he’d grown a couple of inches, now standing somewhere between Harry and Ron in height.

The six of them spent the afternoon roaming around within the boundaries of the Burrow’s land, chatting freely and easily about a variety of things, eventually settling in the shade of the orchard. Ginny pulled Harry out of two flashbacks during that time, and Hermione watched her closely each time, determined to be able to step up should something happen at Hogwarts when Ginny was in her own classes.

Then Neville hesitantly asked about the trial that would take place in two days.

Umbridge had come up in their discussions before, and Ginny had quickly learned that Harry’s reaction was both adverse and instant. She caught his right hand and pulled it flush against her chest before Harry could dig into it with the nails of his left hand. He startled and blinked, coming to at once. “That was fast,” he observed quietly.

“I would like to avoid having Mum break out the healing charms today,” said Ginny in an equally quiet voice. Harry smiled a bit and nodded.

“Sorry, Harry,” said Neville, eyes wide. “I didn’t – I mean, I’m sorry, I know that’s an obvious land mine, I should’ve known better –”

“It’s fine,” said Harry at once as Ginny released his hand. “Maybe I’ll get desensitized to it if she comes up often enough.”

Ginny glowered. “I doubt that’s the way to put an end to your triggers,” she said waspishly.

“She’s right, Harry,” said Hermione. “I did some research on emotional triggers from traumatic experiences before I came here, and the books I found talked about knowing the origin of the trauma –”

“Not hard to pinpoint that,” said Ron obviously, and Harry nodded.

“I also read that you need to learn how to catch yourself reacting to the triggers,” continued Hermione.

“Right, well, that’s difficult sometimes,” said Harry uncomfortably. “Sometimes it’s just the things he said rather than a – a full-fledged flashback.”

“You can still learn to control how you react to it, though,” said Hermione firmly. “Voldemort wanted you weak, so he said things specifically to shake your confidence.”

Harry flinched at this, eyes slightly unfocused, and Ginny immediately said, “He’s lying to you, Harry.” It didn’t matter what Harry heard each time; it was all the same manipulations and lies she had experienced with the diary.

He seized her hand and squeezed it tightly. “I know,” he muttered. “It’s just – hard.”

“Loud explosions give me flashbacks,” Luna spoke suddenly. “To when Mum died.”

“Is that part of why you stopped coming over during summer break?” Ginny asked curiously. “Because of Fred and George’s experiments and the noise it caused?”

“Oh, yes, and it’s much quieter now that they’ve moved out,” said Luna serenely. “And the flashbacks don’t occur as frequently, anymore. I’ve learned to accept that I can’t control the trigger, but that I can control how I react.”

“What do you do?” asked Neville.

“I stay present in the moment,” answered Luna. “When an unexpected explosion of some kind happens, I remind myself where I am and what I’m doing, and then I can carry on.”

This was surprisingly sage advice, the likes of which Ginny hadn’t heard since before Luna’s mother had passed. “You need an anchor,” Luna went on, “something that will hold you to where you are.”

Ginny glanced at Harry and noticed that he had flushed again. “Harry?” she queried softly. He looked at her and smiled.

“I’ve already got one,” he said softly.

Ginny felt her face warm as she let the words resonate within her. “Ron, best look away now,” she warned her brother before she pushed Harry over, causing a surprised ‘oomph’ to issue from him as his back hit the grass, and then she snogged him quite thoroughly.

Harry was grinning when she finally allowed him to sit up, though his face was easily as red as Ron’s ears. Hermione let out an uncomfortable cough and started talking loudly about their upcoming trip to Diagon Alley and what they’d need to get, Neville quickly joinging in and going over his marks once more and debating which classes outside of Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts he should take (despite his fear of Snape, he was determined to carry on with that class, something Harry had praised him for). Luna gave Ginny a dreamy smile but otherwise ignored the whole thing.

Fred and George arrived shortly before dinner, dressed in their work robes as they had done the last time they’d visited. “Birthday boy!” Fred shouted the moment he spotted Harry. “We’ve a bone to pick with you!”

Harry paused uncertainly, and Ginny rolled her eyes, squeezing his hand reassuringly as she shot a pointed look at the twins. “Is that any way to speak to your benefactor?” she said tartly.

“This is very important business, sister mine,” said George. “Here we are –”

“– the ultimate pranksters –”

“– completely denied our chance to have a go at that Corner bloke –”

“– all your fault, by the way, Ginny,” added Fred with a mock scowl.

“So we develop plans to have a go at your next beau,” said George, arms akimbo.

“Great plans, too,” said Fred. “All kinds of things to sneak through the increased restrictions we know Hogwarts is bound to have!”

“Cauldron cakes that taste like owl droppings –”

“Pumpkin pasties laced with a Forgetfulness potion –”

“Nasty new flavors to add to Bertie Bott’s –”

“But who do you go and kiss without any warning whatsoever?” cut in Fred with wide eyes. “Only the one person –”

“– the only person we cannot, in good conscience, have our wicked way with!” finished George with a mock scowl.

“We thought for sure there’d be at least one more bloke to mess with before you landed the grand prize!” said Fred.

“The prized calf!” added George.

“The cash prize!”

“And blimey is he worth a lot!”

“Sirius’s heir on top of the Potter wealth?” said Fred, shaking his head. “But we knew it was only a matter of time before Harry became part of the family for real.”

“Merlin, we’re not married, you idiots,” said Ginny exasperatedly as Harry flushed a deep scarlet.

“We never heard you tell Corner you loved him, did we?” said George rather unhelpfully.

“Soon as you come off the platform, Ginny,” said Fred, “you’re declaring your love for the boy you’ve fancied for how long now?”

“Ten years at least, I think,” said George thoughtfully.

“Nah, longer than that,” said Fred dismissively. “Mum’s been telling Ginny about the famous Harry Potter since she was not even three months old, I’m sure!”

“You were her favorite bedtime story, mate,” Ron added oh-so-helpfully as he passed, carrying a stack of plates for the table. “Nearly every night too, I’d reckon. I think I was six when I decided I’d had enough and started demanding we each get a separate bedtime story. I preferred the ‘Tale of the Three Brothers’, myself.”

“I love that one,” said Luna dreamily as she and Neville followed behind Ron. “The story for the true believers.”

“What’s she talking about?” asked Hermione curiously, carrying a stack of cups as she approached their group.

Ron blinked, pausing just beside the table. “You don’t know?” he said. “From the Tales of Beedle the Bard.”

Hermione frowned. “Never heard of it.”

“Children’s stories,” said Ron incredulously. “You must know! ‘Babbity-Rabbity and her Cackling Stump’ –”

“What?” said Harry, looking confused.

“Harry and I grew up with Muggle fairy tales,” said Hermione quickly. “Stories like ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarves’ and ‘Cinderella’ –”

“What’s that, a disease?” asked Ron, sniggering.

“Point is,” cut in Fred, “that ickle Gin-Gin’s been in love you with her whole life, Harry.”

“But you were supposed to take a bit longer to figure out she was the one, mate,” said George despairingly. “Now we’ll never get to torment a bloke Ginny’s sweet on.”

“So instead you torment me,” said Ginny in annoyance, well aware of how flushed she probably was by this point.

“I’m a bedtime story?” asked Harry in disbelief.

“There’s a book, too!” said Fred brightly. “Illustrations only since no one had photos of you they were willing to share, though.”

“Wonder if Mum still has it,” said George.

“She does,” said Hermione as she set out cups on the table. “I convinced her and Ginny to show it to me two summers ago before Harry came to stay for the World Cup.” She smiled. “It’s a cute little book, actually.”

“Which will never see the light of day,” said Ginny with a scowl. “I’m not sure who it would embarrass more to see it at this point.”

“You’re no fun,” pouted Fred, but Ginny waved him off and dragged Harry over to the table.

“A bedtime story?” Harry repeated quietly to her.

Ginny sighed. “I was completely obsessed with your story as a child,” she admitted, feeling very warm in the face. “But especially the ending.”

“What’s it say?”

“It says you went to live with Muggles who would take very good care of you until you were ready to enter the Wizarding world,” answered Ginny with a scowl. “I kept asking how they knew the Muggles were good, but Dad saying they just were was never satisfying to me.” She looked up at Harry. “I didn’t think it was the right happy ending for you.”

“And now?” he asked her quietly, a sad sort of expression on his face.

“Now,” said Ginny slowly, “knowing the boy behind the bedtime story, I think he deserved much, much better.” She smiled up at Harry, and he returned it.

“It’s not all bad, I suppose,” he said quietly. “I mean, it got better.”

Ginny looked around at all the people who had gathered to celebrate Harry’s birthday. Her parents, Bill, the twins, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna, Tonks, Sirius, and Fleur had all shown up, determined to give Harry a taste of the normalcy he had always longed for.

“Yes,” Ginny agreed. “It really did.”

Dinner was filled to the brim with all the food that Molly had learned Harry liked the best, and it was going well until Remus arrived late (much to Sirius and Tonks’s displeasure), looking gaunt and grim. “There have been another couple of dementor attacks,” he announced as Molly passed him a large slice of birthday cake, settling down next to Tonks and looking downright exhausted. Tonks immediately leaned up against him, but he didn’t seem to mind this physical intimacy. It really did seem that they were working things out after the fight Harry had told Ginny about the day he’d left the Dursley’s. “And they’ve found Igor Karkaroff’s body in a shack up north. The Dark Mark had been set over it – well, frankly, I’m surprised he stayed alive for even a year after deserting the Death Eaters.” He looked at Sirius. “Your brother only managed a few days as far as I can remember.”

Sirius’s face went oddly blank at the mention of his younger brother. Ginny vaguely recalled him telling her about how his brother, Regulus had joined the Death Eaters only to disappear not too long after. She glanced at Harry and noticed that he’d caught the expression on his godfather’s face, as well.

“Right,” was all Sirius said.

“Yes, well,” said Molly with a frown, “perhaps we should talk about something diff–”

“Did you hear about Florean Fortescue, Remus?” asked Bill, who was being plied with wine by Fleur. “The man from –”

“– the ice-cream place in Diagon Alley?” Harry interrupted, looking surprised and worried. “He used to give me free ice creams. What’s happened to him?”

“Dragged off, it would seem,” sighed Tonks. “We found signs of a bad struggle, but no clues as to where he’s gone.”

“Why?” asked Ron, and Ginny saw their mother glaring pointedly at Tonks.

“We don’t know,” said Tonks, scowling, though she softened when Remus started rubbing her arm gently.

“He must’ve upset them somehow,” said Bill sadly. “He was a good man, Florean.”

“Gave us a good discount whenever we stopped by,” said Fred, “didn’t he, George?”

“Always,” agreed George. “Diagon Alley is not what it used to be these days, though if you come to our shop, you can encounter our latest product, U-No-Poo, the constipation sensation that’s –”

“Talking of Diagon Alley,” said Arthur quickly upon spotting the horrified look on Molly’s face, “looks like Ollivander’s gone too.”

“The wandmaker?” said Ginny, startled. “Why?”

“No one’s certain,” her father sighed.

“I think I was one of the last people to buy a wand from him, actually,” said Neville quietly. His wand, which had previously belonged to his father, had been broken in Umbridge’s office during a particularly nasty scuffle to free themselves from the Inquisitorial Squad when Professor Snape had returned to their location and Stunned Umbridge for using the Cruciatus Curse on Harry.

“You knew he was gone?” asked Ron in surprise.

“Gran told me the very next day that he’d apparently vanished,” answered Neville with a shrug. “She said no one could tell if he’d left on his own or was kidnapped.”

“But wands,” said Ginny, confused. “What’ll people do for wands?” Her family had never gone to anyone but Ollivander. Was there anyone else in the country who made wands?

“They’ll make do with other makes,” said Remus. “But Ollivander was the best, and if the other side have got to him it’s not so good for us.”

“I’m sure he’s fine, wherever he is,” piped up Luna with a smile.

“I hope so,” Hermione fretted. “I can’t think why Voldemort would want him, though.”

Harry frowned a bit, looking thoughtful as his hand drifted to his pocket where Ginny knew his wand was stored. “I can,” he suddenly said. “If Voldemort’s got him, it could be because he wants to figure out why our wands don’t work against each other, and Ollivander is the one who made them both.”

“Oh, that’s right!” said Hermione, straightening at once. “The priori incantatum you talked about when Rita Skeeter was interviewing you back in February.”

“What’s this?” asked Remus sharply.

“Their wands have the same core, a phoenix feather,” said Sirius, “from the same phoenix.” He eyed Harry with pride. “That could very well be the reason he took him. He isn’t going to want to face you quite so soon if your wands don’t work properly against each other. Hold on though,” he said after a moment’s thought, “he didn’t get that information out of you that night?”

Harry shook his head. “He was a bit too busy… humiliating me.” He was stiff, and Ginny immediately reached out, turning his face to hers and taking in the glassy stare.

“You’re not in that nightmare,” she told him at once, pressing her forehead to his. “You’re home. You’re safe.” After a long moment, Harry exhaled sharply and nodded against her forehead.

“You are incredible with ‘im,” said Fleur. As annoying as it was that Fleur barely ever spoke to Ginny unless it involved Harry somehow, Ginny could accept the compliment for what it was.

“She’s his anchor,” said Luna with a vague smile, “but I suppose people in love with each other are just that way naturally.”

Ginny was startled by her friend’s words, but unsurprised by Harry’s flushed face.

There was a pause. “Way to just put it out there, Luna,” said Harry at last with an embarrassed grin. “I hadn’t exactly gone about announcing my feelings to the whole group just yet.”

“Oh!” said Luna in surprise. “I thought everyone already knew. It’s obvious when you two look at each other, isn’t it?”

“Raise your hand if you could tell Harry was in love with our sister!” called out Fred, and every hand except Molly’s immediately shot into the air, though Molly was clearly concealing a knowing smile on her face. Sirius’s grin, on the other hand, was quite difficult to miss.

“Luna called it,” said George, smiling broadly. “You’re completely obvious, Harry.”

Ginny laughed as Harry’s face went beet red in embarrassment. “Snape did always say I wear my heart on my sleeve,” he muttered to her.

“He’s right about that, if nothing else,” she replied, taking his hand and squeezing it. “I love you, Harry.”

He looked at her, blush fading, and smiled. “I love you, too.”

He leaned over to kiss her, and it was perfect.

Well, until Fred and George started making annoyingly loud smacking sounds, anyway. Harry started laughing, forehead pressed against Ginny’s, and she just clung to him, joining in in spite of her wish to hex her brothers into next week.

In any case, this was perfect, too.

Back to index


Chapter 17: The Trial of Dolores Umbridge

Author's Notes: I hope all my American friends had an excellent Thanksgiving dinner this week. I sure did!

I am very proud of this chapter. I knew early on that this trial was going to happen, and I spent some time really thinking long and hard about what said trial would even be like. I carefully reread every trial scene we have in the books so that I could make this as believable for the Wizarding World as possible. I also didn't want this to take up more than one day, partly because we need to get moving on to the end of summer and the return to Hogwarts, but also because I don't feel as though the Wizarding justice system is designed to draw things out.

A smidgen of dialogue regarding Dumbledore's hand is pulled from HBP, chapter 8 "Snape Victorious".

Drama and angst lie ahead. Enjoy!


Chapter Seventeen: The Trial of Dolores Umbridge



“No,” said Ginny, shaking her head as she held up yet another of Harry’s shirts.

“What exactly are you looking for?” Harry asked her, left hand worrying at the leather bracelet on his right hand.

The trial was happening today. Harry had considered begging for a Dreamless Sleep potion the night before, but decided against it. He was regretting that decision now. His dreams had been rather unpleasant, so he hadn’t slept much. Ginny, Ron, and Hermione had arrived at Grimmauld Place early with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny insisting she needed to pick out the proper outfit for Harry to wear while the others could offer their solidarity regarding the somber occasion. After he and Sirius ate breakfast, they were going back to the Burrow where Ministry cars would pick them up, and they would then travel to the Visitor’s Entrance and meet up with Neville and Luna down at courtroom nine. Fleur was not coming along, a fact that Harry could tell Ginny and Mrs. Weasley were both grateful for.

“You told me Madam Bones said you should be taking control of your image, right?” said Ginny as she continued to go through the closet. “Gotta dress right for it.”

“Uh-huh,” said Harry, bemused. He still didn’t get the point of dressing a particular way. Even though he now had a variety of items that actually fit him, they were all still just… clothes. But Ginny was acting as though the ‘right’ outfit was of immense importance.

He decided he’d rather not try to understand and just let her get on with it.

“She’s still at it?” came Ron’s amused voice from the door.

Harry nodded as Hermione stepped around him and entered the room. “I figure it’s better to just let her do this” – he waved at Ginny’s back as she tossed aside another shirt – “than throw on whatever I happened to touch first,” he said to Hermione, and she giggled.

“You figure correctly, Harry,” came Ginny’s muffled voice as she continued to dig through his various articles of clothing. “Now where is that – yes!” She suddenly withdrew, holding a cream-colored button-up shirt and navy trousers. She tossed them to Harry, and he easily caught both articles of clothing as Ginny reached in again, this time pulling out Harry’s black dress shoes, black socks, a jacket, and pants. Harry felt his face go hot as she tossed the socks and pants at him. He caught them and quickly stuffed them out of sight beneath a pillow on his bed.

“Ginny, you don’t have to –”

“I think you were right, that day in the hospital wing,” Ginny cut him off with a grin. “Our definitions of embarrassing really don’t match.” She marched over to Harry, gave him a firm kiss, and then walked out arm-in-arm with Hermione as Ron sniggered.

“She grew up with six brothers, Harry,” he explained with a shrug. “It’s nothing she hasn’t already seen before.” Harry’s could feel his face burning now, and Ron pressed his lips together in an obvious attempt to keep from laughing more. “Anyway, Kreacher’s got food ready in the kitchen, so I’m off for something to eat –”

“Didn’t your mum already cook breakfast for you?” Harry asked with raised eyebrows.

“Hey, I’m a growing boy!” protested Ron with a grin before he shut the door. Harry rolled his eyes, changed, used the bathroom, and then headed down to the kitchen.

Ron was munching on a fried egg and toast while Sirius reviewed their travel plans with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Harry quickly dug into the breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast that Kreacher had prepared while Ginny fussed over the collar of his shirt and played with his hair. It should have been distracting, but Harry instead found it rather soothing to the nervous ache in his gut.

All too soon, the group was back at the Burrow, settling into the two Ministry cars that had been sent. Harry was with Sirius and Ginny in their car, while Ron and Hermione were with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley in the other. Harry vaguely thought about how this was the first time he’d been outside a place that was specifically cleared for his protection. He hoped nothing would happen at the Ministry that could make it impossible for him to head out to Diagon Alley the next week; his letter from Hogwarts had arrived the day before (and Harry had been pleased to discover that he had been made Quidditch captain, though Ginny did not make prefect), and plans were being made to ensure his and Ginny’s safety for that particular trip.

Once the cars arrived at their destination, they took the trip down through the Visitor’s entrance in groups of three. Sirius went first with Harry and Ginny, followed by Mrs. Weasley with Ron and Hermione while Mr. Weasley Apparated in and met them at the entrance. A quick flurry of wand registration soon followed, and then they were in the elevators, heading for the courtrooms deep below.

“Department of Mysteries,” came the cool female voice Harry had heard a year ago, and he shuddered, Ginny pressing closer to him. He’d dreamt of this hallway far too often, and being back there… Not to mention that Voldemort had dragged Ginny down this very hallway the first time he’d possessed Harry.

“If only Dumbledore had been more honest with you, I could have used your natural curiosity to get you down here months ago…”

“He’s wrong,” whispered Ginny, squeezing Harry’s hand firmly as they stepped off the elevator and started down the bare corridor, taking the left right next to the door that led into the heart of the Department of Mysteries and down the steps toward their designated courtroom. Harry nodded to her as they headed down the hallway. He could see Luna and Neville standing with Mr. Lovegood and Mrs. Longbottom. Next to them, he also was surprised to see Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts school nurse, and –

Snape.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that the man was here to testify; he had, after all, been the one to put an end to Umbridge’s torture of Harry, but he hadn’t seen the dour Potions – no, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, since term had ended. Sirius had been very careful to ensure that Harry stayed away from Order meetings, and even though a part of Harry still wanted to help, the bigger part of him knew he needed to stay safe so long as his mind remained a ravaged minefield. He couldn’t face Voldemort yet, not like this.

“So this is the unmentioned work he was doing for that doddering old fool. It seems he had no reason to tell me, though, because he did exactly as I would have wanted, ensuring your failure in Occlumency,” Voldemort’s voice laughed.

Snape looked up and met Harry’s eyes, and Harry quickly looked away, focusing on Ginny’s hand clutching his own. The man knew everything, after all. His need to avoid the comments that might come his way about his childhood took precedence over everything else in that moment.

“Professor Snape,” said Mr. Weasley respectfully when they reached the little group.

“Mr. Weasley,” Snape returned quietly. “It should be a few minutes before they open the doors.” His black eyes roved over the group before landing on Sirius. “Enjoying your freedom, Black?”

“Quite,” answered Sirius tightly, gripping Harry’s shoulder firmly before turning to face Neville’s grandmother. “Mrs. Longbottom, it is a pleasure to see you again, though I wish we could manage less somber circumstances. I do want to thank you again for your permission to visit Frank and Alice.”

“As if I would ever deny a true friend of theirs,” said Mrs. Longbottom, accepting the hand Sirius offered. “I should tell you since I missed my chance at our last encounter, that Frank and Alice were among a small contingent of Aurors who argued against Crouch’s policies back in those days and demanded trials for all those imprisoned without one. If it hadn’t been for those Death Eaters that attacked them, I do rather think they would have ensured you the trial you deserved.”

Harry looked up at Sirius to see his expression was somewhere between sorrow and rage. “Frank and Alice were good friends,” he said, voice shaking slightly. “I remember when the Aurors brought in the Lestranges and Crouch, Jr. to Azkaban. My cousin Bellatrix spotted me and screamed out what she’d done to them, and I immediately thought of Neville and worried over what his life would be like.” He glanced at Harry. “Neither of you boys deserved what happened to your parents.”

Harry met Neville’s eyes and offered a smile. Neville returned it sadly.

Little else was said until the doors were opened, and their group was ushered to one side of the courtroom. While not as large as the one Harry had been in the previous summer, it was still quite sizable and imposing. Ginny and Harry sat in between her parents and Sirius on the first row, Ron, Hermione, Luna, and Neville taking the seats on either side of them. Mr. Lovegood, Mrs. Longbottom, Madam Pomfrey, and Snape were in the row behind, though Snape took a seat on the far side, away from Harry.

The courtroom slowly filled with members of the Wizengamot, dressed in their plum-colored robes with their insignia embroidered in silver, and a single reporter Harry thought he might have seen at the one and only press conference he had ever attended.

Then Draco Malfoy stepped inside with his mother, followed by every member of the Inquisitorial Squad who had been there that day, many of them accompanied by one or both parents. Harry stiffened, and Ginny instantly reacted, pulling his right hand up against her chest so he couldn’t grab at his hand. She leaned against him.

“They were witnesses, too,” sighed Sirius, obviously seeing Harry’s reaction for what it was. “I haven’t seen Narcissa in so long. She still looks like she’s got dragon dung under her nose, though,” he added with a quiet laugh. Harry snorted in spite of himself. Narcissa Malfoy was one of two sisters to Bellatrix Lestrange, her other sister being Andromeda Tonks, who had been disowned by the Black family for marrying a Muggle-born. Harry had yet to meet Andromeda, but Sirius spoke of her quite fondly, as did her daughter Tonks.

Professor Dumbledore entered with a small group of Wizengamot members, and Harry remembered that he was the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, whatever that meant. He decided to ask Sirius. “It means he’s in charge of the Wizengamot,” Sirius answered. “See the extra embroidery on his robes?” He pointed at Dumbledore’s plum robes. “That signifies his status amongst the other members of the Wizengamot.”

“How does one become Chief Warlock?” Harry asked him.

“It’s an appointed position by the Minister,” said Sirius. “That’s part of how Fudge was able to strip him of his title last year, because he was the one who gave him the position to begin with.”

“What happened to his hand?” asked Ginny, and Harry’s eye was drawn to the black and deadened flesh.

“It was like that when he took me to convince Professor Slughorn to come out of retirement,” he said as Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Luna all leaned in to listen. “I thought he’d have cured it by now, though… or Madam Pomfrey would’ve done.”

“It looks as if it’s died,” whispered Hermione with a nauseated expression. “But there are some injuries you can’t cure… old curses… and there are poisons without antidotes…”

Sirius said nothing from Harry’s other side, instead watching Dumbledore’s trek across the courtroom to his seat in the Wizengamot stands. Harry thought there was a peculiar expression on his face, but before he could asking about it, a man Harry only recognized from the pictures he’d seen of him in the Daily Prophet entered the room. Tall, walking with a slight limp, and with a mane of grey-streaked tawny hair, it was the new Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour. He spotted Harry as he adjusted his glasses and immediately came his way, followed by Percy Weasley (“git” he thought he heard Ron mutter to Hermione) and a small regimen of other men and women, which, strangely enough, included Fudge. Sirius tensed from Harry’s left and rose, stepping in front of Harry. “Good morning, Minister,” he said, voice pleasant enough, but tinged with something stiff and angry.

“Black, it is a pleasure to meet you in person at last,” said Scrimgeour, reaching out to shake his hand, but his eyes fixed firmly on Harry. The look he gave Harry made him feel rather uncomfortable, but he held his gaze steady as Ginny firmly clasped his hands in her own.

“It has been most pleasant, corresponding with you,” said Sirius in the same tone of voice as before. “I hope you realize my stance has not changed since my last owl.”

“Of course, of course,” said Scrimgeour at once, finally looking at Sirius as they dropped their handshake. “I am pleased your godson is determined to testify against Dolores Umbridge. Not many are willing to face those who have done them such wrongs.”

Ginny’s hands tightened over Harry’s, preventing him from reacting as he usually did. He was thankful for what she was doing, but starting to worry about how he might react when he had to testify. Being in the public eye in any way had always made him uneasy.

“Harry is one of the most determined wizards I’ve ever known,” said Sirius, pride filling every word. “He will make a great contributing member of society when he finishes school.”

“Indeed,” said Scrimgeour. “I have heard that he cherishes an ambition to become an Auror?” He looked at Harry again.

“Yeah,” said Harry before Sirius could speak, rising to stand next to his godfather and Ginny standing with him, still holding tightly to his right hand. “That’s right. Where’d you hear that?”

“It came up in the investigation,” said Scrimgeour, looking rather pleased that Harry was at last speaking for himself. “We are, of course, planning to hold Dolores accountable for all of her actions at Hogwarts this past school year.”

Just then, Lee Jordan walked in, followed by a couple of younger students Harry knew by sight but not by name, the younger students accompanied by their parents. “I speak,” said Scrimgeour, “mainly of the detentions she doled out with the quill you described to Gawain Robards and Marcus Proudfoot when they interviewed you in June.”

“Right,” said Harry as Ginny clutched tightly at his right hand. “I knew about Lee Jordan, but not anyone else.”

“It appears she subjected very few students to these particular detentions,” said Scrimgeour with a nod, “though it would seem that you were, unfortunately, her main target.”

“Yeah,” said Harry coldly. “I noticed that.” He pulled his hand away from Ginny and held it up, fist clenched so the words stood out against his skin. I must not tell lies.

Voldemort’s laughter echoed distantly in his mind, but he ignored it as he met the Minister’s gaze with him own. Scrimgeour glanced at the words on his hand before nodding. “I think the Wizarding community owes you a great debt, Mr. Potter,” he said, “and I rather hope we get the chance to speak in person again, soon.” He nodded to his entourage, and they moved to take their seats as Lee Jordan and the other students settled down on the bench behind Harry’s group.

Harry realized as he took his seat again that Percy had not once met his family’s eyes, and he heard Mrs. Weasley give a watery sob from Ginny’s other side. He remembered that Hermione had overheard Dumbledore speaking to Mr. Weasley about Percy late one night, having said that it was often easier to forgive others for being wrong than it was for being right.

Harry rather hoped Percy would get his act together soon. It was clear that Mrs. Weasley missed him terribly. He remembered that Percy had sent back his traditional Weasley jumper the previous Christmas, gift unopened.

Dumbledore suddenly rose, and the courtroom was silenced. “Thank you to everyone here for coming on this rather somber occasion,” he began, voice loud and ringing in the vast space. “Please bring in the accused.”

The doors opened, and two Aurors marched in, Dolores Umbridge between them. Her squat form was rather obscured by the prison robes she wore, and her hair looked rather unkempt. Her toad-like face was much paler than normal, and seemed to sag as though she’d not been eating as much and lost an unfortunate amount of weight too quickly.

Harry couldn’t help but hope that last part was true.

Ginny held tightly to Harry’s hands as the Aurors deposited Umbridge in the chair with chains, which immediately sprang into the life to bind her to where she sat. She can’t hurt me, Harry told himself firmly, hating that he had to see her again. He kept his face blank as his emotions roiled beneath the surface. The laughter, which had faded, was back. He tightened his jaw and ignored it.

“We are here today,” said Dumbledore, “for the trial of Dolores Jane Umbridge for crimes committed whilst working as a teacher, High Inquisitor, and Headmistress of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

“The charges we shall be hearing evidence of today are as follows: That Dolores did willingly subject no less than four students to detentions using a special quill she designed without authority to write in the students’ own blood while cutting the words written into the back of their dominant hand, which is in direct violation of paragraph K of the Meridee’s Law, also known as the Wizarding Child Protection Law, 1895, as well as the Hogwarts Rules and Regulations, 1950, paragraph M, and the Control and Regulation of Wizarding Inventions, paragraph G, subsection 8.” There were murmurs from the members of the Wizengamot at this, but Dumbledore ignored these and pressed on.

“That she did attempt to use Veritaserum on an underage wizard to extract information without guardian consent or the child’s knowledge, which is a violation of the Regulations for the Rights and Protections of Underage Witches and Wizards, 1901, paragraph E.” Harry shifted, recalling that uncomfortable experience. “That she did authorize students who were a part of her Inquisitorial Squad to use physical force and harm upon other students, which constitutes an offense against the Hogwarts Rules and Regulations, revision of 1966, paragraph N.” Harry met Malfoy’s eyes, and he scowled and looked away. “That she did, with full intent to harm, illegally authorize two dementors to attack two underage males in a Muggle neighborhood, which is in direction violation of section thirteen of the International Confederation of Wizards’ Statute of Secrecy. And lastly, that she did make use of the Cruciatus Curse no less than twenty-seven times on an underage wizard in the space of thirty minutes, which constitutes an offense under paragraph B of Meridee’s law…”

The air seemed to have vanished from Harry’s lungs. Twenty-seven times?

“Do you know how many times she used the Cruciatus Curse?”

“I – I lost track.”


Harry was dimly aware of the mutterings in the courtroom now over this last charge, and he felt Sirius wrapping an arm around his shoulders as Ginny squeezed his hands tightly to keep them from moving. “Breathe,” she whispered to him. “You’re here, you’re safe, she can’t hurt you.”

It was a bit hard to believe that when she was sitting mere feet away from him, but she was chained, not looking at him, and the room was filled with people who would more than likely believe and support him when he testified. He forced himself to breathe as Ginny commanded, and slowly felt his tense muscles relax.

“Interrogators are as follows: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot; Rufus Oberon Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic; Pius Nathaniel Thicknesse, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Court Scribe, Melody Clara Pond.” Dumbeldore paused, looking down at Umbridge as a witch with a wild mass of golden curls paused in her scribe notes, looking expectantly at the Chief Warlock.

Dumbledore started with calling up witnesses: Lee Jordan and the two other Hogwarts students were the first to go, the headmaster kindly questioning them about the use of the quill Umbridge used and what they had been forced to write. The two other students had minimal scarring, but Lee’s was more pronounced (I must not talk back to my teacher could just be made out on his dark skin).

The members of the Inquisitorial Squad were called up next and asked about the physical restraints they had used against Harry’s friends. Draco Malfoy had held no one down and only confessed to confiscating Harry’s wand on Umbridge’s orders, shooting Harry a tiny smirk as he discussed his actions that day. Each of them, however, had little defense as to why they did nothing regarding Umbridge’s use of the Cruciatus Curse other than, “we were ordered to hold the others, nothing more.”

“We all knew what Professor Umbridge could be like if she was angry,” said Malfoy, the last member of the squad to give his testimony. “I’d already seen her argue with Potter numerous times in our classes, so it was very clear to not only myself, but also to the others who joined the Inquisitorial Squad, that the best way to have a safe and uneventful school year was by supporting everything she did, and following her every instruction to the letter.”

“Did you desire that she use the Cruciatus Curse on Mr. Potter?” asked Scrimgeour with narrowed eyes.

“An irrelevant question, Minister,” answered Malfoy with ease, looking every inch his father’s son in that moment. “Regardless of the choices Professor Umbridge made this past school year, my only intention on that particular day was to follow her directions and nothing else. My aim is, and has always been, to support those in power.” He rubbed at his left arm almost absently as he spoke.

Harry narrowed his eyes at this action, wondering…

After Malfoy’s testimony, Dumbledore called on Madam Pomfrey. The matron described Neville’s state of shock, the minor injuries she treated for Harry’s friends as well as the Inquisitorial Squad members, and then her findings regarding Harry.

“Healer training includes the use special diagnostic spells in known cases of the use of the Cruciatus Curse,” Madam Pomfrey said in her usual, no-nonsense voice. “I was able to ascertain roughly how many uses of the curse are used based on damage to both the nervous system and internal injuries. My findings for Mr. Potter were that the Cruciatus Curse had been used approximately twenty-seven times.”

“How accurate would you say the diagnostic spell is?” asked Pius Thicknesse.

“It has an accuracy rate of ninety-seven percent,” answered Madam Pomfrey easily. “I have no doubt as to its accuracy in this case. The woman was both severe and frequent in her use of the curse on Mr. Potter.”

Dumbledore nodded and looked at Umbridge. “What reasoning do you have to justify using an Unforgivable on a fifteen-year-old boy, Dolores?”

Harry stiffly watched the woman squirm a bit. “He wouldn’t talk,” she finally spat. “He and his friends broke into my office and then he refused to tell me who he was contacting. I simply wanted him to tell the truth.”

All Harry could see was the piece of parchment he had used in his detentions, covered in the words he’d written in his own blood, the back of his hand searing, dripping on the paper as he worked silently. I must not tell lies, I must not tell lies…

“Harry, look at me.” Ginny’s voice broke through the flashback, and he stared into her bright brown eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath and nodding as he became aware of his surroundings once more.

Professor Snape was next to testify. He admitted to knowing of Sirius’s innocence and only spoke of communicating with the man in vague terms that Dumbledore let him get away with. He was questioned about the Veritaserum he had given to Umbridge. “She ordered it, and as the newly appointed Headmistress, I had to comply,” he told the Wizengamot calmly. “I instructed her that three drops were more than sufficient for a single individual, but on the afternoon of the eighteenth of June, she demanded more, at which time I realized she had more than likely used the entire bottle in her interview of the person she wished to interrogate.”

“Did you know which person she planned to interrogate the first time?” asked Scrimgeour, brows furrowed.

Snape nodded. “She informed me on the twenty-first of April that she wished to use it to interrogate Mr. Potter. I advised her on its use and thought no futher of it until she demanded more.”

“To interrogate Mr. Potter again?”

“Yes, Minister,” said Snape. He went on to explain his perspective on the afternoon of the eighteenth of June, and spoke of what he found when he had returned to Umbridge’s office. “I could hear screaming,” he said, eyes fixed on the Wizengamot, “as well as shouting and laughter. Then I clearly heard Professor Umbridge shout the Cruciatus Curse, which was followed by more screaming. Realizing that she was likely using an Unforgivable Curse on underage students, I immediately entered the room to discover the subject of the Curse was Mr. Potter. I had… no choice but to act.”

“No choice,” echoed Pius Thicknesse. “Can you explain what you mean by that, Professor Snape?”

“Teachers have a duty to protect students from harm,” Snape answered. “It is no secret that Mr. Potter and I do not get along, but my duty as a teacher supersedes any personal feelings I may have for the student in question. I Stunned Professor Umbridge, and Mr. Potter’s friends immediately fought to free themselves, creating a rather chaotic struggle that resulted in the members of the Inquisitorial Squad also being Stunned, and Mr. Longbottom’s wand being snapped in two. Once the chaos settled, I had Mr. Weasley and Miss Lovegood escort Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing to be treated for shock. Miss Granger was sent to fetch other teachers as well as Madam Marchbanks of the testing committee, and Miss Weasley remained behind with Mr. Potter while I ascertained the injuries of both himself and the other students. I also saw fit to bind Professor Umbridge’s hands as she had been… caught in the act, so to speak.”

After Snape’s testimony was finished, Dumbledore called to adjourn for a lunch break lasting thirty minutes.

Harry wasn’t hungry, but he forced himself to eat a couple of the chicken sandwiches Mrs. Weasley had packed for them all. “Are you all right?” Ginny asked him quietly.

He swallowed hard and shook his head, unable to put up a front for her. “I lost track of how many times,” he whispered. “Did – did you know?”

Ginny shook her head. “None of us did,” she answered. She hesitated. “Snape’s testimony wasn’t as horrible as I thought it’d be.”

“The lack of insults was weird,” Harry agreed with a tiny smile.

Before they knew it, the thirty minutes were up, and everyone was seated in the courtroom once more. Dumbledore began to call up Harry’s friends one by one, starting with Neville, who was followed by Luna, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione.

Hearing Neville describe Harry’s torture was incredibly difficult. “I knew – what had happened to my parents,” he told the Wizengamot in a choked-up voice, “but to actually see what it looked like – I couldn’t think straight, and everyone said I was in shock. I – I guess I was, because I remember trying to get my wand, but not a lot else until I was in the hospital wing drinking a Calming Draught.”

“Harry is very brave,” said Luna during her testimony, “but seeing him like that was… scary. He wouldn’t talk, you see, he’s very loyal to the people who love him, and I don’t think Professor Umbridge liked that about him at all.”

“He wouldn’t give in, wouldn’t let us say anything,” Ginny explained during her turn, brown eyes filled with rage as Hermione clutched at Harry’s hands. “And she just kept going no matter what any of us said, and we begged her to stop, to show mercy, but she – I think she hates him so much that the whole thing became more about hurting him than actually getting him to talk by the time Professor Snape came back.”

“She had this mad look on her face,” said Ron angrily when he was called up, “like she was enjoying what she was doing to him, you know? A lot of her Inquisitorial Squad had the same look on their faces, too, like they were getting off on the whole thing, and that’s just sick, isn’t it?” He shot a glare at the Slytherin students. “Enjoying watching someone get cursed…” He trailed off and shook his head.

“I saw a Muggle have something called a grand mal seizure once,” said Hermione when it was her turn. “This – it was something like that, but it was so much worse because Harry was sc-screaming and – it was something being done to him rather than his body doing that to itself.” She had tears running down her face as she explained.

Then it was Harry’s turn. He couldn’t help but notice the eager expression on the face of the reporter as Harry took a seat that was placed far enough forward that he didn’t have to look at Umbridge.

“Harry,” began Dumbledore calmly, “I would like to start with the events on the second of August one year ago. The Wizengamot heard snippets of your testimony regarding the attack upon yourself and your cousin Dudley Dursley by two dementors as well as testimony given by Arabella Doreen Figg last summer, but I would like to hear your full testimony regarding this event before we move forward.”

Harry nodded and quietly recounted the experience, including vague details of the fight he and his cousin had been having prior to the arrival of the dementors. He carefully described what each dementor did, as well as his own actions to defend himself and his cousin.

“When did you learn to conjure a corporeal Patronus?” asked Scrimgeour with interest.

“My third year,” answered Harry. “Professor Remus Lupin taught me because I… struggle a bit more than most when dementors are around.”

“What do you see when dementors are near?” asked Thicknesse.

“I do not see how this is relevant to his testimony, Pius,” interrupted Dumbledore.

“It’s a good question, though,” said Scrimgeour. “The Patronus Charm is incredibly difficult to learn and is not normally taught to thirteen-year-olds. I think the answer to Pius’s question would clear up why a teacher would decide on teaching a child such an incredibly complex spell.”

Harry clenched his jaw, but decided to answer. “I hear Voldemort murdering my parents,” he forced out. Several members of the Wizengamot gasped, as did Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Longbottom. “I hear my dad telling my mum to take me and run, and I hear her pleading Voldemort not to kill me while he tells her to step aside. Then I hear her refuse before Voldemort kills her, too.” He realized he was shaking and glared at the Minister. “Every single time a dementor gets near me, I relive the only memory I’ve got of my parents all over again.” He continued to glare at Scrimgeour and Thicknesse, who both looked rather abashed. Dumbledore’s expression was one of great sadness.

Voldemort was laughing in his head again, but Harry took a steadying breath and met Ginny’s eyes, seeing the love in them and focusing on that, instead.

After a moment, Scrimgeour said, “I am… sorry to have pushed you on this matter, Mr. Potter.”

Harry gave a jerking nod, noticing that Snape was sitting rather stiffly, dark eyes fixed on Harry and an unreadable expression on his face. Harry wondered what he thought of that knowledge, that the only thing Harry remembered about his mother was her pleading for Harry’s life over her own. He looked at Sirius and saw his grey eyes shining with unshed tears, but when he spoke, his voice was steady. “I would request that my godson only answer questions directly related to this trial from here on out,” he said as he rose to face the Wizengamot, “or I will step in and end the questioning myself. In fact, I demand that all questions related to his ability to cast a Patronus be expunged from the official trial record.”

“Agreed,” said Dumbledore at once, gesturing to the court scribe to do just that as Sirius sat down again. “Moving on, Harry, I need to ask you about the detentions you served with Dolores Umbridge during the first two weeks of term.”

After having heard Lee and the other students describe their detentions, this was a bit easier for Harry to manage. “She kept insisting that Voldemort wasn’t back,” he said, “and I… I was struggling after having watched him come back and seeing Cedric Diggory die, and I couldn’t – I couldn’t not say anything. It felt like an insult to Cedric’s memory to suggest his death had been anything but murder.” He described the detentions easily enough, but harder to explain was his rationale behind his decision to not speak to any adults.

“Hermione said that Umbridge’s speech at the Opening Feast meant that the Ministry was interfering at Hogwarts,” he said, unsure he could really explain himself. “It sounded like you didn’t really have authority over her, Professor, and… I felt like she was looking for weakness from me, and I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of knowing she’d gotten to me in that way.”

There was a pause before Dumbledore spoke. “I wish you had told me, Harry,” he said softly. “Our laws are very clear regarding the punishment of underage wizards, and I believe that Cornelius Fudge would not have let this treatment of you pass so freely.”

Harry stared right at Fudge, who was cowering slightly behind Scrimgeour. “I don’t share your belief, Headmaster,” he stated, making sure his voice was clear. “Professor Umbridge was going to authorize Mr. Filch the right to use physical punishment for misbehavior in direct violation of the laws you mentioned earlier, the ones protecting students from harm. I saw him carrying the paper that would have allowed him to do it the night Fred and George Weasley left Hogwarts. He was ready to whip them with full permission from Professor Umbridge, and since she had the full support of Mr. Fudge…” He deliberately trailed off with a glare at the ex-Minister.

A lot of heads turned to look at Fudge, who was quite red in the face as he sank down in his seat.

Harry felt a stab of bravery at the cowed expression on the man’s face. “I really think the Ministry has a lot of wrongs that need to be set right in order to earn the kind of approval they seek,” he added, giving Scrimgeour a deliberate look, which the Minister returned in equal measure.

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore with a faint smile, his blue eyes tinkling as merrily as ever. “I believe we have sufficiently covered the detentions, Harry, so I would now like to move onto the use of Veritaserum when Dolores Umbridge was appointed Headmistress in my absence.”

Harry confidently explained that meeting, making sure to give credit to Moody’s paranoia that prevented him from drinking the tea she had offered. He was sure she was glaring at him from her chair, but didn’t turn and look. “She wanted to know where you’d gone, sir, but since I didn’t know, that was easy enough to answer without lying. Then she wanted to know where Sirius was, but even though I knew, there was no way I’d tell her. No to mention, the place he was hiding out in was protected by a Secret Keeper, so I doubt I could’ve told her the truth even if I had drunk the tea.”

“This is quite true,” said Thicknesse. “Veritaserum does not work against such an enchantment. Please, continue, Mr. Potter.”

“She kept pushing for information, but then Fred and George Weasley set off their whole stock of Weasleys’ Wildfire Whiz-Bangs downstairs, so she was busy trying to figure out how to deal with that the rest of the day.” Harry couldn’t help but smile, remembering how disheveled and soot-blackened she’d been, chasing the fireworks around all day. “Easily the best fireworks out there, I’d reckon.”

The Weasley’s were all grinning appreciatively from their seats.

“I am sorry I was not there to see the display,” said Dumbledore merrily, “though I must confess that I am quite pleased that you did not drink the tea she offered you. Having seen the effects of the standard three drops yourself, I would hate to imagine what an entire bottle would have done.”

“It would not have been pleasant, I’m sure,” said Scrimgeour with a nod. “Might I ask for your expert opinion, Severus?”

“It is possible to overdose on Veritaserum,” said Snape, rising from his seat as all attention shifted to him. “Undoubtedly Mr. Potter would have ended up in the hospital wing had he not developed a healthy paranoia regarding accepting food and drink from those he does not trust.”

That was practically a compliment, Harry thought as he saw the surprised expression on Ginny’s face.

Then came the events from the eighteenth of June. This was the part Harry had been dreading.

“Why did you break into Umbridge’s office?” asked Scrimgeour.

“Hermione said I needed to check that Sirius was safe another way,” Harry answered, trying to quell the anxiousness he was beginning to feel. “He was supposed to be safe in the place he was hiding in, and he knew he wasn’t supposed to leave, but I didn’t know any other way to check than to use Umbridge’s office. She’d told me herself that her fire was the only one not being monitored by the Ministry, so we devised a quick distraction that was supposed to get me in just long enough to check that he was safe.”

“Did you receive verification that he was safe?”

“No,” said Harry. “His house-elf was there and lied to me, said that Sirius was gone.” He couldn’t stop himself from looking at Narcissa Malfoy. “It seemed he’d been ordered to lie to me by other members of the Black family.”

She stared coolly back at him, not saying a word, and Harry forced himself to move on. “Umbridge saw right through the distraction my friends set up and had her Inquisitorial Squad gather them up. She came back to her office and pulled me out of the fire by my hair while she waited for the others to bring in my friends. She – she threw me against her desk when I wouldn’t tell her who I was trying to contact and had Draco Malfoy go get Professor Snape to demand more Veritaserum from him. When he arrived, he said she’d used all he had, and it would take a month to brew more, and she got angry and sent him away, which was when I told him about Sirius being captured as vaguely as I could manage. He – well, he acted like he didn’t know what I was saying and left.”

He hesitated, feeling his hands start to shake a bit at what he had to talk about next. “She – Umbridge was angry, and she started talking to herself about having no other alternative and that it was a matter of Ministry security, and then she insisted she had to use the Cruciatus Curse to get me to talk.”

“Specifically you,” said Thicknesse. “She did not speak of using an Unforgivable on any of your friends?”

“No, sir,” said Harry. “Just – just me. Hermione reminded her it was illegal, said that Fudge wouldn’t want her to break the law, but she just said that – that what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.”

Fudge was pale, Harry noticed. “That’s when she admitted to sending the dementors after me,” he added.

“Did she explain her reasoning for doing so?” asked Dumbledore.

Harry nodded. “She said the Ministry wanted to discredit me for insisting Voldemort was back, and that she decided she would actually do something about it. She knew Fudge would be delighted to be given the chance to expel me. I mean, there was no way to survive a dementor attack without using magic, after all, so she thought he’d be rid of me, either way.”

Fudge flushed again as people in the courtroom eyed him distrustfully.

“Was this when she used the Cruciatus Curse on you?” asked Thicknesse.

Harry nodded. “She –” His hands were shaking more than before. “She’d curse me, and then ask if I was ready to talk. I told her no. Every time.”

“Why did you not wish to tell her the truth of what you were doing?” asked Thicknesse.

“She already thought I was a liar,” said Harry, “but Luna had it right. I don’t betray the people I care about. I wasn’t about to risk Sirius, and I just – I kept her attention on me so she wouldn’t think to hurt anyone else.”

“A rather noble thing you did, Mr. Potter,” said Scrimgeour. Then he asked the question Harry had been expecting, the same question he had asked each of Harry’s friends: “Why would you do that, though, insist on keeping yourself in harms’ way for the sake of your friends?”

“That’s just what Harry does,” had been Neville’s answer. “I’ve never known him to be any other way.”

“I think he cares more about us than himself, actually,” was what Luna had said in her usual blunt but truthful way that left Harry feeling uncomfortable.

“He almost died to save me from a basilisk three years ago,” had been Ginny’s response, “and I was only Ron’s little sister back then. Harry has always put himself at risk to protect the people he cares about, and I can’t see him being any other way.”

“That’s part of what makes him Harry,” was Ron’s shrugging reply.

Hermione’s answer, much like Luna’s, had been rather unsettling. “I think Harry’s loyalty to his friends is more important to him than his own life. He’s determined to always try and do what is right instead of what is easy, even if it means he gets hurt along the way.”

“You see, the answers from your friends are rather telling in a way,” Scrimgeour pressed when Harry did not immediately answer. “I find myself curious as to why you constantly place the safety and well-being of others before yourself.”

“Harry puts everyone else before himself,” Ginny’s words to Aunt Petunia suddenly echoed in Harry’s mind. “He has always done that, but I get it now. He puts everyone else first because you taught him that his worth is below everyone else, that everyone else comes before him.”

“I don’t know how to be any other way,” Harry finally answered.

“Spoken like the abused child you really are,” Umbridge suddenly snarled from behind him, and Harry sprang to his feet before he had fully processed the words, spinning around to face the chained woman, wand pointed directly at her face.

“Don’t,” he bit out, hating that his wand was shaking, and Umbridge laughed, the sound mixing with the cold laughter echoing in his mind.

“You thought I couldn’t tell, Mr. Potter?” she shouted, voice lacking any of the girlish qualities she usually pushed into it. “The way you sat there and let me hurt you?”

“Dolores, you will desist at once!” shouted Scrimgeour from behind Harry.

Umbridge shook her head and leaned as far forward as she could in her chains. “Abused children will always allow their abusers to keep hurting them because they know, deep down, that they deserve to be punished!”

Harry couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything in the face of the realization that somehow, she knew. Everything was suddenly too loud, and he was scared and lost, desperate for air, wanting only to escape, and then hands touched him, but Harry didn’t know them, and they suddenly were gone with shouts of pain.

And then Ginny was there.

Harry recognized her flowery scent instantly in the haze of fear that had enveloped him and pulled her to him, burying his face in a floral haze and inhaling deeply as she wrapped her arms around him. He could feel her chest moving in an even pattern of in and out that he followed religiously as he willed himself to focus on what was real. Ginny was real, maybe the only real thing he knew with any amount of certainty.

“Harry.” It was Sirius. Harry lifted his head, and his godfather’s face swam into view. “C’mon,” he said tightly, “we’re leaving.”

Ginny pulled away, holding his right hand tightly, and Harry was finally able to take in the courtroom again. The two Aurors stood before Umbridge, wands pointed at her, grim expression on their faces. Umbridge’s mouth was clamped shut by a strange contraption Harry hadn’t seen before, but hoped was painful. His friends were still in their benches, Ron looking ready to punch something while Hermione and Luna were both as pale as Mrs. Longbottom and Mrs. Weasley. Umbridge tilted her head slightly and met Harry’s eyes, and he felt his resolve steel itself.

“No,” he found himself saying. “I’m not done.” He pushed Sirius away and returned to the chair he’d been sitting on, but this time he didn’t let go of Ginny’s hand, and she crammed herself into the seat with him without question.

“Harry,” said Dumbledore, clearly quite worried, “are you sure you wish to continue?”

“I am, sir,” Harry said firmly, ignoring the Slytherin students to his right and keeping his eyes fixed on Dumbledore.

“Even with her claims of abuse?” pressed Scrimgeour.

Harry steeled himself. “Yes, Minister,” he said. “Umbridge chose to use the Cruciatus Curse on an underage wizard, and it is one of the worst experiences I have ever endured… but I would choose a million times over to have been the outlet for her rage than to let my friends suffer directly at her hands.” He clutched at Ginny’s hand as he straightened, facing a room of adults with every ounce of bravery he possessed. “That is who I am. If it’s in my power to protect the people I love, I’ll do it. I know that makes it sound like I have no regard for my own life, but… I’m a survivor. I am what I’ve been made from the night Voldemort killed my parents.” He looked at Ginny. “I’m someone who cares, who loves, and who takes a stand when no one else will because it is right.” He turned his direct attention back up at the Wizengamot. “Umbridge wanted to see me destroyed because of that, and everything she’s done has been to that end goal. No matter what it takes, I will never allow anyone to destroy who I am.”

Harry’s words rang out in the silent chamber, and Ginny gently squeezed Harry’s hand with both of her own.

Suddenly, Scrimgeour rose and began to clap. Sirius and Harry’s friends followed this almost immediately, and before Harry knew it, nearly every person in the courtroom was on their feet, applauding loudly, and Harry could see the look of pride on Sirius’s face.

“I think,” Scrimgeour called out, “that we are privileged today to be in the presence of a true hero.” The words were embarrassing, but Harry focused on Ginny’s presence next to him so he wouldn’t react in his usual way. “Are we ready to vote on the verdict?”

“I believe we are,” answered Dumbledore, gesturing for everyone to sit and allowing Harry to return to his spot next to Sirius, Ginny’s hand still clasped in his own. “For her crimes against every student who has spoken today, I propose that Dolores Jane Umbridge spend no less than sixty years in Azkaban. Those in favor?”

Every single hand within the Wizengamot rose as one. Dumbledore’s eyebrows were raised in amazement as he looked around, taking in the voting results. “A unanimous vote has been declared,” he proclaimed. “Aurors, please take the prisoner away.”

The Wizengamot broke into applause again, and Harry’s friends and family joined in, Ginny throwing her arms around Harry and kissing him firmly as the Aurors escorted Umbridge out of the courtroom, never to darken Harry’s life again.

Back to index


Chapter 18: A Dark Suspicion

Author's Notes: My school semester has ended, and I have one more week of work before my students are let out for Christmas holidays (2 weeks!). Of course, that means one more week before I have my own children to care for, but that won't slow me down when it comes to writing. I don't know that I'll post more than a couple updates over the last few weeks of 2019, but I'll definitely post a bit more than I've been able to. Once January starts, I'll be swamped with teaching and schoolwork again, but hopefully a bit less than what I've been handling thus far. Anyway, we're going to start wrapping up summer holidays over the next couple of chapters or so, including key moments relevant to the plot. Some dialogue taken from HBP chapter 6, "Draco's Detour", as well as chapter 7, "The Slug Club." Enjoy!


Chapter Eighteen: A Dark Suspicion


HARRY POTTER
TESTIFIES AGAINST UMBRIDGE,
MINISTER HAILS HIM
AS “TRUE HERO”


Yesterday morning, the trial of Dolores Jane Umbridge took place at the Ministry of Magic, the subject the abusive actions she took towards underage students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The majority of the charges against her were in regards to her treatment of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, better known these days as the Chosen One.

Potter, 16, along with two members of Hogwarts’ staff and several other Hogwarts students, took to the stand yesterday to give testimony regarding the grossest charge against Umbridge; use of the Cruciatus Curse on Potter in front of several witnesses. “The idea that someone who would do such a thing was also employed by our Ministry, it is nothing short of disturbing,” says Augusta Longbottom, grandmother of witness Neville, 16. “It was of the utmost importance to me that my grandson support Mr. Potter to ensure that Umbridge be put away from a very long time. I can honestly say I have never been more proud of Neville for standing up to face someone who acted in such atrocious ways towards his fellow classmates.”

“Harry was adamant no one ever suffer at Umbridge’s hand the way he did,” says Sirius Black, Potter’s godfather and magical guardian, following the dismissal of charges against him that put him in Azkaban nearly 15 years ago for a crime he did not commit. “I have never been anything but proud of the incredible young man he is becoming with every passing day, and I know his parents would be very proud of him if they could see him now.”

“Our children have stood by Harry’s side from day one, including when no one else would believe him,” says Arthur Weasley, newly appointed Head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. Weasley is also the father two witnesses, Ronald, 16, and Ginevra, 14. “We see Harry as much a part of our family as any of our children, and we are very proud of the strength of character shown by Harry as well as our children Ron and Ginny today. They and their friends have shown that even the youth of our world can have a say in what goes on in their world and make a difference.”

And what a difference was made today. Each witch and wizard who took to the stand provided compelling evidence against the appalling actions taken by Umbridge during her time as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, and Headmistress of Hogwarts. Potter’s friends spoke of his bravery and determination in the face of all Umbridge inflicted on him.

No testimony, however, carried as much weight as the words spoken by Harry Potter himself. “Umbridge chose to use the Cruciatus Curse on an underage wizard, and it is one of the worst experiences I have ever endured,” he stated during his testimony. He went on to say the following:

“… I would choose a million times over to have been the outlet for her rage than to let my friends suffer directly at her hands. That is who I am. If it’s in my power to protect the people I love, I’ll do it. I know that makes it sound like I have no regard for my own life, but I’m a survivor. I am what I’ve been made from the night [You-Know-Who] killed my parents. I’m someone who cares, who loves, and who takes a stand when no one else will because it is right. Umbridge wanted to see me destroyed because of that, and everything she’s done has been to that end goal. No matter what it takes, I will never allow anyone to destroy who I am.”

This statement, ending Potter’s testimony, led to Minister Rufus Scrimgeour praising Potter: “I think that we are privileged today to be in the presence of a true hero.” A vote was taken by the Wizengamot following this statement –


“Don’t they have anything better to do than report about me?” Harry groused over breakfast the next morning as he stared at the cover page of the Daily Prophet.

Sirius had to conceal a grin. The young man sitting before him seemed much more himself this morning than he had for most of the summer. He had known it would be difficult for him to face Umbridge, but it seemed to have done some good for Harry’s mind. The quiet, guarded young man who flinched or became unfocused without warning had been replaced by a much louder and incredibly grumpy sixteen-year-old overnight.

“No,” he said at last, setting down his mug of coffee (he’d taken a liking to it during his time on the run out of the country). “But then, you should’ve expected this.”

“I know,” groaned Harry in exasperation, lowering the paper to shoot a scowl at Sirius. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”

“You didn’t see the look on Snape’s face when Scrimgeour called you a ‘true hero,’” replied Sirius, unable to hide the grin any longer. “I was certain he’d swallowed a lemon whole!”

“Spies don’t get public praise until their job is done, I expect,” said Harry, though he smiled, as well. It was a lesser reaction than Sirius had been expecting. He frowned to himself about it as Harry looked over the article in the Daily Prophet again. “The reporter didn’t mention what Umbridge said to me.”

“I… may have insisted she cut that part out of her report,” said Sirius after a moment. “Strongly,” he added when Harry looked up at him.

His godson just raised his eyebrows.

“Fine, I bought her off,” admitted Sirius. “Lucky for me, Scrimgeour was on my side for that one. Says he doesn’t like the idea of your image being tainted by accusations of abuse or panic attacks.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Malfoy saw. Everyone will know by the second day of school, anyway.” He buried himself in the newspaper again while Sirius considered this.

Maybe he was long overdue for a chat with his cousin Cissa. She had to be smarting at the fact that the Black fortune had not gone to her or Bellatrix, but she could probably keep her son and the other Slytherin students in line if he played his cards right. In the meantime, however, he had another line of thought that needed to be addressed.

“Did you mean to cast a Stinging Hex at those Aurors yesterday?” he asked. Harry startled and looked up.

“What?”

“Your panic attack,” said Sirius. “The Aurors tried to grab you before Ginny could get over to you, but you cast a Stinging Hex at them.”

“Oh,” said Harry. “I just remember feeling hands I didn’t know. I wanted them to let go, and they did.”

Sirius nodded. “Makes sense,” he said. “Anyway, Ginny shouted at them to back off before she went to you, and, well…”

“Luna calls her my anchor,” said Harry, sounding vaguely amused as he reached for his mug of tea.

“Astute observation,” said Sirius with a sad smile, “though I do worry about what will happen once you’re back at Hogwarts.”

“You mean the fact that we’re in different years,” sighed Harry. “I know, I’ve been worried about it myself.”

“Do you think Ron and Hermione could manage?” asked Sirius.

“Hermione’s been watching Ginny like a hawk anytime something happens,” said Harry. “It’s just – you and Ginny handle it differently, you know?”

“The way I approach you would be different from the girl you’re in love with,” Sirius acknowledged. “They haven’t been alone with you during any land mines, have they?”

Harry shook his head, suddenly appearing every bit the subdued teen Sirius had known of late. He inwardly cursed himself for bringing up the subject even though he knew it needed to be addressed.

“We might have to chat with Ginny about having her step back a bit so they can try,” Sirius suggested after a moment. “I know she won’t like it –”

“Understatement,” muttered Harry.

“ – but it’s necessary,” continued Sirius firmly. “You’ve made incredible progress the last few weeks, but you also know that there are good days and bad days, with no clues as to what kind of day it’ll be until it happens.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed. “I – I know.”

Breakfast was rather quiet after that. Sirius felt awful about it, but it had to be done. He had to know that others could take care of Harry during a flashback or panic attack if he or Ginny were not nearby at the moment. He resolved to speak to Ginny about it as soon as they headed to the Burrow for the day and focused on his food once more.



Ginny was in the kitchen helping her mother and Fleur prepare for dinner (a rather tense affair that Hermione was glad to be missing out on) the first time Harry had a flashback without her nearby. Hermione had watched Ginny’s interactions with Harry closely, determined to figure out the best approach to handling the situation, and she’d memorized the clues to look for in figuring out if he was having a flashback or having a panic attack.

She, Harry, and Ron had been up in Ron’s room, talking about what Slughorn might be like as their new Potions teacher, and Ron, as per usual, couldn’t pass up any Potions-related conversation without some kind of scathing remark about Professor Snape. “I don’t see how anyone could possibly be worse than that greasy git.”

“Ron!” Hermione rebuked him before glancing at Harry. His eyes had slid out of focus, and he was sitting stiffly, his left hand already clenched over the top of his right. “Damn,” she muttered, knowing that meant he was remembering Professor Umbridge’s treatment of him, and she carefully reached out to place her hands on top of his. “Harry,” she said quietly, “she’s not here, she won’t hurt you ever again.”

It took a few seconds, but then Harry’s eyes cleared and he heaved in a shuddering breath as he looked over at her. “Sorry,” he muttered, pulling his hands apart. Hermione was pleased to see that he hadn’t dug in enough to break the skin, but it was a close thing.

“Ginny’s rule, Harry,” she reminded him quietly.

You have nothing to be sorry for.

Harry nodded and shot her a lopsided grin. “I guess you’re a bit of an anchor, too,” he told her, and Hermione smiled at him.

“It’s good to at least know Ginny and Sirius aren’t the only ones,” she told him.

She knew that panic attacks might be a different story, but that he had responded to her this time was quite encouraging. Whatever it took, Hermione was determined to protect Harry and help him heal. She hadn’t told any of them about how Professor Dumbledore had Obliviated her parents to keep Harry safe from both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds, and felt it was important to keep it to herself at all costs. Given that none of the adults had asked her about it, she was certain that the headmaster hadn’t told anyone about what he had done.

Harry didn’t need to know everything others were doing to keep him safe when he needed to focus on his own healing first and foremost. Hermione could keep him safe in this way, and was determined to do just that. Harry still had such a long way to go.

Still, there was the fact that she wasn’t around Harry quite as much as Ron was when they were at school. She was planning to continue with the same classes as her friends, but she was also expecting to take Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Ron needed a chance to prove he was enough of an anchor for Harry, as well. She was pretty certain he would be since he was Harry’s first-ever friend (a thought that still felt a bit like a knife to the heart because Harry had been denied the chance for friendship his entire childhood with the Dursleys), but she worried about Ron’s rather abrasive nature in comparison to how she, Ginny, and even Sirius responded to Harry’s flashbacks. Ron had confided to her that he’d had to hit Harry round the face to snap him out of an episode with his scar after his first Occlumency lesson with Professor Snape, and admitted that the experience had been unnerving.

Harry did not need physical pain to snap him out of a flashback.

Thankfully, her fears about Ron were put to rest the very next day. She and Ginny had been involved in their own discussion during lunch when Ron suddenly said, “Harry, it’s lunchtime, we’re at the Burrow, we’re safe, remember mate?”

Hermione turned quickly to see that Harry’s hands were clenching the edge of the table as he sat stiffly, but Ron had a firm hand on his shoulder and was rubbing it gently. He had already leaned forward to get a good look at Harry’s face. She watched as Harry nodded tightly and took three even breaths before relaxing at last. “Thanks, Ron,” Harry said quietly, and they both returned to eating the sandwiches Mrs. Weasley had prepared for them.

Turning back to Ginny, Hermione was pleased to see her friend was smiling in relief. “I knew he could rely on you both,” she finally said, meeting Hermione’s eyes. “I’m glad to see I was right.”

“’Course you were,” said Ron between mouthfuls of roast beef sandwich. “You don’t have the monopoly on Harry, Ginny. He was my friend first.”

“Spoken like a jealous lover,” Ginny retorted, which resulted in a rather rude comment from Ron and a stern rebuke from their mother. Hermione caught Harry’s eye and they both grinned at each other as the siblings were forced to apologize to the other for their unsavory comments, the both of them scowling at different corners of the room as they did so.

Over the next few days, it started to almost become a race between Hermione, Ron, and Ginny as to who could notice and respond the quickest to Harry’s struggles with flashbacks. It was Ron’s fault that it happened, really, but since Harry actually found it rather humorous, Hermione forced herself not to dissuade the competition.

The most amusing incident of this race occurred the day before they due for their trip to Diagon Alley to get their school supplies for the year. Luna and Neville were there for the afternoon, so they’d found a copse of trees for shade from the hot sunlight. Ginny was dozing on her back, head cushioned on Harry’s left leg while Luna was carefully inspecting the tree Harry was leaning against for a wrackspurt infestation. Ron and Neville were playing gobstones while Hermione was rereading the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5. The quiet chatting and relaxing shouldn’t have set off any land mines, but it seemed that sometimes Harry’s mind wasn’t always safe from itself.

“Harry?” Luna suddenly said, and Hermione quickly looked up to see the familiar glassy-eyed expression on his face. Dropping her book, she crawled over the grass to Harry as Ron dropped his gobstones, which immediately squirted their disgusting liquid at Neville.

“I got it!” called out Ron as Ginny startled and shot up, her head colliding into Hermione’s and sending both girls sprawling, Hermione clutching at her aching skull with a groan and Ginny doing the same, only swearing loudly.

Ron burst out laughing, and the whole scene appeared to bring Harry back to himself, because he blinked and looked around at them, completely confused. “What’d I miss?” he asked.

“Luna noticed you’d zoned out, mate, and the girls rammed right into each other to try and get to you first,” said Ron, still chuckling. “I guess the noise from us was enough to snap you out of it.” He made his way over to Hermione as Harry reached for Ginny. “Are you all right?” Ron asked her quietly.

“I’m fine,” said Hermione, still rubbing her forehead. She felt Ron pull her hand away as he looked over the smarting spot on her skull.

“I don’t see a bruise,” he murmured, “but if you do get one, Mum’s the expert at getting rid of them.” His fingers lightly brushed over her forehead, and Hermione felt her breath catch.

“I think you three need to ease up on the competition,” said Neville with a small grin as he wiped gobstone liquid off his face with a handkerchief Luna had handed him.

“No way!” said Ron at once, seemingly satisfied that Hermione was fine and turning back to Neville, which left Hermione feeling saddened for reasons she couldn’t bring herself to identify. “It’s not like we’ll have a lot of opportunities to be the best once we’re at school. Well, I mean, Hermione and I can still race since we’ll all have most of the same classes this year.”

Harry laughed. “You act like I’m some prize to be won,” he said.

“Just your brain when it’s having a hard time,” said Ginny as she massaged her forehead. “I’m afraid the rest of you has already been claimed.”

Hermione watched as Harry smiled at Ginny before leaning over to kiss her softly. “I love you,” she heard him whisper, and her heart felt as though it might burst. Harry had had precious little to enjoy about life, but the way Ginny had found her way in to the most vulnerable parts of him was… magical. Harry was the happiest she had ever seen him in the five years she and Ron had known him despite the minefield he still struggled with, and he deserved every ounce of joy life could spare for him.

Another hurdle they had to face, however, was Harry’s reticence to discuss his nightmares. Hermione knew he’d always been prone to them, but when he and Sirius emerged one morning from the Floo being very stiff with each other, Hermione couldn’t help but ask what was going on.

“He’s not talking about his nightmares,” said Sirius.

“It’s nothing,” said Harry at the same time. “Sirius, I’m fine!”

“This makes four nights in a row,” said Sirius, shooting Harry an exasperated look. “You were screaming this last time, kiddo!”

Harry paled and looked away. “Harry,” said Hermione cautiously, “you know we can’t help you if you aren’t honest with us. Please don’t hide the truth.”

Harry shoved his hands under his glasses to rub at his eyes. “I know,” he finally mumbled. “I don’t like talking about it.”

“Four nights in a row is pretty serious, Harry,” said Hermione, moving closer to Harry and pulling his hands away from his face. “Clearly there’s something you’re struggling to process, and if you keep hiding it away, it’ll keep eating at you.”

“I think we have a new rule,” said Sirius with a smile. “We’ll call this one Hermione’s Rule, Harry. Don’t hide the truth.”

“A new rule?” called out Ginny as she came down the stairs. “Do tell!”

It felt a bit like watching her father pull a particularly stubborn wisdom tooth free from a patient’s mouth, but eventually Hermione, with the help of Ginny, Sirius, and even Ron when he finally came downstairs, were able to get Harry to open up about his nightmares, which apparently revolved around the worst that Vernon Durlsey had had to offer in his neglect and abuse of Harry, only with Voldemort’s snide remarks and jibes thrown in.

It didn’t matter that Harry protested how his uncle had never seriously injured him the few times he had been physically abusive. Hermione was almost in tears as she pleaded with Harry to understand that abuse was still abuse, no matter how often it happened. She wasn’t quite sure that she and the others succeeded that day, but Sirius did report a lull in Harry’s nightmares after that difficult conversation.

Whatever came their way, though, Hermione knew they would find a way to handle it. That’s what they had always done, after all, and she was prepared to keep it up, no matter what. Harry’s mental health and the future of their world depended on it.



“I don’t get why we need extra security just to go to Diagon Alley,” said Ron in frustration as they prepared to leave for their shopping trip. “You, Dad, and Sirius should be more than enough for the four of us, I reckon.”

“Minister Scrimgeour is insisting,” sighed Arthur. “We’ll be using Ministry cars to get there and back, as well.”

“Someone’s going to kidnap Harry right out of the Floo, now?” said Ron incredulously. “You realize how daft that sounds, right? Harry and Sirius use the Floo every day to get here and back to Grimmauld Place.”

“Those are known entities that we can trust, though,” Arthur reminded him. “They’re set up specifically to work between here and there and nowhere else.”

“Alright,” Ron scowled, “but are we going to be tailed by Aurors all day while we’re out?” He didn’t much fancy the idea of grim-faced Aurors tracking their every step. How could they even be sure that any Aurors could be trusted outside of Tonks and Kingsley, anyway?

To Ron’s surprise, his father smiled. “Actually, Professor Dumbledore stepped in and insisted that Hagrid would be enough security on top of myself, your mother, and Sirius,” he said. “Hagrid’s size and lineage would make it quite difficult to take him down, after all.”

“Hagrid’s our security?” Harry piped up as he came down the stairs from using the bathroom, and Ron was pleased to see that he looked happy. “That’s brilliant!”

Ron thought so, too.

The right was fast and smooth (so much better than the Ford Anglia he and Harry had lost to the Forbidden Forest at the start of their second year), and Hagrid greeted them cheerily as they headed inside the Leaky Cauldron.

Once in Diagon Alley, they split up. Ron’s parents took Ginny to Flourish and Blotts to purchase all their schoolbooks while Sirius and Hagrid escorted Ron, Hermione, and Harry to Madam Malkin’s. Hermione wanted new dress robes while Ron and Harry both needed new school robes. Molly was certain Ron had shot up another four inches since the last time she’d purchased robes for him, and Harry had (finally) outgrown his.

“Knew you wouldn’t be a runt forever,” he told Harry, and his friend whacked his shoulder good-naturedly.

“Prat,” smiled Harry.

“Git,” Ron returned easily.

Hermione rolled her eyes as Sirius laughed and led them inside the shop while Hagrid stood guard outside.

Then they heard a rather unmistakable voice from behind a rack of dress robes.

“… not a child, in case you hadn’t noticed, Mother. I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone.”

Sirius stepped around the rack rather quickly.

“I don’t know about that, Draco,” he said loudly, “it’s really not a safe thing to go wandering around all on your own these days. Wouldn’t you agree, cousin?”

Ron stepped around the rack as well with Harry and Hermione right behind him. Draco Malfoy was wearing a set of dark green robes that glittered with pins around the hem and the edges of the sleeves, Madam Malkin busy with the hem of the robes. A moment later, his mother, Narcissa Malfoy, emerged from behind another rack, looking unsurprised to see Sirius with Ron and his friends.

“Sirius,” Narcissa spoke in a voice that sounded pleasant enough, but had a tinge of coldness to it. “It’s been quite a long time since we last spoke.” She extended a pale hand, and Sirius stiffly bent over it, reminding Ron of the annoying pure-blood customs his mother had taught him, which he usually ignored. He was curious to see how Sirius would interact with the stiff woman, and resolved to keep his mouth shut for once.

“Indeed,” said Sirius with a smile that matched Narcissa’s tone. “It’s a shame we weren’t able to speak at the trial last week. I must say, Draco’s testimony was rather enlightening, wouldn’t you agree?”

Ron noticed that Hermione was already clutching Harry’s right hand, but his friend’s eyes were, for once, clear at the vague mention of Umbitch (he had picked the alternate name up from Sirius, much to his mother’s displeasure).

“You know the Malfoy family has always stood behind the Ministry,” said Narcissa in the same pleasantly chilling voice. “Even if the choices being made by our Ministry are sometimes… indelicate.”

Ron couldn’t stop his snort or scowl at the words. That was one word for it, he thought sourly.

“I can understand your devotion to power,” said Sirius with a small smirk. “That has always driven both of our family lines.”

“Not so much yourself, though,” observed Narcissa coolly.

Sirius let out a bark of laughter. “We clearly have different definitions of ‘power’, Cissa,” he said. “I just hope that your devotion to family supersedes all of that.” He stepped back to clap a hand to Harry’s shoulder.

“I thought you had devotion to our family,” said Narcissa rather coldly.

“Family,” said Sirius firmly, “is not defined only by blood. I pray you understand that someday soon, Narcissa.”

Narcissa finally scowled, and Ron decided it had been worth it to let Sirius verbally spar with the woman rather than mouth off the way he usually did. “We were family until you made your choice,” she said, voice positively frigid now.

Sirius shrugged without a hint of remorse. “I chose to be who I am rather than who Walburga insisted I should be,” he replied. He paused, then added, “Andy chose the same.”

“Don’t talk to me about my sister,” snapped Narcissa, face contorting in rage.

Madam Malkin was telling Malfoy that she needed to adjust the sleeves, reaching for his left arm.

“Ouch!” bellowed Malfoy, slapping her hand away. “Watch where you’re putting your pins, woman! Mother – I don’t think I want these anymore –” Ron watched as he disrobed quickly, throwing the bundle of green at Madam Malkin’s feet.

“You’re right, Draco,” said Narcissa after a long moment of glaring at Sirius. “Now that I’m aware of the kind of scum that shops here…” Her eyes drifted from Sirius to Hermione, and Ron felt a swoop of anger at the contemptuous look on her face. “We’ll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting’s.”

Sirius gave a mocking bow to allow her to pass, and Ron backed up to avoid having Malfoy ram into him.

“By the way, cousin mine,” Sirius suddenly called out as Narcissa reached the door to the shop, “I trust you and Draco know that anything he and his Inquisitorial Squad friends might claim about the trial last week will be taken with a rather large grain of salt by the Wizarding community.”

Narcissa stopped and turned around. Ron saw her eyes flicker from Sirius to Harry and back again. “Mr. Potter has a certain image that needs to be upheld right now in order to maintain hope in these dark times,” she finally said. “My son and I are certainly not in the position to put ourselves at odds with that image. Well, not at this time, anyway.” She placed her hand on her son’s shoulder and swept from the shop.

“Well,” Harry spoke after a moment, “that was…”

“She won’t talk,” said Sirius confidently, “and she’ll make sure Draco and the others fall in line. Almost all of those students from the Inquisitorial Squad have at least one Death Eater parent they need to protect. Saying anything negative about you puts their position in our society at risk right now.”

“Excellent verbal sparring, by the way,” Ron told Sirius as he prepared to be measured for his new robes.

Sirius laughed. “That’s how you survive in those kinds of pure-blood families,” he explained to Harry and Hermione as Madam Malkin worked on fitting Ron’s robes, muttering distractedly to herself. “A sharp tongue gets you far in that environment.”

“I think I’ll pass on that,” said Harry with raised eyebrows. “Emotional manipulation, you told me once. Sounds more like abuse to me.”

Ron blinked and met Hermione’s eyes, sharing a moment of surprise and hope. That was the first time they’d ever heard Harry use that word. Maybe that meant he was starting to come to terms with his own childhood.

Sirius seemed to have noticed this, as well, because he said, “There’s a fine line between the two that is all too easily blurred. I hope more families are coming around to the understanding that raising children in this way does not create the happiest of adults. We’re all too busy trying to one-up each other instead of focusing on our own self-worth and happiness.”

“I agree,” said Hermione, “there’s no way that’s healthy for anyone.”

Ron glanced at Harry and saw his eyes go glassy, but since he was covered in pins and couldn’t move, he just nodded in Harry’s direction, hoping either Hermione or Sirius would catch his meaning.

Hermione noticed at once and quickly reached out to clasp Harry’s hands in her own. Ron couldn’t hear her whispering to their friend, but he was pretty certain he knew what she was saying, anyway. Moments later, Harry blinked, eyes focused and clear once more, and nodded his thanks to Hermione.

Yeah, Ron thought as Madam Malkin finished with his robes, they would see Harry through this healing process, no matter what.



“I wonder what Malfoy’s up with without his Mummy,” Ron remarked as he looked out one of the front windows of Fred and George’s store to watch Draco Malfoy quickly sneak past, and Ginny had to agree with him. She knew Harry had his Invisibility Cloak with him (“Just in case,” Sirius had said) and that he probably wanted to follow the blonde git, but the cloak wouldn’t fit all four of them.

“I’ll distract Mum and Dad,” she spoke up, and a quick kiss to Harry later, she was dragging her mother and father around the shop to point out the Pygmy Puffs and the Patented Daydream Charms, even pulling in the twins to explain how the charms worked, which attracted Sirius’s attention.

“That’s some clever spellwork you’ve done,” he told the twins, impressed.

“Like anything could top your inventing the Marauder’s Map,” said Fred dismissively.

“Best bit of spellwork ever,” agreed George.

Molly didn’t know about the map, and started asking Sirius some uncomfortable questions, which thankfully served to further distract the adults from realizing that Harry, Ron, and Hermione weren’t in the store.

Finally, a few minutes later, Ginny felt a touch on her arm and turned to see Harry. “That back room is pretty amazing,” Harry said loud enough for her parents to hear. “Have you seen it yet, Ginny? Their Defense line is really something else.”

“Oh, is that where you’ve been this whole time?” asked Sirius distractedly. Molly spotted Harry and immediately whirled on him.

“Fred and George say they gave you a special map of Hogwarts that Sirius and his friends created?”

“Er,” said Harry, taken aback. “Yeah, they did. My dad helped make it, so it probably would’ve been mine if Filch hadn’t – Sirius, how did Filch manage to get his hands on it?”

Sirius started to laugh. “It was not my fault,” he began, which made Ginny rather suspicious. “All right, I’d had this idea for a prank on Filch towards the end of our seventh year, about… Merlin, two weeks before we had to sit our N.E.W.T.s, and Wormtail had the map while he was setting up and waiting for his part, but he dozed off and only had time to wipe it before Filch found him. It was a damn shame, losing it. I’m glad that some proper pranksters found it and gave it to the rightful heir.”

Fred and George dropped into rather low bows at this as Molly sighed. “This explains so much about your time at Hogwarts,” she said to the twins. “I trust that you haven’t only used it to get into trouble, Harry?”

“Er,” said Harry again, and Ginny pressed her lips together hard to keep from smiling. “I mean, when we were running the D.A., I’d use it to check that the coast was clear before allowing students to head back to their common rooms, so… yes and no?”

Molly sighed again as Sirus, Fred, and George laughed, and she asked everyone to finish up quickly so they could return back to the Burrow. “You’ll tell me what you saw when we’re back home?” Ginny asked Harry quietly as they prepared to leave.

“Yeah,” Harry replied softly. “Thanks for distracting the adults, Gin.”

“Only because I love you,” she told him cheekily, and he laughed.

“I love you, too.”

Ginny convinced her parents to purchase one of the Pygmy Puffs, and after they’d paid for their things, the group made their way back to the Ministry cars to make the drive back home. Once they arrived, Sirius and Molly quickly divvied up Harry’s things from the rest for Kreacher to take back to Grimmauld Place. Harry went up to Ron’s room to help him put his school supplies away while Hermione and Ginny took care of their own things. They congregated in Ron’s room once they were done, and Ginny listened as Harry, Ron, and Hermione filled her on how they’d tracked Malfoy down to Knockturn Alley and into the troublesome shop Borgin and Burkes. Malfoy had demanded that something in the shop be kept safe, but they hadn’t seen what he had been pointing at, and Hermione’s attempt to uncover the item had backfired spectacularly.

“I wonder what it could have been,” said Ginny contemplatively when they finished their tale.

“There could be a lot of explanations,” said Hermione. “It could be something of his father’s –”

“Dad says the Ministry raided Malfoy Manor after Mr. Malfoy was arrested,” said Ron. “I don’t know that they would’ve had a lot of time to hide anything.”

“But he’s sold things to that shop before,” said Harry, reminding them of his first and rather unfortunate trip through the Floo Network four summers ago.

“Doesn’t Malfoy have a Hand of Glory?” suggested Ron. “Maybe he’s broken it.”

“The thing that bothers me,” said Harry, “is that he said, ‘Don’t forget to keep that one safe’, like Borgin’s got another one of the broken objects, and Malfoy wants both.”

“Why, though?” asked Ginny. “What reason could he have?”

“I don’t know,” sighed Harry, sounding frustrated. “His dad’s in Azkaban, so maybe revenge?”

Ron blinked. “Malfoy, revenge? What can he even do about it?”

“That’s my point,” said Harry, “I don’t know! But he’s up to something, and I think we should take it seriously. His father’s a Death Eater and –”

Harry broke off, mouth open, staring blankly at the window behind Ginny. This wasn’t a flashback or a panic attack, Ginny knew instantly. This was Harry having a sudden thought. “Harry?” she said quietly.

“I think he’s a Death Eater,” Harry finally spoke. “He’s replaced his father as a Death Eater!”

Ginny sucked in a breath, seriously considering it, but Ron snorted disbelievingly.

“Malfoy? He’s sixteen, Harry! You think You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join?”

“Sirius’s brother Regulus was sixteen when he joined up with Voldemort,” answered Harry quietly.

Ron gaped. “Are you serious?”

“No,” Harry deadpanned, “I’m Harry. Sirius is downstairs. Look – my point is,” he hurried on as Ron groaned at the joke, “that it’s happened before. It’s not outside the realm of possibility!”

“But what makes you think he’s joined the Death Eaters?” asked Hermione.

“In Madam Malkin’s. She didn’t touch him, but he yelled and jerked his arm away from her when she went to roll up his sleeve. It was his left arm. He’s been branded with the Dark Mark.”

“It’s always the left arm,” said Ginny quietly.

“You weren’t there, Ginny,” said Hermione, making Ginny clench her jaw to control her temper. “That’s not enough proof.”

“Sirius was busy arguing with his mum,” added Ron. “I think he just wanted to get out of there.”

“But do you remember at the trial,” continued Harry, “when he talked about supporting people in power, he was rubbing at his left arm then, too! Today he showed Borgin something we couldn’t see,” he pressed on, clearly undaunted by Ron and Hermione’s attempts to object. “Something that really scared Borgin. It was the Mark, I know it – he was showing Borgin who he was dealing with, you saw how seriously Borgin took him!”

Ginny watched as Ron and Hermione exchange a look and decided she was done. “When you’ve both decided to actually listen, Harry and I will be waiting.” She grabbed Harry’s hand and dragged him from the room, ignoring the dumbfounded faces of the other two, and stopped only when she had pulled Harry into her bedroom and pushed him to sit down on her bed.

“You believe me, don’t you?” said Harry as soon as he was sitting.

Ginny shut her bedroom door. “Yes,” she said firmly. “I do. The Riddle in the diary was perfectly happy to use an eleven-year-old to open the Chamber of Secrets and let the Basilisk bring harm to others in his desire to get to you. I highly doubt that Voldemort’s changed all that much in the years since he created that thing.”

“Thank you,” said Harry, sounding immensely relieved. “I don’t know what’s gotten into them. Why don’t they think it’s possible?”

Ginny frowned thoughtfully as she considered. She had a thought about that, and she was pretty certain she was right about her suspicions, but saying it out loud… it could potentially damage Harry’s relationship with Ron and Hermione.

However, she also refused to lie to Harry. He’d had more than enough of that in his life.

“I think… Oh, Harry, I don’t know if there’s a good way to say this.”

Harry watched her, tense and confused. “They don’t trust my judgment?” he finally asked.

“Not… not exactly,” said Ginny carefully. “I think it stems from a worry about what Voldemort did to you that night.”

“They think he messed me up that much?” Harry looked rather offended. “I know my brain’s a bit… I dunno, ravaged? But I’m still me.”

“And I see that,” said Ginny quickly, striding forward to sit down next to Harry and take his hands in her own. “Voldemort didn’t take away your ability to think or function, and I know that Ron and Hermione understand that, but you’ve struggled a lot this summer, and I think it’s harder for them to see past that. You spent a year lashing out at the slightest provocation, made some rash choices, got tortured” – she instinctively tightened her grip on Harry’s hands – “possessed, almost died… and then the truth about your childhood, the trial, the prophecy, even, it’s just… you have been through so much, and I think they have spent more time worrying about the way things have affected you than they’re willing to let on. You’re still having at least four flashbacks each day.”

“So they think I’ve gone round the bend,” said Harry flatly, not meeting Ginny’s eyes.

“No, that’s…” Ginny sighed. “I think they just need some more time to really see that you’re still you. They’ve been too focused on your healing and supporting that healing to see… everything else. They’ll come around eventually, they always do.” She released Harry’s hands to turn his face to hers. “In the meantime,” she continued with a smile, “you’ve got me.”

“Promise?”

Ginny nodded and kissed Harry, who responded instantly. She clambered onto his lap and buried her hands in his wild hair, his arms wrapping around her waist as they lost themselves in each other.

Even though Ron and Hermione had known Harry longer, Ginny knew she was the one who saw Harry as he truly was: damaged, yes, but still wholly Harry. He remained every bit the smart, clever, curious, strong, and incredible boy she had loved for so long.

Ginny knew better than anyone the toll emotional damage could take on a person. It had taken her some time (not to mention the support of a Mind Healer) to find herself again after Harry had destroyed the diary and set her free from its clutches. It had taken longer to set aside the fear and embarrassment so that she could just be herself around Harry, no matter how she felt about him. But now… now Ginny got to wake up every morning with the knowledge that Harry’s smiles and laughter existed because of her, because of the love he had for her.

Her hands drifted from Harry’s hair, one finding its way under his shirt to lightly trace the faint scar left over from the Slicing Hex Bellatrix Lestrange had landed there two months ago. He shuddered at her touch, and Ginny felt a thrill that had her pressing closer to Harry as his hands slid under her top –

“Harry, Ginny, it’s your turn to help with making dinner!”

Groaning, Harry and Ginny pulled apart, panting slightly, Harry’s cheeks flushed as he slid his hands out from under her top to rest at her hips.

“Mum has excellent timing, as per usual,” sighed Ginny, and Harry nodded.

“I’ll er, be needing a minute to…” Harry trailed off, face flushing even more.

Thankfully, Ginny didn’t need him to say anything. She could tell how worked up he’d become by this latest bout of snogging. “I’ll tell her you’re in the bathroom,” she said with the most impish grin she could manage. “But hurry, or I might drown in the Phlegm downstairs.”

Harry chuckled, and Ginny slid off his lap and headed for the door. She glanced back at Harry to see him bracing himself on the edge of her bed, clearly trying to calm down certain parts of himself, and stifled the laughter that wanted to bubble free.

In spite of his trauma, Harry was very much still a teenage boy.

Taking a calming breath, Ginny headed downstairs, spouted off her lie, and set about making dinner, Harry coming down a few minutes later looking calmer, if still a bit flushed. They worked in tandem under Molly's directions, ignoring Fleur and exchanging happy looks every so often.

Ginny decided later as she watched how stiffly Harry interacted with Ron and Hermione at dinner that she'd made the right choice to trust Harry as completely as she did. He held her hand tightly through the meal and hugged her harder than usual when it was time for him to leave. "Thank you for believing me," he whispered to her.

"Always," she returned, and then he was gone in a burst of green flame.

Hermione shot Ginny a quizzical look, which she promptly ignored in favor of an early bedtime, though she lay in bed, feigning sleep long after Hermione turned in for the night.

Back to index


Chapter 19: Summer's End

Author's Notes: Can you believe it's taken a total of 19 chapters to cover just summer holidays? This was the last thing I expected when I sat down to start planning out this story, but here we are. Probably the only thing that could've made things go faster would've been not deviating from any POV besides Harry. I have no regrets, though. There's been a lot going on that deserved to be written about. This chapter has fluff, character development, and some main plot development, as well. Also, for this first scene, picture Ginny's hair being akin to the state of Anna's hair in the movie "Frozen." Enjoy!


Chapter Nineteen: Summer’s End



Molly watched Ginny slouch down the stairs and drop into her seat at the kitchen table on the morning of her birthday. Harry and Sirius weren’t supposed to arrive for another hour, so Ginny hadn’t yet bothered to brush her hair or change from her pajamas.

For all that Ginny was a bright, funny, and vivacious child, she was not in any way a morning person, the morning of Harry’s birthday eleven days earlier having been quite the exception. She differed from Molly in that way. Molly loved to get up early and watch the sun rise in the summertime before making breakfast for her children and husband.

“Morning, Ginny,” she said quietly, setting a mug of tea before her daughter. Ginny grunted out something akin to a reply and seized the cup as she pushed her tangle of hair from her face.

Molly felt a bit awful that she hadn’t warned Ginny about what was coming, but then, Sirius had begged, hadn’t he?

The sound of the fireplace lighting up in the living room startled Ginny so much that she spilled a bit of her tea down her front. “Wait,” she said, “Mum, what time –?”

“Where’s the birthday girl?” came Sirius’s loud voice.

“Mum, they didn’t,” said Ginny, putting down the cup and pushing her hair away from her face again.

Molly suppressed a smile. “I guess they’re early today, dear,” she said.

“Mum, I’m – look at me!” hissed Ginny, brown eyes wide in panic.

Sirius strode into the kitchen, and the twinkling in his eyes could have easily put Albus to shame, Molly thought. “There she is!” he bellowed joyfully, seizing Ginny in a firm hug. “Harry, I found her!”

“Sirius, I haven’t even brushed my hair yet!” protested Ginny.

“Harry, come and see what your future wife looks like first thing in the morning!” Sirius called loudly.

Ginny pulled away, eyes darting wildly to the living room entrance, but nothing happened.

There was a pause.

“He’s not even awake yet, is he?” said Ginny, a scowl creeping over her face as she turned to Sirius.

Harry’s godfather grinned unrepentantly. “I may have left him sleeping peacefully in his bed, yes.”

Ginny’s scowl turned to a glare, and she smacked Sirius’s arm. “You owe me a proper birthday present after that scare!” she insisted.

“Yes ma’am,” replied Sirius, rubbing his arm but continuing to grin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, ladies, I need to wake up my godson and eat. I’ll be back before you know it, though!” He waved and returned to the living room. The sound of the fireplace lighting up sounded, and then silence fell.

“You knew that was coming, didn’t you, Mum?”

Molly pressed her lips together. “I’ve never seen Sirius beg for anything from me before,” she finally admitted. “I couldn’t resist!”

“Nice to know where the prankster side of the family comes from,” sighed Ginny, slumping back into her seat and grabbing her mug of tea again. “I’d really like to eat and get ready after that scare.”

“You don’t wish for Harry to see you like this?” asked Molly, unable to keep herself from grinning any longer. “It wouldn’t be the first time, you know,” she added, thinking of the morning a twelve-year-old Harry had first come to stay at her home and Ginny’s reaction at the time.

“Don’t remind me,” moaned Ginny as she thumped her head onto the table. “I wish I could erase that moment from my mind.”

Molly laughed, pushing a plate of eggs and toast toward her daughter. “If I know Harry, and I’m certain after this long I do, he probably looks back on that moment with a mixture of embarrassment and fondness.”

Ginny peeked up at her through her tangled locks. “You think so?” she mumbled.

“Absolutely,” said Molly firmly. “He loves you. Now eat up before your food gets cold, dear.”

Ginny had eaten, brushed her hair, and changed into presentable clothes by the time Harry actually arrived, carrying a small box and barely remembering to hug Molly when he saw Ginny coming down the stairs. “Hey,” he said breathlessly with that joyful expression on his face, the sight of which never failed to bring tears to Molly’s eyes. He wrapped Ginny in his arms, and when she pulled away, she immediately reached for the package.

“I want to open it now!”

“I don’t even know if you’ll like it!” Harry told her, holding the box just out of reach.

“I’ll decide that for myself, thanks!” It seemed Ginny was prepared to play dirty, because next second she dragged Harry’s mouth to hers and kissed him just until his arm had lowered enough that she could snatch the present away.

“That’s cheating!” Harry told her with a laugh, but she just stuck her tongue out at him and sat down at the kitchen table as Hermione entered the kitchen, Ron ambling in slowly behind her, yawning loudly as his stomach rumbled loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

Ginny was smiling the entire time she ripped the green wrapping off the box, plucked off the top, and dumped out what appeared to be a small jewelry box of some kind. Molly moved closer to see what was inside as Ginny prised the lid open.

“Oh,” she breathed.

“There wasn’t time to look for anything when we were at Diagon Alley the other day,” said Harry quickly, “so I had to get Sirius to find what I wanted. Is it… is it okay?”

Fleur entered the kitchen just as Ginny carefully lifted up the thin, gold chain of a necklace with a small heart-shaped pendant. “I don’t know where Sirius got so many Muggle catalogues,” Harry rushed on before Ginny could say anything, “but I probably stared at them for hours until I went cross-eyed trying to figure out which one would even work for you and I – well, I thought…”

“I love it,” said Ginny as Fleur moved closer to inspect the gift.

“‘Arry, you are very zoughtful,” she proclaimed, and Ginny nodded. Even Molly found she couldn’t disagree with the words the French girl spoke.

“Put it on me?” Ginny asked Harry, and he immediately moved forward as she stood up, nervously working the clasp open and carefully redoing it at the back of Ginny’s neck as she held her hair out of the way, the leather cord bracelet Ginny had gifted him for his birthday peeking out beneath his jacket sleeve. The necklace hung just below Ginny’s collarbone. Smiling, she tossed the box onto the table and threw her arms around Harry, kissing him again.

It was so strange how seeing Fleur kiss her eldest son made Molly feel so very queasy, but watching her daughter kiss the boy she thought of as a seventh son only made her heart feel fit to burst with happiness. Harry had been lacking in friendship, family, and love when she had first met him almost five years ago at King’s Cross Station, but somehow, he had found all three within her own family.

Molly chanced a look at Fleur and was surprised to see the blonde meet her gaze with a rather defiant expression on her exquisite face. She wasn’t sure what to make of it and quickly looked away. Was it too much to hope that Bill would figure out that he and Fleur had rushed into this relationship they had going far too quickly? Maybe they would both come to their senses before the wedding next summer.

She desperately hoped so. She only wanted the best for her children.



Sirius stared at the cover page of the Daily Prophet.

“Shit!” he exclaimed without thinking.

“What?” asked Harry from the other side of the table, forkful of food halfway between his plate and his mouth.

“Why in the name of Merlin’s saggy left –” Sirius broke off with a groan as he rose to toss the newpaper in the kitchen fire. “Who the hell would dare…?”

“What is it?” Harry asked, sounding more worried.

Sirius paused, ready to chuck paper in the fire, and let out a sigh. The reality was that there was no good reason to hide this from his godson. “You remember how I named you as my heir?” he asked dully, turning around to face Harry.

Harry nodded. “What about it?”

“I insisted on discretion on the part of both Gringotts and the Ministry when I did that,” said Sirius, “but someone, somewhere went and leaked it to the press.”

“Okay,” said Harry slowly. “So what exactly is the issue?”

Sirius dropped back into his seat. “You mean apart from having you portrayed as the ‘heroic Chosen One and Hogwarts’s richest and most-eligible bachelor’?”

Harry choked on his eggs. “What?” he spluttered, face turning an bright shade of red.

“Thought that’d get your attention,” said Sirius, unable to stop himself from chuckling. “What troubles me, though,” he added, sobering quickly, “is they give an approximate value to what you stand to inherit that’s really not that far off from the truth.”

“I’m not a bachelor!” said Harry, clearly not listening to Sirius. “I’m not even of age yet! Why would anyone think – that picture the reporter insisted on for her report of the trial, I was clearly holding Ginny’s hand!”

“The article didn’t talk about your relationship, though,” said Sirius wryly. “I might have insisted on just sticking to the trial, to be honest.”

“Do they really have nothing better to report?” Harry groaned. “No captures of important Death Eaters or anything like that?”

“The Ministry has grown rather incompetent since your first defeat of Voldemort,” said Sirius with a scowl. “They’re probably trying to keep people happy somehow, and they think this is the way to do it.”

“Make me out to be single so girls sniffing after my supposed ‘riches’ can bother me at school?” snorted Harry bitterly. “I’d much rather be ignored than fawned over or thought of as mental.” He stood and seized the newspaper from Sirius, taking in the headline and a photo taken of both himself and Sirius from the day Sirius had been declared innocent.

SIRIUS BLACK NAMES
HARRY POTTER HEIR
TO BLACK FORTUNE


“Disgusting, isn’t it?” sighed Sirius. “Anonymous sources can’t possibly be completely impossible to track down and –”

“Do you think Ginny’s already seen this?” Harry cut him off, suddenly sounding worried.

“Probably, Hermione doesn’t hesitate to share the worst the Prophet has to offer each day,” said Sirius. Immediately, Harry abandoned the paper and his breakfast, striding over to the fireplace mantle where the container of Floo Powder was located. “Harry, you know she isn’t going to believe the hogwash being published in this,” Sirius told him, but Harry was already grabbing a handful of the powder and throwing it into the fire. Sighing loudly, Sirius had no choice but to follow Harry through to the Burrow, arriving just in time to find Ginny reading the article out loud in a mock-salacioius voice.

“‘… the Boy Who Lived, now suspected of being the Chosen One destined to save the Wizarding World from You-Know-Who, has yet to be spotted in a long-term relationship, something his fellow classmates at Hogwarts should take notice of. “He probably just hasn’t found the right witch yet,” says Witch Weekly columnist Patricia Blatherwurst. “It can be difficult to find love when you are also famous and rich, but I’m sure there’s a lovely girl out there he has yet to meet and commit to.”’

“‘Given the incredible history of Harry Potter’s defeat of You-Know-Who, his bravery in speaking out about the return of the infamous Dark wizard when no one else believed him, the events at the Ministry this past June which revealed the return of You-Know-Who to the world, his heroic testimony against Dolores Umbridge, and this new information about the inheritance he’s set to gain from his godfather, Sirius Black, this young man is clearly the catch of the century.’”
Ginny looked up at Harry, smirking. “‘Catch of the century,’ Harry? I didn’t realize just how fanciable you really are.”

“Wait, read the part calling him a ‘bachelor’ again,” said Bill, grinning wickedly as Harry flushed red.

“Bill, be nice to ze poor boy!” said Fleur, lightly smacking his shoulder, but looking amused rather than angry.

“Right? This from the bloke who was determined to be a bachelor until Fleur showed up in his life,” said Ron with raised eyebrows.

“Really, though,” said Hermione, “hasn’t the Daily Prophet already given people more than enough reason to stare and fawn over Harry?”

“Personally,” said Ginny loudly, “I can’t wait to see how many hearts I break when everyone at Hogwarts realizes Harry and I are still together.”

The room exploded with laughter. Sirius clapped an embarrassed Harry on the shoulder and said, “I bet you’re regretting skipping breakfast to be with this lot now, aren’t you?”

“You skipped breakfast?” came Molly’s voice from the kitchen. She bustled in. “We cannot have that, Harry, I still have leftovers you can eat. Come along now, dear.” And she guided a beet-red Harry from the room, Ron following in search of additional food.

“To be honest,” said Ginny, watching Harry vanish from sight, “I think it’s completely ridiculous, this load of tripe they decided to publish.” She stepped around Sirius to toss the newspaper into the fire. She stared at the curling and blackening pages for a few moments before adding, “The people who buy into this are the sort who don’t see just Harry.”

A moment later, Harry reappeared, striding over to Ginny, spinning her around, and giving her a firm kiss without warning. “You do, though,” he told her, smiling through his flushed cheeks, and then he returned to the kitchen with a bit of a spring in his step that hadn’t been there before.

Bill gaped after him as Fleur hid a smile behind her hand.

“And that,” said Sirius in an attempt to fill the surprised silence that followed Harry’s exit, “was probably the most perfect mix of James and Lily I’ve ever seen.”

Ginny grinned, cheeks pink, but she looked quite pleased. Sirius chuckled and headed into the kitchen in search of food, as well.



“I don’t recognize this rune,” Ginny told Hermione in frustration one evening after Harry had left. “I’ve been searching through the book for a solid twenty minutes and I can’t figure out which one it is!”

Hermione, having just stepped inside the bedroom, sighed and sat down in the chair next to Ginny’s desk. Ginny had been working on her summer homework with increasing fervor in the evenings after Harry would leave with Sirius for Grimmauld Place. Harry had helped with her Charms and Transfiguration homework, but Ancient Runes was Hermione’s speciality.

Ginny enjoyed Ancient Runes quite a bit. She’d taken up the subject third year because Bill had taken it, and he had spoken highly of the class in their letters prior to making her choices second year. Charlie had all but insisted she take Care of Magical Creatures, no matter that Ron said she would live to regret it. Hagrid was, in her opinion, an enthusiastic teacher who wanted others to love magical creatures as much as he did. His methods weren’t always the smartest, but Ginny enjoyed his classes, regardless.

Well, when he wasn’t moping or terrified of losing his job, anyway.

“I recognize the cross part here,” said Ginny as Hermione settled next to her, “but it’s this piece at the top that’s giving me issues.”

Hermione never gave Ginny the answers, but she did carefully talk Ginny through the shape of the particular rune until it finally clicked. “Ehwaz,” she sighed at last. “That’s what it is.”

“Well done,” said Hermione, beaming. “I knew you’d get it.”

Ginny grinned at her friend before noticing a copy of the Evening Prophet in her hands. Her grin faded. “Is it bad news?” she asked quietly.

Hermione looked down at the newspaper and sighed. “Another dementor attack,” she said. “In Highgate. Just a few miles away from my parents at best.” She leaned back against her chair, looking withdrawn as she stared out Ginny’s bedroom window.

“You know the Order’s making sure they’re safe,” offered Ginny quietly.

“I know, but it worries me, regardless.”

Ginny nodded. “There’s only so much they can do,” she said, “but there’s also only so much we can do, as well.”

“I wish I could do more, though,” admitted Hermione. “I keep thinking they’d be safer if they left the country altogether.”

“They wouldn’t leave without you,” Ginny pointed out.

“I know,” said Hermione. “And I’m not about to abandon any of you.”

“So we’re all stuck with each other, then,” said Ginny, grinning a bit despite the seriousness of the conversation.

Hermione snorted softly, then sobered, staring at the newspaper in her hands again. “It’s going to get much worse before it gets better,” she said softly.

Ginny nodded. “Everything rests on Harry being able to defeat Voldemort,” she said. “We know he’s not ready.”

“Those lessons he’ll have with Dumbledore will change that,” said Hermione. “But it’s a lot for one person’s shoulders.”

“Cute shoulders, though,” said Ginny, grinning when Hermione rolled her eyes. “I forget, you’re more partial to lanky shoulders covered in freckles than proper shoulders.”

“Will you keep your voice down!” hissed Hermione, swatting Ginny’s shoulder.

“Why are you so unwilling to make the first move, anyway?” said Ginny with raised eyebrows.

“I don’t even know if he does fancy me,” said Hermione. “He’s only ever shown interest in Fleur.”

“Phlegm doesn’t count,” said Ginny dismissively. “It’s that stupid Veela thing more than it is her.”

“But he –”

“Is my thick-headed brother, yes, but that doesn’t mean he’d just go and say ‘no’ to you,” Ginny cut Hermione off. “Look, every time he acts a total prat around Phlegm, he always seems to realize it. I think that means there’s hope for him, and for you.”

“I don’t know…”

“I can always ask –”

“How many times have I told you,” Hermione cut Ginny off, “that we are not bringing Harry into this? We don’t even know if they ever talk about relationships or the like!”

“Because you won’t let me figure it out!” Ginny retorted, turning in her seat to fully face the older girl. “I’m telling you, though, there are definite signs Ron is interested.”

Hermione shot Ginny a thoroughly disbelieving look. “Such as?”

“The way he acted after I spilled the beans about you and Victor snogging, for one,” said Ginny at once. “Classic sign of bothered and potentially jealous Ronald.”

“He was upset you called him out for never having had a relationship at all,” said Hermione dismissively. “You were ruthless with him that day.”

“I had every right to be,” Ginny stated firmly. “Acting like a grossed-out twelve-year-old every time –”

“You’re his sister, and you’re kissing his best friend,” said Hermione pointedly.

“Remember he gave his stamp of approval minus visible signs of snogging the day after Harry and I first kissed?” Ginny reminded Hermione. “Ron had nothing good to say about Michael, and surely you remember Bill tracking me down after Mum’s talk about safe relationships demanding to know what made Michael even worth my time! Or how about Fred and George begging to test out their products on him? Or Charlie’s letter demanding Michael prove himself a worthy partner or face his dragon-backed wrath?”

“All right, all right, I get it,” said Hermione, sounding annoyed. “I still don’t think Ron will ever see me as more than his know-it-all friend.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. She needed proof, something concrete to convince Hermione that she could take the risk with her brother. Of course, Ron had started shaping up and maturing somewhat over the summer break. She knew at least a part of it had to do with supporting Harry through his recovery and healing, but there was something else at play that she couldn’t put her finger on.

“I look forward to the day I get to say ‘I told you so,’ Hermione.” She turned back to her homework. “Okay, one last translation and then I’ll be finished. You’ll check them over for me?”

“Of course,” said Hermione. “I… I hope you realize that I want you to be right, Ginny. I just don’t see how it’s possible.”

“Not the first time you’ve said that,” muttered Ginny before she could stop herself. Hermione went stiff next to her.

“We are not going there, Ginny.”

“I don’t know how not to go there, Hermione,” Ginny shot back heatedly. “I think Harry’s right about Malfoy, you and Ron don’t, and I’m waiting for the day we have to proof so I can firmly tell you ‘I told you so.’”

Hermione sighed and stood. “I’ll let you get back to work,” she said stiltedly, completely bypassing everything Ginny had just said. “Come find me when you’ve finished, all right?” She left the bedroom quickly, leaving Ginny to scowl after her.

“Harry’s right,” she muttered angrily. “We’ll show them.” She threw herself into her work and finished her last translation, taking it downstairs to spot Bill and Fleur by the fire, Hermione sitting nearby with her nose buried in her new Potions book.

“Bill,” said Ginny loudly, “you wouldn’t mind taking a quick look at this translation I just finished for Ancient Runes, would you?”

Hermione started and opened her mouth.

“I mean, you do use runes in a very practical, every day manner with your job at Gringotts and all,” Ginny went on before Hermione could speak.

“Sure,” said Bill, smiling at Ginny and holding his hand out for his work.

“You are a wonderful brozzer, Bill,” said Fleur in that sickeningly-sweet voice that made Ginny want to vomit. “Did you choose zis class because of ‘im, Ginny?”

Ginny nodded silently, ignoring Hermione stiffly watching her as Bill looked over her work. “He convinced me to take Ancient Runes, and Charlie convinced me to take Care of Mgaical Creatures.”

“With ‘Agrid?” said Fleur with raised eyebrows. “I do not remember ‘earing good zings about ‘im when I attended ‘Ogwarts for ze tournament. Zose Blast-Ended Skrewts ‘e created did not seem zee good actions of a proper teacher.”

“Hagrid is rather enthusiastic about magical creatures,” said Bill, chuckling a bit as he continued to look over Ginny’s work. “He and Charlie would spend hours talking about dragons and the like, I’d have to drag him back to Gryffindor Tower before curfew when they really got into it.”

“But ‘e does not seem a responsible teacher to me,” pressed Fleur. “I ‘eard about zee incident with the ‘Ippogriff –”

“Malfoy provoked Buckbeak,” Ginny cut her off sourly.

“It wasn’t even that bad of an injury,” said Ron as he entered the living room from the kitchen, carrying a small container of licorice wands. “He made out he had almost died, but dropped the act the moment it served his best interests. Stupid git,” he added with a scowl as he dropped down on the couch next to Hermione. “Licorice wand?” he offered her, but she shook her head and Ron shrugged, pulling one out and biting off half of it in one go.

“Hagrid’s enthusiasm is part of what makes him a good teacher,” said Ginny firmly to Fleur.

“You aiming for a N.E.W.T. in his class, then?” asked Ron incredulously. “I’m glad to be done with that class.”

“I don’t know yet,” said Ginny honestly. “The only thing I’m interested in doing is playing Quidditch.”

“You can’t expect to make that happen right away, though,” said Hermione. “It’s important to have a back-up plan, I’ve read it’s very difficult to get signed to a team. It’s the same with Muggle sports, to be honest.”

“Just wait til you see me play Chaser this year,” said Ginny firmly. “I’ll be in my element, then.”

“Looks good, Gin,” said Bill suddenly, holding out Ginny’s homework. “I expect you’ll get top marks on this.”

“Thank you,” said Ginny, taking the parchment back and smiling at her eldest brother.

“What if you don’t make the team?” Hermione pressed Ginny intently.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. “First of all, Harry will be a fair judge of who does and doesn’t make the team,” she said. “Secondly, I know how good I am, and I bet you my entire year’s allowance that I outfly the competition at the tryouts.”

Bill whistled. “Better consider what you say next, Hermione,” he said with a grin. “Ginny is not the kind of girl to doubt herself or underestimate what she’s capable of.”

Ginny raised her eyebrows at Hermione, who sighed and shook her head. “I’m going to bed,” she told everyone and quickly left.

“Now you’ve gone and done it,” said Ron as Hermione disappeared from view. “She’ll still be in a right mood tomorrow.”

“She eez very uptight,” said Fleur. “I do not zink I ‘ave seen ‘er relaxed since the Yule Ball two years ago. Maybe she needs to get back een touch with Viktor.”

Ron’s ears turned red as he stiffened on the couch.

“They still write to each other on occasion,” said Ginny, carefully watching Ron for a reaction.

“As do we,” said Fleur. “Viktor will be coming to zee wedding, of course.”

“As he should,” said Ginny. “He was always very polite to Harry and quite the gentleman with Hermione.”

“I’m tired,” said Ron abruptly, straightening and leaving the room without another word.

“Any other buttons you want to push with your brother or friend tonight, Gin?” said Bill with raised eyebrows.

“Hermione already knows how determined I am to play Quidditch,” said Ginny with a scowl. “And the more proof I have that Ron fancies Hermione, the better for them both.”

“You zink your brozzer is fit to be in a relationship with ‘Ermione?” said Fleur, sounding surprised. “You realize ‘e eez very immature compared to ‘er. ‘Ermione would be much better off with someone ‘oo eez going to treat ‘er with the kindess and respect she eez deserving of.”

“And you don’t think Ron can be that person?” asked Ginny skeptically, not quite believing she was about to defend Ron at all. “Have you not watched the way he’s supported Harry’s healing this summer?”

“Zat is different,” said Fleur dismissively.

“I disagree,” said Ginny stoutly. “Ron tries so hard not to react to you, you know.”

“Eet would be easier for ‘im if ‘e cares for ‘Ermione as much as you seem to zink ‘e does,” returned Fleur with raised eyebrows. “Ze way ‘Arry barely spares me a glance eez proof of ‘ow much ‘e loves you, Ginny.”

“Love is different from fancying someone,” said Ginny firmly. “Besides, Hermione fancies Ron already, so it’s not up to us to say whether or not he’s worthy of her, is it?”

Fleur eyed Ginny for a long moment before turning to Bill. “What do you zink, Bill?” she asked him.

Bill shrugged. “If he does fancy Hermione, he’ll figure it out on his own,” he said at length. “Anyway, I’ve got to head into the office early tomorrow. Come on, Fleur.” They rose, bid Ginny a good night, and left the room, leaving Ginny to her thoughts as she stared at the fire.

She couldn’t help but think Bill knew something she didn’t. Did Ron fancy Hermione like she suspected? Did Bill know about it? Sighing, Ginny eventually rose and returned to her room, unsurprised to find Hermione already in bed and clearly feigning sleep. Not in the mood to further irritate the other girl, Ginny simply set about turning in for bed herself. It was sometime after Hermione’s breathing evened out before sleep finally claimed her.



Even though Grimmauld Place was closer to King’s Cross Station, for safety reasons, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley arranged for the Ministry cars to pick them up from the Burrow on the morning of September first. Harry and Sirius were going to spend the night at the Burrow so they could all be ready to go when the cars arrived.

Harry pulled Ginny out to one of their lesser-used hiding places to relax in the shade. Harry had already packed (he secretly told Ginny well out of earshot of Hermione that Kreacher had actually done most of the packing this time), and Ginny claimed to be desperate for a break from packing up her trunk because of Hermione’s methodical organizing, which apparently included constantly muttering under her breath about what she needed to pack up and how. “I love her, but it drives me a bit barmy at times,” Ginny confided in him.

Harry grinned at her as they relaxed under the shade of the trees they’d found on the north edge of the property. “If it helps, I actually spent a solid ten minutes trying to convince Ron to at least separate the books from the clothes while he looked at me like I’d grown a second head.”

Ginny laughed. “I thought you knew better by now,” she told him.

Harry shrugged against the grass. “I mean, I’m not always that much better, but if push comes to shove, I can organize. Who do you think organized the tool shed at the Dursleys?”

“To your aunt’s satisfaction?” asked Ginny, eyebrows raised as she turned on her side to look down at him.

“You were never good enough for them…”

Ginny placed her hand on Harry’s chest, refocusing him at once. “You learn to be satisfactory if you don’t want to get hit or locked up,” he finally answered, forcing himself to hold Ginny’s gaze. “I mean, I tried really hard to be good enough, but I could never figure out why…”

“Why it was never enough,” Ginny whispered.

Harry nodded. “I figured it out once Hagrid told me I was a wizard and how my parents had really died,” he admitted. “Aunt Petunia… I’d never seen her like that before, just – ranting away about my mum, calling her a freak… She said their parents thought my mum was something special, but she could see right through her.”

“Which clearly meant she thought just as little of you,” sighed Ginny. Reaching out, her fingers lightly traced over his scar. Harry had never let anyone else touch it, but with Ginny… it was just different, somehow. “Tell me about the cupboard,” she suddenly said.

Harry blinked, surprised. After discovering the truth about Harry’s rooming situation growing up, Ginny had been rather tight-lipped on that particular topic. Even Ron and Hermione stayed away from it unless Harry himself brought it up, which was almost never. He’d already told Sirius and Remus the worst of it, and that had been quite enough at the time.

“You wrote on the door,” Ginny continued softly. “You claimed it as your own. How old were you when you did that?”

“I… I think I was about seven,” answered Harry quietly. “Dudley had broken some crayons, and I fished them out of the rubbish bin when Aunt Petunia wasn’t looking. I just thought – well, nothing was really mine, but in a way, the cupboard was.”

“It only locks from the outside.”

Harry nodded. “It’s always been like that. If I’d done some accidental magic, or said something that upset Dudley… sometimes I’m not sure what I did, but they’d send me in and lock the door so I couldn’t try to escape.” He snorted and added bitterly, “Not that I had anywhere I could really go to. But they didn’t always lock it, and on those nights I’d sneak out late at night after they’d gone to bed to find something to eat. Scraps leftover in the bin, usually. Aunt Petunia does a nightly wipe-down of the kitchen and takes stock of all the food, though, so sometimes I just…”

“Starved.”

“Yeah.”

Ginny was still lightly tracing his face, eyes intent on her task. “There’s a tiny white scar here by your chin,” she said.

“Harry Hunting,” was all Harry could offer on that one.

“Did you ever miss days at your Muggle school?”

“A lot,” sighed Harry. “Aunt Petunia would just call me in sick, and I’d only get to leave the cupboard on those days to use the bathroom or eat a quick meal for the day.”

“Just one?”

“If I was lucky, yeah.”

“I guess that’s why you were so short and skinny for your age,” sighed Ginny sadly. “Hermione calls it malnutrition.”

“I always thought of starving children in Africa when people would say that word,” Harry told her. “I couldn’t ever conceptualize the idea that it could happen anywhere else.” He grinned. “I think this is the first summer since starting at Hogwarts that I’ve actually gained more weight than I’ve lost.”

“Believe me, Mum was about ready to throw a parade when she saw how healthy you looked wearing clothes that actually fit back on your birthday,” said Ginny with a grin of her own. “I just wish it could have always been that way. It’s not fair to you.”

Harry shrugged, not sure how to respond. For him, it just was. It couldn’t be changed.

“Did you ever get sick as a child? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with so much as a cold.”

Harry shook his head. “I got food poisoning once, but I can’t really recall ever being sick.” That had been an unpleasant experience Harry wished never to think about again.

“Seems contradictory given you were regularly starved,” sighed Ginny. “Must’ve been your innate magic or something keeping you safe from common Muggle illnesses.” It was strange how infrequently land mines were set off by the things Ginny said, things that would have set him off had it been anyone else. Something about Ginny had diffusing properties, he supposed.

Not that he was complaining. Today had been a relatively flashback-free day, though he worried what his mind would be like once he was again immersed in the hustle and bustle of Hogwarts again.

“I know last year was difficult for you, Harry,” said Ginny abruptly, “but this year we understand how to help you. We cared, but we had no idea how to help you before.”

“You always helped,” admitted Harry quietly. “I know I – that I apologized for not asking you about being possessed, but I…” He trailed off, trying to figure out how to explain it, and Ginny waited patiently, fingers gently running through his hair.

“I was really lost this past year,” Harry finally said. “I could barely see past my own anger and fear most of the time. It felt like all those times I tried explaining to my relatives that I couldn’t explain the weird things that kept happening – the accidental magic I’d done – but they never believed me.” He swallowed, and forced himself to continue. “Whenever I’d think about what happened in the Chamber, it always came down to fighting a basilisk and saving you, and not so much the other details, because knowing what he'd been doing to you all year was… I don't know that anything else has ever been as horrifying to me as that realization, and I hated thinking about what almost happened. When it was announced that you’d been taken… it was the worst day of my life.”

“Really?” asked Ginny softly, brown eyes wide as she continued to lean over him.

Harry nodded. “I know I didn’t know you all that well back then, but I don’t think that saving you was just about you being Ron’s sister.” He paused, considering how best to put his thoughts into words. “I was still figuring out what love was back then,” he finally said, reaching up to brush a lock of red hair from Ginny’s face. “I think it was always there, but I didn’t understand it for a long time.”

“And I didn’t give you enough opportunities to figure it out sooner,” said Ginny wryly.

Harry shrugged. “Does it really matter at this point?” he asked.

Ginny snorted. “I guess not,” she said, fingers now absently playing with the necklace he’d given her for her birthday, a light breeze ruffling her hair and enveloping Harry in that familiar flowery scent he’d come to associate with Ginny’s comforting presence.

They didn’t speak for some time, and Ginny flopped back onto her back to stare up at the sky through the tree branches above them. “Do you think we’ll really be safe this year?” she asked. “I mean – if you’re right that Malfoy is really a Death Eater now, doesn’t that put us at risk?”

“I don’t know,” answered Harry honestly. “I want to know what he’s up to, but I also don’t want to do anything that could put me in Voldemort’s path before I know what the hell I’m even supposed to do. And I definitely don’t want you in harm’s way, either.”

“So maybe we keep an eye on him, but from a distance as much as possible,” said Ginny thoughtfully. “We can track him using the map and see if he goes anywhere suspicious and meets with anyone that shouldn’t be at Hogwarts.”

Harry nodded. “I think that could work,” he agreed. “I just wish that Ron and Hermione agreed with us.”

It was incredibly frustrating that neither of his best friends thought that Malfoy could be a Death Eater. Yes, Malfoy was only sixteen, but Harry knew that Sirius’s brother had joined at that age, so wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. There was something going on there, and he was determined to figure it out.

Really, what rankled him the most was the realization that Ron and Hermione didn’t think he was quite up to snuff because of the state of his mind. Hadn’t he proved himself at Umbridge’s trial? Yes, he was still healing, but that didn’t take away from his ability to think, to make connections from small clues, to see what was obviously going on!

“We just need more proof,” said Ginny. “Don’t worry, Harry, we’ll figure this out together, I promise you.” Ginny’s trust and belief was a relieving balm in the face of Ron and Hermione’s overwhelming worry and disbelief.

When they finally returned inside, it was to find Fleur sitting at the kitchen table, in full flow about plans for her wedding to Bill, while Mrs. Weasley kept watch over a pile of self-peeling sprouts, looking bad-tempered.

“… Bill and I ‘ave almost decided on only two bridesmaids, Ginny and Gabrielle will look very sweet togezzer.” She looked up at Harry and smiled brightly at him. “I am theenking of dressing zem in pale gold – pink would of course be ‘orrible with Ginny’s ‘air –”

“You can say that again,” said Ginny, looking consternated over actually agreeing with the French girl. “I hate pink.”

“Pale gold does go well with your necklace, as well,” said Fleur, “wouldn’t you agree, ‘Arry?”

Slightly startled, Harry glanced at Ginny. “She would look great in anything,” he finally said. “Well, I guess not pink –”

Ginny lightly swatted his arm with a grin.

“I have your clean clothes right here, Ginny,” said Mrs. Weasley, striding over with a pile of freshly laundered robes and placing them in Ginny’s outstretched arms. “Go finish packing, dear. Harry, I would love your help with cutting up the carrots for dinner tonight.”

Ginny sighed and strode away up the stairs as Sirius ambled in from the living room, head buried in a letter. “Remus says hello,” he said vaguely as he sat down by Fleur at the kitchen table.

“I thought it wasn’t safe for him to owl from where he’s at,” said Harry, taking the knife Mrs. Weasley offered him and getting to work on chopping up the carrots she’d directed him to.

“I’ve got Kreacher discreetly managing communications,” said Sirius with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s doing wonders for Tonks’s nerves, if nothing else.”

“I am glad that Remus is able to communicate with ‘er,” said Fleur, looking up from her wedding notes. “Tonks was starting to let ‘erself go before you set zat up.”

“Will Tonks be part of the Aurors tomorrow when we go to King’s Cross?” asked Harry.

“No,” said Sirius, “she’s going to be stationed in Hogsmeade, I think, make sure every student disembarks safely.”

Ron came down with an armful of dirty school robes. “Cutting it close, kid,” said Sirius as Mrs. Weasley quickly rushed over to collect the laundry from her son.

“Hey, it’s not the last minute, though,” said Ron with a grin. “I’ve got pretty much everything else packed, Mum.”

“Good,” said Mrs. Weasley, “then you can help Harry cut the vegetables for dinner.”

Harry smirked at the scowl on Ron’s face and made room at the cutting board. “Did you at least separate your clean clothes from the books?” he asked innocently.

“Shut it,” grumbled Ron, bumping his shoulder into Harry’s as he grabbed another knife to start cutting.

After a delicious supper, Harry caught Ginny before she could head up with Hermione. “Maybe we should talk to Sirius about Malfoy,” he told her quietly, and she nodded her agreement. They located him and quickly described their worries to him.

“It’s possible,” said Sirius slowly as Arthur settled down next to him the living room. “You know Regulus was sixteen when he joined of his own volition, and I could see Voldemort forcing Malfoy to join up and do something stupid in retribution for Lucius failing to get the prophecy back in June. Although,” he added with a sharp look at them, “the real question is, when did you have time to figure out that Malfoy wanted something to be held for him at Borgin and Burkes?”

Harry hesitated, glancing at Ginny. Sirius sighed.

“You two are something else,” he said, shaking his head with a wry grin. “Harry, you weren’t in the back room with Ron and Hermione the whole time Molly was drilling me about the map, were you?”

“I knew they’d tell you eventually,” said Arthur with a small smile.

“You knew?” said Harry, surprised.

“Harry, please. You’re talking to the man who raised Fred and George.” Arthur’s smile grew larger. “Ginny, you were a bit too obvious in keeping us from looking for the others.”

Ginny shrugged unrepentently. “I’ll just have to up my game next time,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll have plenty of chances to practice this year.”

Arthur sighed and rubbed at his face wearily as Sirius laughed. “Maybe you and Molly ought to have been dreading the day these two got together,” he told the older man, clapping him on the shoulder and leaning back in his seat. “So, you want us to see if we can figure out what he was having held in Borgin and Burkes,” he said to Harry and Ginny.

“Yes,” Ginny said quickly. “Harry and I talked about using the map at school to check and see if Malfoy does anything he shouldn’t be doing.”

“I like that,” said Sirius, nodding his head, “but if something fishy happens, Harry, don’t go charging in. Use the mirror so we can decide together what to do next. I don’t like that you wandered off to follow him when our goal is to keep you safe.”

Harry nodded his agreement, pleased to see Sirius doing his best to be the guardian he’d promised to be, but also feeling ashamed of himself for the rash choice he’d made in the heat of the moment. He resolved to do better because Sirius’s trust meant that much to him.

When Harry and Sirius retired to Fred and George’s old bedroom that night, Harry felt a strange mixture of excitement and trepidation. He loved Hogwarts, but seeing Sirius every day, the freedom he’d had this summer…

Is this what it’s like to be a part of a family? He rather hoped it was, and the feeling that came over him at the thought seemed to keep the nightmares at bay that night.

Back to index


Chapter 20: A Memorable Confrontation

Author's Notes: Okay, so technically one more chapter before returning to Hogwarts. This chapter is one of my favorites to date because of what it does to our AU timeline. Sirius being alive was one thing. Sirius discovering the locket and learning about Horcruxes was another. This chapter, however, changes everything. I think it's fair to say that it's this chapter that really earns the AU tag for this story. There are a couple of French phrases in this chapter. I'm sorry if I totally butchered them; I don't speak French, so I used Google Translate. I'll include what was supposed to have been said in English at the end of the chapter. Enjoy!


Chapter Twenty: A Memorable Confrontation




Sirius waited until Harry was asleep before redressing, leaving the bedroom, and heading downstairs to the living room fireplace. Molly and Arthur were quietly chatting in the kitchen as he passed, and Arthur called out his name. “Where are you going?”

“I have a last-minute meeting with Albus,” said Sirius. “Security details for Harry.”

He felt a bit bad about lying to the other man, but he also recognized that the fewer people who knew about he and Albus were actually discussing, the better. He threw some Floo powder into the fireplace, called out his destination, and stepped into the emerald green flames, emerging moments later in the headmaster’s office.

“Good evening, Sirius,” said Albus pleasantly from behind his desk, setting aside the quill in his hand and giving Sirius a warm smile. “I take it Harry fell asleep rather quickly this evening.”

“It usually takes a little longer,” agreed Sirius as he ambled up to an empty seat before the desk and dropped into it. “You were going to show me the memories you wanted to share with Harry this school year?”

Sirius and Albus had had precious little time to discuss the Horcrux Kreacher had handed over the previous month save for that initial conversation in the kitchen that lasted until the sun had started to rise. “Indeed,” said Albus genially. “I hope you are prepared to be up rather late again?”

“I’ll manage,” said Sirius dismissively. “I can catch a quick kip before Harry leaves and then crash after that. Now, which memory is first?”

“Bob Ogden,” answered Dumbledore.

“The Ministry official who went to the Gaunt house.”

“That is correct,” said Albus. “I will warn you, part of the conversation is in Parseltongue, and while I have worked hard to understand it –”

“Only Harry could accurately translate it, I remember.”

Albus nodded and set up the Pensieve, pulling out a small jar from a cabinet and pouring its contents into the bowl. Moments later, they were watching Bob Ogden approach the Gaunt family to speak about Morfin’s use of magic on a Muggle.

Sirius knew that Harry could speak Parseltongue, but he’d never actually heard the language before. The strange hissing and spitting sounds the two Gaunt men made as they communicated was… disturbing. Sirius wondered, not for the first, how exactly it was his godson had obtained this ability from Voldemort.

When they emerged, Albus explained, roughly, the conversation that had occurred in Parseltongue. “Had Merope been underage…” sighed Sirius, thinking of Meridee’s Law.

They quickly covered Merope’s unexpected marriage to Tom Riddle, the pregnancy, Riddle returning, and Merope selling Slytherin’s locket for a mere 10 galleons to Caractacus Burke. After this brief discussion, they watched Albus’s memory of first meeting the boy who would become Voldemort.

Probably the strangest thing about young Tom Riddle was seeing something of Harry in the wary gaze, the pale complexion, and the dark hair. But there was little else they bore in common. Riddle’s reaction to discovering he was a wizard was quite unsettling. The wild happiness on his face seemed to carve his fine features into something rougher, almost bestial. Sirius shuddered to look at it.

“He already had a taste for collecting trophies,” he observed when the memory ended. “Things that had meaning to him, like the diary later on because he had it the year he opened the Chamber of Secrets.”

“Indeed,” said Albus. “You will also notice that Mrs. Cole mentioned a cave by the seaside.”

Sirius stilled, recalling Kreacher’s tale. “That’s where the locket was hidden,” he said. “So… places that have significant meaning to him. Where did you find the ring Gaunt talked about?”

“Buried in a small chest beneath the foundations of the Gaunt home,” answered Albus.

“And then Lucius Malfoy was keeping the diary safe,” mused Sirius, thinking hard. “Placing it in the care of a ‘trusted’ pure-blood follower… do you think he meant for Lucius to use it to reopen the Chamber?”

“I believe that was his eventual plan,” said Albus slowly, “but after he had been gone for so long, it would seem Lucius decided to use it in hopes of discrediting Arthur Weasley.”

“What was Arthur doing that Lucius thought needed discrediting?”

“At the time, Arthur was working to push through a new Muggle Protection Act,” answered Albus.

“If Harry hadn’t figured out what was going on and Ginny was blamed for the attacks on the Muggle-born students, it would have ruined him,” said Sirius, shuddering at the thought.

Albus nodded. “I am certain that Lucius did not truly know what the diary was, but he did at least have awareness that it was capable of opening the Chamber of Secrets again. I think, had he known what he actually held in his possession, he might have treated it with the utmost respect and care.”

The next memory was young Riddle’s visit to Morfin Gaunt. Dumbledore provided a rough translation of the conversation that ensued in Parseltongue. “This is when he stole the ring,” observed Sirius, and Albus nodded. “And he – he killed his father?”

“And grandparents,” said Albus. “I have told you before that Riddle was obsessed with his ancestry, and discovering his mother’s side only to learn his father was a Muggle… I believe he was enraged at this discovery, and likely shed his given name for the title of Lord Voldemort after this meeting.”

The next memory they viewed was the one Horace Slughorn had provided. “Badly obscured,” sighed Sirius, “but obscured, all the same. What do you think this memory is hiding?”

“I believe,” said Albus, “that it reveals how many Horcruxes Voldemort intended to make. We already know of three, but I suspect there are more.”

“Any progress in destroying the locket?”

Albus shook his head. “It is as Kreacher described. It must be opened to be destroyed, but alas, I cannot open it. I fear it would require –”

“Parseltongue,” Sirius finished grimly. “Which means Harry needs to know what’s going on before it can be destroyed.”

“Indeed,” said Albus. “I have stored it somewhere well-protected until that time arrives.”

Albus next showed Sirius the memory he had collected from Hepzibah Smith’s house elf, Hokey. “You think that Hufflepuff’s cup is another Horcrux,” said Sirius when the memory finished playing out. “This is obviously when he got his hands on the locket my brother eventually stole, but the cup disappearing as well…”

“I am certain he took it because of its ties to a founder of Hogwarts,” said Albus, nodding. “Where he concealed it, however, is anyone’s guess at this point.”

Sirius nodded absently as he considered. “That puts us at four certain Horcruxes,” he said. “You think there are more still?”

Albus nodded again. “I do.”

“How many do you think he made?”

“My theory,” said Ablus slowly, “is that he deliberately split his soul into seven pieces.”

Sirius stood still, letting the words sink in.

Seven pieces of a soul. One of those pieces would have to still be inside of Voldemort’s body, which left…

“Six Horcruxes,” he said faintly. “That’s…” He ran his hands through his hair. “Why would he do something like that?”

“We both know that seven is the most powerful magical number in our world,” said Albus seriously. “Voldemort deeply immersed himself in magical theory and knowledge, Sirius. I have told you before that Voldemort’s knowledge of magic is perhaps more extensive than any wizard alive. He is difficult to outmaneuver because of this, and also must not be underestimated.” Albus settled in his seat behind his desk, looking somber.

“He was also very self-sufficient,” said Sirius quietly. “His plot Harry’s first year to get the Philosopher’s Stone was based only in regaining his own body, correct?”

“I am certain of it,” said Albus. “Voldemort has never wanted to rely on anyone other than himself. Carefully concealing parts of his own soul under his own forms of protection would ensure that he could continue to rely on only himself.”

“But the diary –”

“I believe he entrusted its care to Lucius with the idea of someday having it used to open the Chamber of Secrets once more, though certainly on his own agenda rather than Lucius’s,” said Albus. “When Harry brought it to me three years ago and described the so-called memory he had encountered, I was intrigued. I had never heard of such a phenomenon before, a memory that could think for itself, even manifest outside the object to which it had been bound. I was certain it was a Horcrux, but the fact that it had been entrusted to Lucius to be passed to or even planted on some future Hogwarts student was disquieting. He was being remarkably blasé about that precious fragment of his soul concealed within it. This suggested to me that he must have made – or been planning to make – more Horcruxes, so that the loss of his first would not be so detrimental. I did not wish to believe it, but nothing else seemed to make sense.”

Sirius nodded tightly. It was horrible to consider, but the logic was sound.

“Do you recall Harry’s tale two years later after he witnessed Voldemort’s rebirth?” asked Albus.

Sirius snorted. “Bit hard to forget,” he muttered. “Which part in particular are you speaking of?”

“A most illuminating and alarming statement Voldemort made to his Death Eaters: ‘I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality.’”

“Further than anybody,” whispered Sirius. “He must have been referring to his Horcruxes.”

“I am certain of it,” said Albus. “You have seen the handsome boy and young man Voldemort started as, but he seemed to grow less human with the passing years, and the transformation he has undergone seemed to me to be only explicable if his soul was mutilated beyond the realms of what we might call ‘usual evil’.”

Sirius nodded. “Do you have any more memories? I thought there was another one.”

“One more,” said Albus. “The last time Voldemort set foot in Hogwarts. He tried to apply for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position when he graduated, but Headmaster Dippet insisted that he was too young, so he took the job at Borgin and Burkes that allowed him to find the cup and the locket, and disappeared from public view. We know, thanks to Harry’s unfortunate knowledge of Obscurials, that he spent some of his time in Albania, though for what purpose I still do not know. He returned, years later, to ask me for the job.”

They viewed the memory. Gone was the handsome man Sirius had started to grow accustomed to throughout the memories: he had been replaced by something that didn’t yet match the face Sirius had met in June when he himself had dueled briefly with Voldemort, but the features seemed burnt, waxy, almost distorted somehow, the eyes bearing a permanent bloody tinge. Even his voice was higher and colder than before.

“Do you think he truly wanted the job?” asked Sirius when the memory ended.

“Given the fact that I have struggled to have a single teacher hold the job for more than a year would suggest that he did,” said Albus, voice tinged with sadness and frustration. “I believe, however, that Voldemort’s primary interest in working here was to further penetrate the secrets of the castle, possibly seeking out other Hogwarts founder artifacts.”

“Things belonging to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, you mean.”

“Indeed, though I am certain there is only one artifact of Gryffindor’s.”

Sirius’s eyes were immediately drawn to the Sword of Gryffindor, and he had to marvel yet again at the fact that Harry had pulled the sword out of the Sorting Hat three years earlier. “And it’s definitely not –?”

“It is not,” said Albus firmly.

“So then something belonging to Ravenclaw for sure, but what else?”

“Voldemort has a snake, Nagini, whose behaviors are quite curious. I do not think Voldemort had managed to create all six Horcruxes the night he sought to kill Harry. He used significant deaths to aid in the creation of each Horcrux.”

“Harry’s death would’ve been pretty damn significant,” agreed Sirius darkly. “But Nagini is a living creature. Using something alive…”

“Is inadvisable, quite so,” said Albus, “but as she underlines the Slytherin connection and enhances Voldemrot’s mystique, I rather think he was drawn to turning her into his final Horcrux. I am certain that placing a piece of his soul within her has allowed him an unusual amount of control over her, even for a Parselmouth.”

Something about this… Sirius couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but the idea of using a living creature to contain a part of one’s soul made a feeling he couldn’t quite identify tingle in the back of his mind.

Just then, there was a knock at the office door. “Come in,” called Albus, and a moment later, Snape entered the room, dressed in what were clearly Death Eater robes.

He must have come from a meeting with Voldemort. The thought made Sirius feel a mixture of revulsion and anger.

“Is this a bad time, Headmaster?” asked Snape when he spotted Sirius, but the sight of those robes reminded Sirius of Harry’s worries from earlier that evening.

“Not so much to me,” he spoke up. “You might be able to help me with a concern Harry has.”

Snape’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, as did Albus’s. “What worry would this be, Sirius?” asked Albus after a moment.

“We ran into Narcissa Malfoy and her son Draco when we went to Diagon Alley a couple weeks back,” said Sirius. “Draco gave his mother the slip, and Ginny distracted us adults while Harry, Ron and Hermione followed Draco to see what he was up to.”

“As it is still summer,” said Snape coolly, “I am unable to dole out detentions if that is what you are after, Black.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Snape,” snapped Sirius. “I’ve already handled it.”

“How… oddly responsible of you.”

Sirius glared at the other man, but otherwise ignored the jibe. “Anyway, Draco went to Borgin and Burkes. Harry reckons that Draco is having something held at the shop by Borgin. Draco also wanted to know how to fix something, but said that whatever it was, it had to stay put in its current location. Borgin didn’t seem like he wanted to be engaged in the conversation, but Harry says that Draco showed Borgin something that made him rather frightened.” He looked at Snape. “He’s worried that Draco has become a Death Eater and was showing Borgin the Dark Mark on his arm to secure his cooperation.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“Why would the Dark Lord want an underage wizard amongst his ranks?” said Snape in an even tone.

“That’s never stopped him before,” said Sirius coldly. “I know for a fact that my brother Regulus was sixteen when he took the Dark Mark. How old were you, Snape?”

Snape’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing. Sirius shot him a scathing look and turned back to Albus. “Harry is certain that Draco is a Death Eater now, and I think he’s right. Voldemort probably made him join in retribution for his father failing to get the prophecy back in June, and all this leaves me with evidence suggesting that Draco has a mission to fulfill, most likely here at Hogwarts.”

Albus sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I need you to urge Harry to leave the matter alone,” he said, and Sirius scoffed.

“You’d better have a good reason for wanting me to do something like that, Albus,” he said sourly. “My loyalty to your cause isn’t dependent on the unrequited love of a dead woman.”

The words slipped free before he could consider the impact. Albus’s eyes closed in consternation.

“I beg your pardon?” hissed Snape, and Sirius saw him standing rigidly, hands clenched at his sides.

“You heard me,” said Sirius, rising from his chair to face his childhood enemy. “I figured it out. Harry knows you turned to our side at great personal risk, and I can’t think of a single thing you’d turn sides for except Lily.”

“Don’t,” said Snape, face white.

“You think we didn’t notice the way you followed her everywhere the first few years at Hogwarts?” Sirius asked him, feeling a surge of dark pleasure at the stricken look on the other man’s face.

“Sirius,” said Albus warningly, but Sirius ignored him. The idea of staying silent on this matter was nothing short of reprehensible at that moment.

“Looking back now,” he told Snape, “it’s obvious you never stopped thinking about her, even after the friendship you had with her ended. And you know Harry hears Voldemort telling her to stand aside before he kills her every time the dementors get close, which tells me that you must’ve asked him to spare Lily before he went to try and kill Harry. But I also know you were the one who warned Albus that the Potters were his target, which only would’ve happened if you didn’t think Voldemort would actually follow through and allow her to live.” He stalked close to Snape. “Would you have defected had he chosen to go after the Longbottom family instead of Lily’s son?”

Snape said nothing, standing rigidly and glaring at Sirius.

“Sirius, I need you to stop,” said Albus, but again, Sirius ignored him.

“It always comes back to Lily,” he said quietly to Snape. “She’s the reason Harry lived that night. She’s the reason Voldemort can’t touch him when he’s with those deplorable Muggles. She’s the reason Voldemort went after his blood the night he returned so he could finally lay hands on Harry without burning to a crisp. Hell, she’s the reason you’re standing here, playing the spy when I know your ideals still line up with his!”

The fist came out of nowhere, slamming into Sirius’s jaw and sending him crashing into one of Albus’s delicate instruments, causing it and its pedestal to come crashing to the ground, pieces of metal arching through the air and rolling across the ground. Snape followed Sirius down, already swinging another fist toward Sirius, which he barely managed to block with his left arm before landing a punch of his own on Snape’s cheekbone. Snape’s head snapped to the side and Sirius took advantage, rolling so he was on top. He put his forearm against Snape’s collarbone, pulling his wand free and pointing it in Snape’s face.

Snape stilled, empty hands by his head, a spectacular bruise already beginning to form on his face.

“I don’t get you,” snarled Sirius. “Staying the spy for a dead woman? What’s going on in that brain of yours?”

“She’s dead because of you!” spat Snape.

“They’re both dead because we thought we could trust Wormtail!”

“She only chose him at your suggestion, Black!”

“Gentlemen, this needs to stop at once!” thundered Albus. Sirius clenched his jaw, but straightened and backed away, wand still pointing at Snape. He didn’t offer to help Snape stand.

“Who heard the prophecy that night?” he asked tightly. “And how did you find out?”

Snape rose, cheeks flushed beneath the fast-developing bruise, but said nothing. He looked away, as though in shame.

Shame, as though…

“No,” said Sirius. “Don’t tell me… it was you.”

Snape said nothing, but the hunch in his shoulders was answer enough.

“We were all what, nineteen, maybe twenty years old when the prophecy was made? Was Lily already pregnant with Harry when you told Voldemort what you overheard?”

Snape nodded.

“It was just over a year later when Voldemort decided to target Harry,” said Albus quietly. “Severus sought me out to tell me the news, to demand protection for Lily’s family.”

Sirius glanced between Snape and Dumbledore as he finally lowered his wand. “Wait,” he said, “you said back then that you had a spy, buried deeply in Voldemort’s ranks.” He looked at Snape. “You’ve been spying since the day you told Albus that Harry was the target.”

Snape nodded once more, silently staring anywhere but at the other two men in the room.

“And then I made a decision I thought was so bloody brilliant it got Lily and James killed, instead,” said Sirius. He scrubbed at his face, wincing when his hands met tender skin marking where Snape’s fist had landed its punch.

“Very few Death Eaters knew who the Dark Lord had turned traitor to his side,” said Snape bitterly. “I was not among those he entrusted with the information. Had I known…”

No one spoke for some time.

Sirius considered all he had learned in the last few hours. Voldemort’s life, his way of thinking, the choices he had made, the followers he had amassed… And Severus Snape, the slimy git who had made terrible choices, but was driven by both love and guilt…

He and Snape weren’t exactly all that different, when it came down to it. Sirius was also driven by love, but not without a heavy dose of guilt, as well. Both of them had made choices that had led to the same result: James and Lily dead, and Harry an orphan with a target on his back from a maniacal tyrant.

And yet, somehow Harry was an incredible mixture of his parents. He looked so like James, but his eyes were Lily’s in both shape and color. He flew as good as, even better than James, but his personality was so like Lily’s from his ability to trust (a miracle given his relatives) to his ability to forgive and love without reservation. Dudley had bullied him for years, and yet Harry had sought him out to say goodbye to him when they left Privet Drive for the year because of a single apology when Harry was deserving of an infinite amount of ‘I’m sorry’ from the other boy. He cared so deeply, just like Lily had always done. Looking up at Snape, Sirius recalled Lily’s ability to care more strongly than ever.

“Lily never stopped caring about you,” he offered. Snape shot him a disbelieving look. “Anytime I’d get to reminiscing with James, the moment your name came up, she’d tell us off for how we had treated you and then insist on a different topic of conversation. James told me a few months before he died that he finally asked her why she still defended you after you’d gone and called her –”

“Mudblood,” whispered Snape.

“Yeah,” said Sirius quietly. “He said Lily told him that she didn’t support the choices you’d made and the person you became because of it, but…” Sirius cast his mind back to that evening, just him and James by the fireplace, each having had a healthy dose of Firewhiskey. “She couldn’t stop caring about the boy she’d first met in Cokeworth all those years ago. I think, maybe… part of her still hoped you’d come around.” He sighed and slumped into the nearest chair. “Typical Lily.”

“Indeed,” said Snape softly.

“Harry… he’s remarkably like Lily in that way,” said Sirius. “He gave me the chance to explain myself in the Shrieking Shack that night despite the evidence stacked against me. He has maintained a friendship with Remus even though he put his life in danger that same night as a werewolf.” Snape snorted at that one, and Sirius allowed himself to grin. “Ron’s been a git to him, but he forgave him, anyway, and for some reason I don’t think I will ever fully comprehend, he does not wish ill upon his relatives for the abuse and neglect they inflicted on him. He’s already forgiven his cousin for the bullying, and only wishes to finish out his final days with the lot of them next year and then part ways for good. Do you understand how incredible that is?” he demanded, leaning forward to stare at the other man. “I’m not like that, Snape. I don’t forgive and I don’t forget.”

“Neither do I,” said Snape quietly.

“I can assure you,” said Albus with a kind smile, “that Harry himself does not realize how remarkable he truly is. I hope to be able to impress upon him the very things you have just said, Sirius.”

Sirius smiled and nodded. “Harry knows about you and Lily,” he told Snape, unsurprised to see the other man stiffen at the words. “My doing, and he – he actually wants to be able to ask you about her. I don’t have much in the way of stories about her that don’t also include James, and while Harry enjoys those stories, I think he’s looking for… more.”

“I don’t talk about her,” said Snape stiffly. “The boy… wants to talk to me?”

“Sounds crazy to you, too, eh?” chuckled Sirius. “I made a joke about you the other day, and Harry’s response was… I don’t want to say defensive, but certainly far more neutral than I’m used to.”

No one spoke for some time.

“Draco’s a Death Eater, isn’t he?” Sirius finally ventured, and Albus sighed.

“Yes,” he said, “for the exact reason you suspected, as well.”

“And his mission?”

“To kill me.”

Sirius frowned. “Sounds about as crazy as expecting a sixteen-year-old to ‘vanquish the Dark Lord,’” he couldn’t help but quip. “You don’t mean to let him, do you?”

Albus didn’t answer.

Sirius felt the first stirrings of worry. “Albus,” he said, “you aren’t really going to let Malfoy attempt to kill you, are you?”

Albus sighed again. “I am already dying, Sirius.”

Silence enveloped the room at the words.

Sirius stared at the older wizard, noting that Snape was stiff, but unsurprised. “Your hand,” said Sirius at length, eyes traveling to the blackened fingers that peeked out from Albus’s right sleeve. “You said that ring almost killed you.”

“Its work has started,” said Snape shortly. “I was able to contain the damage from the curse the ring carried, but it is the sort of curse that strengthens over time.”

“How… how long?”

“Maybe a year,” answered Snape quietly. “There is no halting such a spell forever.”

Sirius stared at the other two. “You can’t mean for a child to kill you, Albus,” he said, shaking his head. “And for Draco to think that he’s even capable – he’s sixteen!”

“I do not believe that Voldemort expects Draco to succeed,” Albus cut him off.

Snape’s jaw was clenched. “You,” said Sirius.

“I believe he expects me to do it in the end,” said Snape stiffly.

“And you’re going to follow through?”

“I have little choice,” said Snape coldly. “Between the headmaster and Narcissa Malfoy, it would seem my fate has already been decided.”

“What does Narcissa – no, please don’t say it –”

“Severus has taken the Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa,” said Albus quietly. “When Draco inevitably fails, it will fall to Severus to ensure the job is done.”

Sirius gaped at Albus. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he shouted. “All your meddling, the lies, the manipulations, and now you’re wanting me to keep Harry out of things so a kid can attempt to assassinate you? And all the while, the job is supposed to fall to your spy?”

“Believe me,” said Snape, “I am not pleased with any of this, either.”

“Oh, trust me, Snape, for once I’m not upset with you,” said Sirius tightly before turning back to the headmaster. “This is why you’re sharing all of the information you have on Voldemort with me,” he said. “This is why you’re going to have your private lessons with Harry, because your time is running out and he needs to know everything you know – so he can fulfill that damn prophecy and put an end to things once and for all.”

“Private lessons with Potter?” said Snape quietly, but Sirius ignored him.

“What exactly do you expect me to tell Harry?” he demanded. “You know he’s not going to leave it alone, he’s had too many years of you all but encouraging him to get involved in problems that shouldn’t have even concerned him to just – to step back now and leave things be!”

“Something we both actually agree on,” muttered Snape. Sirius snorted despite the tenseness of the situation.

Then a new thought occurred to him. “You’re the Secret Keeper of Grimmauld Place!” he exclaimed. “What happens to my ancestral home when you pass?”

“Those who know the location become the Secret Keepers,” answered Albus.

“So you’re going to increase the likelihood of people we can’t trust having access to headquarters,” said Sirius flatly. “I’ve already got Kreacher on the lookout for Dung’s habit of having sticky fingers, and now you’re going to put everything we do at risk?” He shook his head. “I told you before it should’ve been me, I was already stuck in that house unable to go anywhere. My risk of death has obviously been lower than yours.”

“It is a risk that we will have to take,” said Albus firmly. “I highly doubt the Order would readily accept a change in Secret Keeper for reasons that cannot be shared with them. Now, as to Harry, it is imperative that nothing stand in Malfoy’s way.”

“I’m not going to lie to Harry about Malfoy,” said Sirius shortly. “It’s hard enough withholding the other things you’ve already shared with me even though I know that Harry will be told everything in time, but this? He sees Malfoy at school every single day, and I can’t tell him to back off without a damn good reason.” He shook his head. “Unlike you, I haven’t lost Harry’s trust, and I intend to keep it that way.” He stalked over to the fireplace to leave.

Grabbing a handful of Floo powder, he turned back to the other two men. “I’m telling Harry the truth,” he said firmly. “Harry and his friends can easily be extra eyes to help out in this matter, to figure out what Malfoy’s assassination plan is.”

“But are they capable of treating him the same as usual?” asked Snape quietly. “Can those foolish Gryffindors keep this information between just the four of them? Will I have to watch Draco’s back in the hallways to ensure they do not try to take matters into their own hands?”

Sirius met Snape’s eyes. “Harry trusts me,” he said. “If I tell him to only keep watch and do nothing without discussing the best course of action with me first, he will do just that. You have my word.” And without waiting for a response, he threw the powder into the flames, called out, “The Burrow!” and left the office, stepping out into the dimly-lit living room and slumping down onto the couch, head in his hands.

Albus was dying.

Snape had no choice but to kill him if – no, when Draco failed in his mission.

Draco really was a Death Eater.

Voldemort had possibly split his soul into seven pieces.

This was all too much. That Harry had to be prepared to take on all of this when his mind was still sorting itself out… Sirius didn’t know how to add on anything more than what his godson already had on his plate. Yet, he had little choice in the matter. Harry needed to know, needed to be prepared.

Sirius stared into the dying flames of the fireplace, thinking hard about everything that had just happened. Possibly the strangest piece regarding Snape was that it didn’t just seem to be all about Lily, anymore. As Sirius considered it, he realized that there was a certain relationship that Snape had with Dumbledore, one that seemed to include… respect. The things he’d admitted to tonight, he would never have done that if not for Albus making it clear that such things could be discussed.

Maybe his ideals had changed after all these years. Sirius couldn’t be certain, but beyond the schoolboy grudge both men still fostered, there didn’t seem to be much in the way of the boy Sirius had known to be obsessed with the Dark Arts, anymore. Certainly, they both failed to shy away from their mutual hatred of each other, but outside of that… Lily was dead, and yet Snape stayed, spying for their side, convincing Voldemort that he was still a Death Eater at heart.

Lily had been the catalyst for James turning away from deliberately seeking Snape out, no matter how much Sirius begged him (and he had begged to target Snape on purpose, several times). Lily had been the reason Snape started spying for Albus and the Order. Lily was the reason Harry had survived, and her death at Voldemort’s hand was the reason Snape had turned away from Voldemort for good. But it was Albus who kept Snape on their side. It seemed clear now that he had fought to keep Snape from rotting in Azkaban so that, when the time came, he could provide vital inside information to help their cause, to help Harry. And what was more, Snape had gone along with this, was still going along with it all.

It was complicated, to say the least.

“Sirius? You are still awake?”

Sirius looked up and was surprised to see Fleur gracefully entering the living room. She was clad in her dressing gown, hair in a smooth plait down her back. “Couldn’t sleep,” he muttered as she approached him. “There’s a lot going on.”

“Eet eez ‘ard, being a member of ze Order,” said Fleur quietly as she approached him. “Sirius, your face…”

“Oh, got into it with someone tonight,” muttered Sirius, lightly touching the bruising on his face and wincing. Fleur clucked sympathetically and fetched Molly’s healing book, quietly looking up the correct spell to undo the damage to Sirius’s jaw. “Thanks,” he said to her.

Fleur smiled. “Ze work we do eez very important, no matter ze cost. I knew zis when I joined up.”

“You didn’t have to join, you know,” said Sirius with a faint smile, but Fleur shook her head.

“Bill eez part of ze Order,” she said. “’E joined because ‘e cares about zis country and ‘is people. ‘E is passionate about protecting ‘is family, and ‘Arry, too. I would not ‘ave fallen een love with ‘im if ‘e didn’t care so much.”

“Love, huh?”

Fleur shot him a rather haughty look. “You theenk I am only interested een ‘is looks?”

“You haven’t exactly presented yourself as the kind of woman Molly thinks her son would fall in love with,” said Sirius with raised eyebrows.

“I tried,” said Fleur stiffly. “When Bill brought me ‘ere for dinner to announce zee engagement. But Molly looked at me and said that we ‘ave only known each ozzer a year, as zough eet eez possible to decide ‘ow long one must know a person before making zis kind of decision.” She shook her head again. “La durée ne change pas mon amour pour lui. And zen – and zen she looks at ‘Arry and Ginny and –” Fleur broke off, and Sirius was startled to see her bright blue eyes shining with unshed tears. “Why does she not see me ze way she sees zem?” she whispered.

A lot of pieces that Sirius hadn’t paid mind to before suddenly fell into place. “You’re feeling judged,” he said, “and you reacted the only way you know how.”

“I ‘ave always been judged for what I am,” said Fleur lowly. “I do not make an ‘abit of telling ozzers what I am for fear of being judged, or treated as less zan ‘uman, less zan ze talented witch I am. Ce n'est pas de ma faute si ma grand-mère était une Veela! I – I am so much more zan my ancestry! What must I do to – to prove myself?”

Sirius said nothing, carefully processing every word thrown his way as Fleur stared into the dying flames, her face dry, but filled with an unspeakable sadness he’d never seen in her elegant features before.

“Does Bill know about any of this?” he finally asked.

Fleur shook her head. “I do not need ‘im fighting zis battle for me,” she said haltingly. “I need to – to prove myself to Molly… on my own.” She sighed. “I just… don’t know ‘ow else to act.”

“I wish I had the answers,” said Sirius, “but Molly is a force to be reckoned with. She and I have had our differences about Harry in the past, and I’m still not sure how it is that we’re able to be at peace with other now.” He chuckled. “I guess… just don’t give up. Keep loving Bill, and eventually the rest will follow.” He hesitated. “Did your mother go through anything similar with your father?”

Fleur nodded. “She eez why I don’t usually tell people I am part Veela,” she answered. “But ‘Arry knew zanks to the Triwizard Tournament, so ze Weasley’s all knew it because of that. But Bill… ‘e did not let that stop ‘im from getting to know me, really know me.”

“So don’t let it stop you now,” said Sirius with a shrug. “You project confidence –”

“And arrogance, I’m sure,” said Fleur with a faint smile.

“Well, yes,” said Sirius, “and I think it’ll take time, but just – don’t give up. Love – caring for others – it’s more powerful than anything else in this world,” he added, thinking of Lily and James, of Snape, and of his godson and Ginny. “I think you’ll get through to everyone else, though I still think you should be more open with Bill about it. One of the biggest parts of any relationship is supporting each other. Let Bill support you.” He patted Fleur on the knee and rose, stretching and grunting as his back and neck popped. “If you’ve paid any attention to Harry and Ginny, that’s exactly what’s going on. Love and support.”

Fleur nodded, gaze distant. “I will theenk about eet,” she finally said, and Sirius knew that was the best he’d get out of her at this point. He quietly bade her goodnight and retreated to the room he was sharing with Harry, pleased to see the kid was completely out, dark hair spread wildly over his pillow as he lay curled loosely on his side in the middle of the bed.

Looking at him like this suddenly reminded Sirius of the cupboard under the stairs. Had Harry learned to sleep like this in there? It had been so small, and even though Harry had suffered the effects of malnutrition as a child and been quite tiny himself, there had probably still been a lack of space in which to properly stretch out.

It wasn’t fair that Harry had endured so much in just sixteen years of living. There was still so much to go to see things through, but maybe… maybe after that, Harry could finally achieve peace. He, more than anyone else Sirius knew, was deserving of it.

Sliding into his bed, Sirius thought once more over everything that had occurred in the last few hours. His role in the Order had shifted more and more to Harry’s advocate, to someone who was in the know of all the plans, and could now actively seek out connections from those not in the Order to ensure success in the war against Voldemort. But now, his role as Harry’s guardian was more important than anything else he could have done, and as such, he needed to put Harry and his needs first. He could hold off on the truth about the Horcruxes for now, but Harry deserved to be in the know about Draco. If he showed Harry that he trusted him, it would only serve to improve Harry’s trust in him and hopefully prevent Harry from rushing headlong into anything that could lead to trouble for him that he didn’t need at this point.

But the truth could at least wait until the morning. Secure in his plan to tell Harry at that point, Sirius slid quickly and easily into sleep for the few short hours left before Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny would leave for school once more.

*

First French phrase: "The length of time does not change my love for him."
Second French phrase: "It is not my fault that my grandmother was a Veela!"

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Chapter 21: Hogwarts Bound

Author's Notes: It's finally time to go back to Hogwarts! Parts of this chapter are taken from HBP chapter 7 "The Slug Club," and a tiny piece from chapter 16 "A Very Frosty Christmas." Enjoy!


Chapter Twenty-One: Hogwarts Bound



Harry had a very strong desire to turn to Ron and Hermione and say, I told you so!

He didn’t, though. The shocked look on their faces was enough for him at that moment.

Ginny, however, had no such qualms.

“Harry was right!” she hissed at them. “We told you so!”

Sirius had his lips pressed together, obviously hiding a grin.

“Yes, Ginny, you’re right,” sighed Hermione. “Harry, I’m sorry Ron and I didn’t listen to you. We just thought – the idea that Voldemort would deliberately seek out someone underage on purpose to join his followers…”

“I think,” said Harry stiffly, “that if anyone’s going to understand how Voldemort’s mind works, it’s going to me, no matter how messed up my own is at the moment.”

“I never said your mind was ‘messed up,’” said Hermione quickly.

“But you obviously think it,” said Harry quietly, unable to look Hermione or Ron in the face, his hand clutching Ginny’s for support. “I don’t – I don’t like it, even if I get it. You’ve all done so much to help me this summer, but… he didn’t take away my ability to… be me, you know?”

“We know,” said Hermione tearfully.

“Sorry, mate,” said Ron softly.

Nodding, Harry turned back to Sirius. “What’s Malfoy up to, then?” he asked. “Did Dumbledore tell you that much?”

Sirius sighed, rubbing his face. “Voldemort wants Malfoy to do the same thing you’ve got to do, Harry. Kill the leader.”

“Dumbledore,” said Ginny flatly. “Malfoy’s been tasked with assassinating Dumbledore?”

“Yes,” said Sirius.

“What’s he going to do to stop him?” demanded Ron. “He’s not going to let Malfoy actually kill him, after all.”

Sirius stared at the four of them, and Harry had a sinking feeling. “Sirius…”

“Dumbledore is dying.”

Stunned silence met this statement, broken only by the sounds of Mrs. Weasley and Fleur bickering in the kitchen below.

“What?” whispered Hermione.

“It’s his hand, isn’t it?” asked Harry numbly. “His right hand… it’s worse than he told me.”

Sirius sighed and nodded. “Snape says the curse on it is the kind that cannot be halted, that it… strengthens over time.”

“How long has he got?” asked Ginny.

“Snape thinks maybe a year,” said Sirius. “Harry, the private lessons you’re having with Dumbledore this year, you’ve got to pay close attention to them.”

“Do you know what he’s planning to teach me?” asked Harry, surprised.

“As of last night, yes,” said Sirius. “I’m insisting on being there for each lesson, Harry. Trust me, they’re going to be of vital importance to helping you defeat Voldemort, and I’m going to be there every step of the way.”

“What about Malfoy, though?” asked Ron. “Are you expecting us to just let him try and kill Dumbledore?”

“We don’t know what his plan is,” said Sirius. “I’m going to do all I can from outside of Hogwarts to figure this out, but I need you four to be eyes and ears inside the castle, to figure it out and then tell me. No rushing off on your own to stop him.”

“But allowing Malfoy to kill –” began Ginny.

“That’s the other thing,” sighed Sirius. “Voldemort… he doesn’t expect Malfoy to succeed.”

“Then who –?” Harry cut off at the look on Sirius’s face. “Snape?” he whispered.

Sirius nodded. “Something like that would completely cement Voldemort’s belief in Snape’s loyalty to him,” he said quietly. “Adding to that, Narcissa forced Snape into an Unbreakable Vow to ensure he takes over if her son isn’t successful.”

Ron and Ginny gasped, and Hermione raised a hand to her mouth in shock.

“What’s an Unbreakable Vow?” asked Harry.

“Pretty much what it sounds like,” said Ron. “You can’t break an Unbreakable Vow –”

“You die if you do, though,” said Ginny quietly.

“Fred and George tried to get me to make one when I was about five,” continued Ron. “I nearly did too, I was holding hands with Fred and everything when Dad found us. He went mental,” he added with a reminiscent gleam in his eyes. “Only time I’ve ever seen Dad as angry as Mum.”

“My point is,” said Sirius quickly, “that I need you lot to act as you normally do around Malfoy. We can’t let him suspect that we know what’s he’s up to, but we need to know what his plan is so Dumbledore and Snape can make the appropriate choices to ensure that Snape’s loyalty is what Voldemort thinks it is.”

Harry could not believe what he was hearing. Dumbledore was dying and he was supposed to let Malfoy have a go at killing him? And Snape was going to finish the job no matter what? “Why are you telling us this?” he asked.

Sirius met his eyes. “I’m telling you,” he said, “because I know you can all be trusted. I’m telling you so you don’t go rushing off and put yourselves in harm’s way unnecessarily. I’m also telling you because I’m hoping I can hone your focus to what we need to know to ensure things play out right.” He sighed and shook his head. “You’re all so young, too young to be dealing with this, and I hate that this is how things have to go, but… I trust you, Harry. I trust each and every one of you. I gave Dumbledore and Snape my word that you would do as I’m asking you to do, and I’m trusting that you’ll prove me correct.”

Harry was struck speechless. The trust Sirius was showing right now made him want to do nothing less than live up to it. “Okay,” he finally said. “You can trust us, trust me, Sirius. I won’t go after Malfoy or try to stop him.”

“We’ll all do our part,” said Ginny, squeezing Harry’s hand.

“This is mental,” sighed Ron, “but I promise we’ll do what you’re asking.”

“Agreed,” said Hermione shakily. “Whatever we can do to help, Sirius, we’ll do it.”

Sirius’s smile was filled with pride, and it warmed Harry’s heart. He reached out and pulled Sirius into a hug. “Thank you for trusting me,” he whispered as Sirius gripped the back of his shirt.

“I love you, kiddo,” Sirius whispered back. “We’re a team. I mean it.”

“What’s taking you lot so long?” came Mrs. Weasley’s voice from the ground floor. “Breakfast is ready and the Ministry cars will be here in half an hour!”

Harry pulled away from Sirius as Ron and Ginny’s stomach gave audible rumbles. “Can’t deny these Weasley’s their food anymore,” he said with a grin.

Ginny laughed and pulled him downstairs, the others following. They ate the bacon sandwiches Molly had prepared quickly and then retreated back up the stairs to collect their trunks. Soon enough, the Ministry cars had arrived, and Harry found himself between Ginny and Sirius in one car, while the others took the other car. The journey was, as always, smooth, leaving the group with twenty minutes to spare to get onto the platform at King’s Cross Station.

Two grim-faced Aurors met them as they arrived. Sirius walked closely with Harry while one Auror kept a hand on Ginny’s shoulder. Harry caught her eye and she made a face at him. As much as they both understood the need for their safety, the whole situation still rankled their nerves.

The Aurors found a compartment for Harry and Ginny’s trunks, and Hermione and Ron quickly added theirs to the compartment, along with Hedwig, Pig, Crookshanks, and Ginny’s new pet Arnold the Pygmy Puff. Since Ron and Hermione were both prefects, they were going to have to go to the prefect meeting in the front carriage once the train left, but thankfully, Neville and Luna showed up just before they stepped outside to say their farewells and promised to keep an eye on their compartment.

Mrs. Weasley seemed particularly tearful this time around, catching both Harry and Ginny three times with a hug as she bade them all farewell. “Please be careful,” she told both Harry and Ginny. “I need to know you’re both safe.”

“You know me, Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry with a smile. “I like a quiet life.”

Ginny laughed as Mrs. Weasley sniffed and engulfed them both in hugs once more. “We’ll be fine, Mum,” she said when she pulled away. “Hogwarts is safe, you know that.”

“But it wasn’t when you needed it to be,” said Mrs. Weasley in a shaky voice, and Harry was grabbing Ginny’s hand instinctually as the painful memory of possession threatened to overwhelm him.

He felt Ginny pulling him to face her, felt her free hand on his cheek, whispering words of comfort and breathing with him until the flashback passed. “It won’t happen again, Mum, I’m sure of it,” said Ginny firmly to her mother, who broke down into tears and hugged the pair of them yet again.

When he managed to extricate himself from her embrace, Harry found himself facing Mr. Weasley. “You keep my daughter safe,” he said, placing firm hands on Harry’s shoulders.

“I will, sir,” said Harry seriously.

“You let her keep you safe, too.”

Harry smiled. “I’ll do my best.”

Mr. Weasley pulled him forward into a hug, something Harry had never experienced form the man before. “We love you, Harry,” he muttered gruffly before releasing him and patting his shoulders, turning to his wife to pull her into a warm hug.

“You got the mirror?” Sirius asked him. Harry reached into his jeans and pulled it free. “Good. And the Invisibility Cloak?”

“In my trunk.”

“I want you to keep it with you all the time,” said Sirius firmly. “Between the mirror and the cloak, you’ve got your own protection covered as best as I can manage for you. And if things are bad, you can always rely on Kreacher to come to your aid. Now, what we discussed this morning…”

“You have my word,” said Harry quickly. “I’ll figure out what he’s planning and that’s it.”

“Good,” repeated Sirius. “And anything you figure out?”

“I tell you right away,” said Harry, “I remember, Sirius.”

Sirius grinned and hugged Harry tightly. “Try and make your main focus your studies,” he said. “And Ginny. Definitely focus on her.”

Harry laughed as he hugged Sirius back. “Bit hard to focus on anything else when she’s around,” he admitted.

“And that was purely James right there,” chuckled Sirius as he pulled away. “You remember everything I taught you?” he asked with a wink.

Recalling that rather educational evening back in July, Harry nodded, feeling warm in the face. “Don’t think I’ll be forgetting that anytime soon,” he said, “even if I wanted to.”

The train horn sounded. “Time to go,” sighed Sirius. “Anytime you need to talk, I’m here to listen, Harry. No matter what it is.”

Harry nodded and hugged Sirius again. “Thank you,” he said softly.

“Love you, kiddo,” returned Sirius with a warm smile. “Now hurry!”

Ginny seized Harry’s hand and pulled him to the train, Mrs. Weasley trailing after them. “Make sure you look after yourselves,” she said through the window as Harry slammed the door shut behind him and Ginny and the train began to move. “Be good and –”

The train was gathering speed.

“– stay safe!”

Harry and Ginny waved until the train turned a corner and they could no longer see Sirius or Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Harry took a deep breath as the chatter of students enveloped him. Ginny squeezed the hand she was still holding.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said quietly to him.

“I know,” said Harry, leaning down to kiss her, but pulling away when he heard several dramatic sighs. He realized at that moment they were sounded by students staring openly at him, and the sighs came from a group of younger girls who were now glaring daggers at Ginny.

Ginny, for her part, glared back at the group of girls with equal venom and dragged Harry down the corridor to the compartment they had already set up in. As they went, people stared shamelessly after him. They even pressed their faces against the windows of their compartment to get a look at him.

“This is worse than usual,” he finally said uncomfortably as they reached their compartment.

“We knew it would be, though,” sighed Ginny as she tugged open the door to smile at Neville and Luna. “Thanks for waiting for us,” she told them.

“No problem,” said Neville.

“Are we still doing D.A. meetings this year, Harry?” asked Luna, who was detaching a pair of psychedelic spectacles from the middle of her copy of The Quibbler. “I kept meaning to ask, but the wrackspurts in the orchard must’ve gotten to me, because I could never remember to bring it up.”

“I haven’t given it much thought,” admitted Harry, completely bypassing the wrackspurts. “I mean, I know our new teacher will be Snape” – Neville shuddered – “and I’m pretty sure he’ll have lots to teach since it’s the subject he’s wanted to teach all this time, but…”

“He’s a git,” said Ginny. “He won’t treat anyone but his Slytherin students fairly, and he’ll definitely target you and Neville the same way he’s always done.”

“True,” said Harry.

“I learned lots from you,” said Neville earnestly. “Even if it just involved reviewing whatever Snape teaches us, it would be in a less stressful environment, you know? Oh, no, Trevor!” His toad had leapt under the seat, and Neville dove after him.

“I hope you keep doing them this year,” said Luna vaguely as she put on the strange glasses and opened to a particular page of her magazine. “I enjoyed the meetings. It was like having friends.”

“I thought you realized that, though,” said Ginny. “You’ve already got friends, Luna.”

“Yeah,” said Harry quickly as Neville extricated himself, Trevor in hand and bits of lint and fluff in his hair. “Sirius wouldn’t have let me invite just anyone over this summer but the friends he knew I could trust.”

Luna smiled at him, looking pleased. “I know that,” she said. “It was just nice, is all.” She disappeared behind her magazine as the compartment door opened and couple of fifth-year Gryffindor girls stuck their heads in.

“There you are, Ginny!” said one. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“I told you she’d be here,” said the other, shooting a grin in Harry’s direction. “You owe Colin five sickles.”

“Figures you lot would bet on me,” said Ginny, rolling her eyes. “Where is Colin, anyway?”

“With the others,” said the first girl. “You coming? Your letters this summer were basically without any real substance.”

Ginny laughed. “They were not!” The girl raised her eyebrows. “Okay, maybe they were,” Ginny allowed, “but I was busy, Emily!”

Both girls looked quite deliberately at Harry and Ginny’s clasped hands. “Really?” said the second girl. “All summer? Surely you can spare an hour for your friends!”

Ginny glanced at Harry. “I’m definitely not supposed to be the center of the universe here,” said Harry quickly, though he felt a bit panicked at the thought of not having any of the people he trusted to help him with any potential problems. Neville and Luna were great, but they’d never attempted to assist with any land mines before, either.

“You sure?” asked Ginny quietly, eyes searching his.

Harry put on his best grin. “Go on, go catch up with them,” he said. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Ginny hesitated, but then nodded and kissed him long enough for her friends to let out soft aw’s before she left with them, promising not to take too long. “I love you!” she added with a bright smile before shutting the compartment door.

“It’ll be okay, Harry,” said Neville bracingly after a moment. “Ron and Hermione will be back before you know it, and Ginny will, too.”

“I know,” said Harry. “It’s just –”

“You don’t have an anchor now,” said Luna, looking up from The Quibbler. “Neville and I haven’t established ourselves well enough for it.”

“But it won’t be like this for long,” said Neville reassuringly. “We can just –”

The compartment door slid open.

“Hey, Harry.” It was Dean Thomas, one of Harry’s fellow Gryffindors. “Could I – can I have a word? In private?”

“Sure,” said Harry, rising and following the taller boy into the hallway. “What’s up? Did you have a good summer?”

“Yeah,” said Dean. “Listen, Harry, I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

“Okay,” said Harry.

“It’s about Ginny.”

Harry blinked. “What about her?”

“It’s –” Dean broke off, looking away and frowning slightly. “One day you were friends, right? And then next thing I know, you’re together.”

“And?” said Harry, feeling a little clueless.

“And… well, she and I had been talking for a couple week before that, and I thought she was interested in me, but then, well…”

“Oh.” Harry hadn’t known this. He’d been so wrapped up in his studies for their O.W.L.’s and everything else that had been going on that he hadn’t noticed much of anything outside of it. “I didn’t know that, Dean.”

“I figured as much,” said Dean, nodding. “Just – how did you go from nothing to a couple so quickly?”

Harry considered how best to answer this question. It wasn’t exactly Dean’s business, but he was a friend of Harry’s, and he did feel a bit guilty that the other boy might have possibly felt led on in some way.

“I’ve always noticed Ginny,” Harry finally settled on. “It, well… it kind of took a hard knock of sorts for me to figure out why.” He shrugged. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he added before he could stop himself.

Dean nodded slowly. “I get it,” he said, though Harry wasn’t sure he believed the other boy. “I’ll see you around, all right, Harry?” He smiled tightly at Harry and headed off, and Harry watched him go, considering the interaction.

“Hi, Harry,” said an unfamiliar voice, and Harry turned to see a group of girls staring at him. The girl who had spoken stepped forward boldly.

“I’m Romilda, Romilda Vane,” she said, smiling widely at him. “Why don’t you join us in our compartment? You don’t have to sit with them,” she added, gesturing at the compartment Harry was sharing with Neville and Luna.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “They’re friends of mine,” he said coldly.

“Oh,” said the girl, looking very surprised. “Oh. Okay.”

Harry turned his back on her and entered the compartment, shutting the door a little harder than necessary.

“What did Dean want?” asked Neville curiously.

“Apparently he was going to ask Ginny out before she and I got together,” said Harry. “Did you know about that?”

Neville shook his head, but Luna nodded.

“Ginny started talking to him not long after she dumped Corner,” she told Harry. “I think she liked him well enough, but he wasn’t you.”

“Oh,” said Harry, not knowing how to respond to this.

“What did that girl say to you?” asked Luna.

“She apparently thought I was only with you two because I had nowhere else better to go,” said Harry grumpily.

“People expect you to have cooler friends than us,” said Luna sagely.

“You are cool,” said Harry shortly. “You stayed with me when Voldemort was attacking my mind, and you agreed to testify at Umbridge’s trial when you didn’t have to.”

“That’s a very nice thing to say,” beamed Luna. Then she pushed her free Spectrespecs farther up her nose and settled down to read The Quibbler again.

“It’s only the truth,” shrugged Harry. He and Neville chatted quietly for the next little while until Ron and Hermione returned, Ron bemoaning the lack of food to eat and Hermione annoyed that Malfoy was already ditching his Prefect duties on the train.

“That’s definitely not like him,” said Harry with a meaningful look. “Was he even paying attention during your Prefect meeting?”

“Not really,” said Ron. “I mean, this was normal for him” – he made a rude hand gesture – “but otherwise, he basically ignored everyone and everything that was going on around him.” He caught Harry’s eye. “It definitely seems like he’s got other things on his mind.”

Hermione nodded. “I’ve never seen him so disinterested in his Prefect duties before.”

Just then, the compartment door slid open and a shy third-year girl Harry didn’t recognize appeared. “H-hi,” she said nervously. “I have these notes that I’m supposed to deliver to Neville Longbottom and Harry P-Potter.”

Harry reached out and took the thin scrolls of parchment the girl held out. “Thanks,” he said, and the girl gave a little squeak and left. Harry passed the scroll with Neville’s name on it over to his friend and pulled off the violet ribbon tying his own closed.

Harry,
I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C.
Sincerely,
Professor H. E. F. Slughorn


“What does the new teacher want with us?” asked Neville, perplexed.

“Right, I didn’t tell you that part,” sighed Harry. “Professor Slughorn had this club years back when he used to teach at Hogwarts, and he liked ‘collecting’ students and making connections with the rich and powerful.”

“That explains you easily enough,” said Neville, “but me?”

“Your parents were pretty famous Aurors, right?” said Harry. “Not to mention testifying at the trial and all. I expect he’s curious about you.”

Ron glowered a bit at this, but said nothing.

Neville frowned, but nodded, and they both set off for compartment C, promising the others they would return as soon as they were able. Harry had retrieved his Invisibility Cloak to carry on his person at all times as Sirius had requested, and he rather wished he could use it to hide now as they made their way along the crowded train toward the front. The staring seemed to have increased in intensity since he’d last walked down the train. Every now and then, students would hurtle out of the compartments to get a better look at him.

“This is how you handle fame, Harry?” Voldemort started laughing in his mind, and he grit his teeth, trying to focus on his destination.

“All right?” asked Neville quietly. Harry nodded shortly and carried on, keeping his gaze averted from the onlookers.

When they reached compartment C, they saw at once that they were not Slughorn’s only invitees, although judging by the enthusiasm of Slughorn’s welcome, Harry was the most warmly anticipated.

“Harry, m’boy!” said Slughorn, jumping up at the sight of him so that his great velvet-covered belly seemed to fill all the remaining space in the compartment. His shiny bald head and great silvery mustache gleamed as brightly in the sunlight as the golden buttons on his waistcoat. “Good to see you, good to see you! And you must be Mr. Longbottom!”

Neville nodded, looking incredibly nervous. Slughorn gestured for them to sit down, and Harry glanced around to see a Slytherin from their year, a tall black boy with high cheekbones and long, slanting eyes; there were two seventh-year boys Harry did not know, and –

“Ginny?” said Harry in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m still trying to figure it out,” she said with a bit of a grimace.

“Oh, so you do know this young lady!” said Slughorn jovially. “She said she knew you.”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “We’re seeing each other, so I’d hope she knows me.”

“Good heavens, dating, you say?” said Slughorn as the Slytherin boy developed a rather distasteful expression on his face. “Well, we must make room so the two lovebirds can sit by each other!” He made the seventh-year boy sitting next to Ginny move so Harry could take his seat. She immediately grasped his hand, and he breathed in her flowery scent.

“You all right?” she asked him quietly. Harry nodded, already feeling more relaxed in her presence despite the situation they both found themselves in.

“Now, do you know everyone?” Slughorn asked Harry and Neville. “Blaise Zabini is in your year, of course –”

Zabini did not make any sign of recognition or greeting, nor did Harry or Neville: Gryffindor and Slytherin students loathed each other on principle.

“This is Cormac McLaggen, perhaps you’ve come across each other –? No?”

McLaggen, a large, wiry-haired youth, raised a hand, and Harry and Neville nodded back at him.

“– and this is Marcus Belby, I don’t know whether –?”

Belby, the boy Slughorn had made move so Harry could sit by Ginny, gave a strained smile.

“– and, of course, your delightful girlfriend, Miss Ginny Weasley!” Ginny grimaced at Harry, but squeezed his hand firmly.

“Well now, this is most pleasant,” said Slughorn cozily. “A chance to get to know you all a little better. Here, take a napkin. I’ve packed my own lunch; the trolley, as I remember it, is heavy on licorice wands, and a poor old man’s digestive system isn’t quite up to such things… Pheasant, Belby?”

Belby started and accepted what looked like half a cold pheasant.

And then it started, just as Harry had suspected it would. Belby’s uncle was apparently the man who had created the Wolfsbane Potion Remus had been able to take during his time teaching at Hogwarts, but as soon as Belby said he didn’t see much of the man due to the fact that he didn’t get on well with Belby’s father, Slughorn rather coldly dismissed him and moved on to McLaggen, instead.

Cormac McLaggen seemed to impress Slughorn with the fact that he knew some well-connected people, including Minister Scrimgeour. It seemed that, outside of Ginny, everyone in the compartment was connected to someone well-known or influential. Zabini apparently had a famously beautiful witch for a mother (from what Harry could make out, she had been married seven times, each of her husbands dying mysteriously and leaving her mounds of gold). Then came Neville: This was a very uncomfortable ten minutes because of the fact that Neville’s parents, though famous Aurors, had been tortured into insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange and a couple of Death Eater cronies. At the end of Neville’s interview, Harry had the impression that Slughorn was reserving judgment on Neville, yet to see whether he had any of his parents’ flair.

“And now,” said Slughorn, shifting massively in his seat with the air of a compere introducing his star act. “Harry Potter! Where to begin? I feel I barely scratched the surface when we met over the summer!” He contemplated Harry for a moment as though he was a particularly large and succulent piece of pheasant, and Harry gripped Ginny’s hand firmly, hoping he could get through this in one piece. “‘The Chosen One,’ they’re calling you now!”

Harry said nothing. Belby, McLaggen, and Zabini were all staring at him.

“Of course,” said Slughorn, watching Harry closely, “there have been rumors for years… I remember when – well – after that terrible night –”

“You do remember it, Harry!” laughs Voldemort in ecstasy as the dim images and screams dance across Harry’s mind. “I told you your mother needn’t have died, and you called me liar. Now that I know you get to hear her last moments every time the dementors find you, I’ll have to ensure that you are a special target of theirs.”

The flashback ended as abruptly as it had started, and Harry realized that he was all but crushing Ginny’s hand in his own. He immediately loosened it and found that Slughorn was still prattling on, not having noticed Harry’s lack of attention.

He knew Ginny had noticed, as had Neville, and the suspicious look on Zabini’s face had him worried, but he ignored all this and forced himself to pay attention again.

“– the word was that you must have powers beyond the ordinary –”

Zabini gave a tiny little cough that was clearly supposed to indicate amused skepticism.

“Yeah, Zabini,” Ginny spoke up angrily, “because you’re so talented… at posing…”

“Oh dear!” chuckled Slughorn comfortably, looking past Harry at Ginny. “You want to be careful, Blaise! I saw Ginny here perform the most marvelous Bat-Bogey Hex as I was passing her carriage! I wouldn’t cross her!”

Zabini merely looked contemptuous.

“Who were you hexing?” Harry asked Ginny. “Is that why I didn’t see you before now?”

Ginny was scowling. “Zacharias Smith,” she said shortly. “Came bursting in on me and my friends, wanting to know what happened at the Ministry in June. It was annoying, and so was he.” She shrugged unapologetically.

Harry grinned. “Sounds like he deserved it.”

“You know it!” laughed Ginny.

“My, such a healthy relationship you both have!” Slughorn suddenly cut in. “I can see why you picked her, Harry!”

Harry felt his face heat up, abruptly recalling where he was and who was with him. “She kind of picked me first,” he muttered despite his best judgment, and Slughorn let out a booming laugh as Ginny pressed her lips together to hold back a grin.

“Anyway,” said Slughorn, still smiling widely beneath his enormous moustache, “such rumors that have flown about this summer, and all of this on top of testifying against Dolores Umbridge!” Ginny’s grip on Harry’s hand held fast and firm in the face of his usual reaction. “Of course, one doesn’t know what to believe, the Prophet has been known to print inaccuracies, make mistakes – but there seems little doubt, given the number of witnesses, that there was quite a disturbance at the Ministry and that you were there in the thick of it all!”

“We both were,” said Ginny staunchly. “Your point being, sir?”

“Both of you, eh?” said Slughorn, eyeing her with even more interest than before. Harry nodded, but said nothing.

“So modest, so modest, no wonder Dumbledore is so found – but the rest of the stories – so sensational, of course, one doesn’t know quite what to believe – this fabled prophecy, for instance –”

“Never heard any such thing,” cut in Ginny at once. “I was there with Harry the whole time, and all this ‘Chosen One’ rubbish is just the Prophet making things up as usual.”

Harry had never been more thankful for Ginny’s presence than he was in that moment. Her smooth ability to lie, borne from growing up with six brothers, was making this much easier to get through. He squeezed her hand in silent thanks, and she returned it.

“Yes, well… it is true that the Prophet often exaggerates, of course…” Slughorn said, sounding a little disappointed. “I remember dear Gwenog telling me (Gwenog Jones, I mean, of course, Captain of the Holyhead Harpies) –”

He meandered off into a long-winded reminiscence, but Harry had the distinct impression that Slughorn was not finished with him, nor that he had been totally convinced by Ginny’s insistence about the lack of a prophecy. Neville met his gaze with a questioning look of his own, and Harry gave a minute shake of his head. Neville knew a prophecy apparently existed, but nothing else. Harry was loathe to reveal to the other boy how close he had come to having Harry’s destiny.

“Are we ever getting out of here?” Ginny whispered to him at one point as the afternoon wore on with more anecdotes about illustrious wizards Slughorn had taught, all of whom had been delighted to join what he called the ‘Slug Club’ at Hogwarts.

“I doubt it,” replied Harry in an undertone; he wanted nothing more than to grab Ginny’s hand and walk out of the compartment. He knew he needed to be polite based on the little Dumbledore had said about the man’s desire to “collect” him, but Harry hoped the headmaster had a very good reason for wanting him to put up with this, because thus far, Harry was finding the experience to be most unpleasant. Finally the train emerged from yet another long stretch of dementor-induced mist into a red sunset, and Slughorn looked around, blinking in the twilight.

“Good gracious, it’s getting dark already! I didn’t notice that they’d lit the lamps! You’d better go and change into your robes, all of you. McLaggen, you must drop by and borrow that book on nogtails. Harry, Blaise – any time you’re passing. Same goes for you, miss,” he twinkled at Ginny. “Well, off you go, off you go!”

Zabini pushed past Harry with a filthy look that Harry returned with interest. The two of them had had very little to do with each other over the past five years, and even though he knew the boy was friends with Malfoy, he had always stayed out of the way of their various confrontations.

“That was not a fun experience,” said Neville as the three of them headed back to their compartment. “I don’t know that I like Professor Slughorn all that much.”

“I know what you mean,” said Ginny. “I would love to meet Gwenog Jones, but the price?”

“The Slug Club, you mean,” sighed Harry.

“He’s going to keep going after you, Harry,” said Neville, and Harry nodded. When they reached their compartment, Harry immediately slumped into his seat, Ginny joining him with a disgruntled expression on her face.

“Where were you?” asked Ron. “You’ve been gone for hours!”

“Slughorn,” said Ginny with a scowl. “He caught me hexing Smith and apparently thought it was impressive rather than something to be lectured over.”

“So you were with Harry and Neville, then?” asked Hermione. Ginny nodded.

“Good,” said Luna vaguely from behind her magazine. “He wasn’t very happy without an anchor around to keep him steady.”

Ginny shot a grin at Harry, and he flushed, wondering if he’d ever get used to Luna’s uncomfortable truths at the most embarrassing of moments.

They all changed into their school robes, and Ron headed off with Hermione when the train stopped to round up the first years for their traditional journey across the lake. Ginny seized Harry’s hand and didn’t let go as they disembarked, Harry holding Hedwig’s cage and Ginny carrying the wicker basket Crookshanks had been stuffed into under her free arm. Luna kindly carried Pigwidgeon’s cage as well as Arnold the Pygmy Puff while Neville held tightly to his toad, and they found a free carriage to climb into, Harry doing his best to avoid looking at the Thestrals that pulled the carriages. Ron and Hermione joined them a few minutes later, and the carriage was soon trundling its way up the drive and past the boar-flanked winged gates to Hogwarts.

At long last, Harry was home.

Back to index


Chapter 22: A Lukewarm Return

Author's Notes: Work has been stressful. A friend of mine died unexpectedly on the 14th. I haven't looked at this story since the 12th, and I wasn't sure I could pull myself together to get this chapter ready. But here it is. Bits and pieces are taken from HBP chapter eight "Snape Victorious." Enjoy.


Chapter Twenty-Two: A Lukewarm Return



“Mr. Potter!”

The last time Harry had heard Professor McGonagall call his name before he’d even set foot in the Great Hall, it had led to a trip to McGonagall’s office where Madam Pomfrey had checked him over for the aftereffects of Harry’s first encounter with a dementor.

“Have I done something, Professor?” he asked worriedly as McGonagall made her way over to him through the throng of students heading into the Great Hall. Filch’s glee in running Secrecy Sensors over everyone as they came into the entrance hall had been off-putting enough as it was.

“Not to worry, Potter,” she said briskly as she adjusted her spectables. “I just require a few minutes of your time is all.”

“But –” started Ginny.

“Just for a few minutes, Miss Weasley. I would think you might understand the reason I need to speak with Mr. Potter as it is quite similar to your second year.”

Harry frowned in confusion, but Ginny nodded with a surprisingly grave expression on her face. “Yes, Professor,” she said quietly. “I’ll save you a seat, Harry.” She pecked him on the cheek and led the others into the Great Hall as Harry glumly followed Professor McGonagall up the grand staircase.

It didn’t take long before Harry recognized where they were headed. “I’m not ill, Professor,” he said in confusion. “I don’t need –”

“Three years ago,” McGonagall cut him off, “the headmaster saw fit to tell me of the flashbacks and panic attacks Miss Weasley had been working through all summer the day after she arrived here for her second year. Had I known the night of the Welcoming Feast, she would have been right next to you in my office after your encounter with the dementors for a check-up with Madam Pomfrey. As it is, my duty as Head of House is to ensure that my students who are in need regularly visit the school nurse until she clears them from her care completely.”

Harry couldn’t stop himself from groaning. “He told you, didn’t he?”

“It was actually both the headmaster and your godfather, to be exact,” said McGonagall briskly. “I understand you have worked hard all summer with your friends and Sirius to overcome your own struggles, but it remains a matter to which Madam Pomfrey needs to be completely in the know about. I trust you can understand this, Potter.”

Harry nodded sullenly. He was fine, he didn’t need anything more than what he was already doing to combat his personal issues.

Madam Pomfrey didn’t agree with him, however. “Those words have become quite the mantra for you over the years,” she sniffed as Harry glared at her. “Mr. Potter, you are most certainly not fine, I could tell the moment I saw you at the trial last month. Your behavior during your testimony all but confirmed what I suspected, and Mr. Black shared the full details with me just a few hours ago.”

Sirius had told her, too?

“Christ,” Harry muttered, “do all the teachers know?”

“No,” said Madam Pomfrey, waving her wand over Harry in her usual diagnostic patterns he had become all-too-familiar with over the years, “but I will be sharing the basic details with the relevant teachers tomorrow after your schedule for the year has been sorted out. Professor McGonagall will be letting me know which members of staff I will need to speak with.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Madam Pomfrey,” protested Harry. “Ron’s planning to take all the same classes as me, he can handle anything that could happen –”

“Your godfather is not as confident in Mr. Weasley’s capabilities as you are, Mr. Potter,” said McGonagall firmly. “He has expressed his worries regarding the panic attacks in particular, citing the fact that Miss Weasley has been the only person able to reach you during the worst of the panic attacks you’ve experienced. Seeing as how she is in the year below you, we will need the teachers of your classes to go through some basic training so they know exactly what to do should you suffer any severe panic attacks.”

“So weak…”

Harry jumped to his feet, feeling very agitated, and started pacing. “You need to sit down, Mr. Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey firmly, a piece of parchment in hand as a quill scribbled across it. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

“I don’t need anyone else involved in this,” said Harry fiercely. “I’ve got Ron and Hermione during my classes, and they know what they’re doing. I’m fine!”

“My readings show that your heart rate is increasing,” said Madam Pomfrey dispassionately as she looked at the parchment in her hands, the quill practically dancing across the surface, “developing shortness of breath, sweating, shakiness, possible chest pain, all signs of an impending panic attack.” She looked up at Harry. “You need to sit down and take deep, slow breaths now, Mr. Potter.”

Harry wanted nothing more in that moment than to bolt, but forced himself to sit down, starting in on the breathing techniques Sirius had taught him and ignoring the two women in the room with him.

“Potter,” said Professor McGonagall in an unusually gentle tone of voice once Harry had calmed himself, “there is nothing wrong with the fact that you’re struggling. You deserved help last year but did not receive it, and I am determined to make sure such a thing never happens again under my watch.”

Harry nodded silently, unable to bring himself to look up at her.

“This is not weakness,” continued McGonagall quietly, “to need the help of others around you. I know you accept the help of your friends and loved ones, but you are worthy of the help and support of your teachers, as well.”

“Even Professor Snape?” said Harry, unable to keep the bitter tone from his voice. “He’s going to –”

“Say and do nothing to make your situation more difficult than it already is,” McGonagall cut him off firmly. “You are not the first student to struggle with panic attacks, and neither was Miss Weasley. His duty as a teacher means that he will not use the knowledge Madam Pomfrey shares with him against you.”

Harry shot her a dubious look. “But what if he does? You know he hates me!”

“Then I expect to be the first to know,” said McGonagall seriously. “Anyone who deliberately targets you should be reported to me before anyone else, including your godfather, is that understood?”

Harry nodded again. “Yes, Professor,” he said quietly, looking away again to hide his embarrassment. “Can I go now?”

“I’m done with my baseline readings,” Madam Pomfrey spoke up, rolling up the parchment in her hands and banishing the quill that had been writing on it, “but I will need to see you back in one weeks’ time on Monday evening, Mr. Potter. I will be sure to remind you the morning of to come to me right after dinner so I can evaluate your progress. I will also be speaking with your teachers regularly, and a house elf has been designated to track your sleep patterns.”

“My what?” said Harry, puzzled.

“Your godfather reported that your sleep is frequently interrupted with nightmares, or that you struggle to fall asleep,” said Madam Pomfrey. “We need to be tracking that to ensure you are getting the rest needed to be successful in your classes. If we can find a discernable pattern, I can potentially prescribe a mild sleeping draught to ensure the peaceful rest you require at your age. I expect to see you after dinner Monday evenings until further notice, understood?”

Harry nodded meekly, realizing he had absolutely no control over the situation.

“This is not being done to shame you, Potter,” said McGonagall in that same, unusually gentle voice as she placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Our goal is to help you, and I need you to trust me on this. Can you do that?”

Harry forced himself to meet Professor McGonagall’s eyes. “Yes, Professor,” he said quietly. “I can do that.”

Minutes later, McGonagall escorted him into the Great Hall just as the students started eating. Harry quickly made his way toward Ginny as students all over the hall turned to look at him, some of them even standing up to stare. He sat down between Ginny and Neville, and immediately grabbed Ginny’s left hand with his own, trying not to feel overwhelmed. It hit him in that moment that he hadn’t been around this many people in one room for months, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to stay based on the amount of whispering he was hearing and the looks he knew he was getting.

“Where did you go with McGonagall?” asked Ron from across the table. Harry shook his head, quickly reaching for the nearest platter of chicken to serve himself so he could avoid talking about the fact that he’d be reporting to Madam Pomfrey once a week for the forseeable future.

“Once a week after dinner?” Ginny asked him quietly. Harry nodded silently, unsurprised that she knew at this point. “I’m sorry, it’s been about two years since I last visited her for the panic attacks, I didn’t even think about the fact that she’d want to check in on you like she did me.”

“It’s okay,” said Harry. “It’s just – I’d like to really feel like myself again, without all this –” He broke off, frustrated.

“She’ll be able to help with that,” said Ginny reassuringly. “I promise.”

They ate in silence for a couple minutes. “Has Dumbledore said anything about Voldemort?” asked Harry at length.

“Not yet,” said Hermione quickly from her spot next to Ron. “I expect he’ll save that part for his usual speech after the feast ends.”

“Has anyone noticed his hand?”

Ginny shook her head. “Malfoy hasn’t engaged in his usual activity of insulting Gryffindors, either.”

Harry chanced a quick glance across the hall to the Slytherin table. Malfoy was eating, but did not seem to be participating in the conversation Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin students he usually spoke with were having.

“Didn’t even sneer at me,” Ginny continued. “I thought for sure he’d have something to say about the fact that we’re still together, but he just went straight for his seat.”

“Definitely not like him,” muttered Harry. “You’d think he’d at least be putting up a front, acting like nothing’s changed.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” said Hermione quietly. She looked around suddenly, appearing a bit startled, and Harry realized that the others around them were attempting to listen in on their conversation. He quickly turned the talk to Quidditch, giving Ron the chance to debate the odds of the Chudley Canons with Seamus two seats down, Dean sitting quietly on his other side, looking a little detached.

“What did you do this summer, Harry?” asked Seamus, startling Harry out of his food reverie.

“What? Oh er, just spent time with my friends and godfather.”

“What, you don’t see enough of the Weasleys at school?” laughed Seamus.

“We’d keep him year-round if we could,” said Ron with a grin. “Probably the best thing to happen to our family since Ginny’s first bout of accidental magic.”

“What’d you do?” asked Harry interestedly.

Ginny chuckled. “I changed Fred and George’s hair pink and purple so they couldn’t keep trying to trick me and say they were the other twin.”

Harry, Ron, Seamus, and Neville all burst out laughing at this, Hermione smiling a bit and shaking her head in amusement.

“What’s it like, Harry?” cut in Lavender Brown without warning from Neville’s other side.

“What’s what like?” asked Harry.

“Having a former convict for a godfather, of course!” she exclaimed. “We all read about Sirius Black actually being innocent in the papers, but we almost never saw you around after the news broke.”

“Er, he’s great,” said Harry.

“But he spent almost twelve years imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit!” piped up Parvati Patil from the other side of Lavender. “Wouldn’t being locked up for that long with the dementors drive a person completely mad?”

“He stated he knew he was innocent during the press conference, didn’t he?” said Hermione briskly. “He clearly said, ‘this was not a happy thought, so the dementors could not take away my magic or my sanity.’”

“But is he really sane?” asked Lavender.

“Yes,” said Harry firmly. “Best guardian I’ve ever had.”

“Yes, I noticed the nicer clothes you were wearing on the train,” said Parvati with an appraising gaze. “Hermione always told us to leave it alone, but the clothes you used to wear were obviously hand-me-downs from the fattest kid on the planet.”

“Are those Muggles you grew up with a bit impoverished?” asked Lavender.

“Something like that,” muttered Harry.

Heart racing, breathing irregular, sweating, calm down, get it together…

Ginny obviously sensed the beginnings of a panic attack, because she gripped Harry’s left hand tightly under the table with her own and started asking Lavender and Parvati about their summer break. Her thumb was running back and forth over the hand she had clasped in hers, and Harry focused on that, tracing the gentle movements with his gaze as he breathed in and out… in and out…

Soon the feast faded from view, replaced by the desserts, and Ginny dished up both herself and Harry without batting an eye, placing treacle tart and chocolate fudge on his plate while pressing Parvati for details about how she and her twin sister Padma had begged their parents to allow them to return to Hogwarts this year.

“I would think,” Ginny was saying loudly between bites of chocolate ice cream, “that since Harry Potter came back, it ought to be safe enough for anyone else.”

“Everyone’s scared, though,” said Hermione. “Even my parents have noticed a change in the atmosphere around the place, and they don’t know much of anything about what’s been going on.”

“You didn’t tell them?” asked Ron in surprise.

“The less they know, the better,” said Hermione firmly, though Harry noticed a slight shake to her hands as she cut off a bit of her slice of apple pie. “It was difficult enough having them involved in everything that happened with Professor Umbridge” – Ginny had Harry’s left hand in her own before he could blink – “and they were questioning if the school really was safe for me after that. It took a lot for me to convince them that Umbridge’s behavior was not the norm for this school, and that I was perfectly safe returning.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Harry. “That sounds rough, Hermione.”

“I haven’t told my mum or stepdad much about what’s been going on either,” Dean spoke up, giving Hermione a sympathetic look. “Being Muggles… they just wouldn’t get it.”

“It takes a lot of courage to protect your parents,” said Ron, smiling at Hermione, “especially when it’s supposed to be the other way around.”

“Thank you,” whispered Hermione, returning Ron’s smile with a sad one of her own.

“Ron, that’s really sweet of you,” said Lavender with a strangely sugary smile.

Ron blinked. “Thanks,” he said, sounding slightly uncertain.

“My gran says Hogwarts is the safest place right now,” said Neville firmly. “I’m not worried about anything happening here.”

Was it really the safest place, though? Notwithstanding the new security measures that had been put into place for the current school year, Harry had been in harms way every single year thus far. True, he’d deliberately sought it out at times, but now, knowing that Dumbledore was dying and Malfoy was supposed to come up with a plan to kill him from within the walls of Hogwarts, well… maybe those worried parents out there had a point. Harry looked up at the staff table, taking in the adults seated up there with their wealth of knowledge on a variety of subjects. Very few were in the Order of the Phoenix, but only one of them knew that Dumbledore’s days were numbered…

One teacher and four students in the entire school knew the truth, yet another heavy burden to bear.

All too soon, the desserts were cleared from view, and Professor Dumbledore rose to give his start-of-term speech. “The very best of evenings to you!” he said, smiling broadly, his arms opened wide as though to embrace the whole room. Harry’s eyes were immediately drawn to his right hand.

He’s dying, he thought again, wondering what kind of curse the headmaster had encountered that could have had such a terrible consequence. There were whispers sweeping across the room as Dumbledore merely smiled and shook his purple-and-gold sleeve over his injury.

“Nothing to worry about,” he said airily. “Now… to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you…” He continued speaking, but Harry tuned him out, still thinking about his hand.

Dumbledore had been doing something that was now leading to his slow, but inevitable death. What had he encountered during the space of one week that had done this to him? He’d been perfectly fine when he had come to Privet Drive, but the following Saturday… Had it been something related to defeating Voldemort, perhaps? Until the headmaster set Harry’s first private lesson with him, he had no way to be certain.

“… and Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to say that there is a blanket ban on any joke items bought at the shop called Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.”

“No surprise there,” muttered Ginny to Harry, and he grinned back at her.

“Those wishing to play for their House Quidditch team should give their names to their Heads of Houses as usual. We are also looking for new Quidditch commentators, who should do likewise.

“We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year, Professor Slughorn” – Slughorn stood up, his bald head gleaming in the candlelight, his big waistcoated belly casting the table below into shadow – “is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master.”

Whispers broke out all over the hall, save for Harry and his friends. Harry just grimaced and waited for the bombshell to drop.

“Professor Snape, meanwhile,” said Dumbledore, raising his voice so that it carried over all the muttering, “will be taking over the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

Loud mutterings filled the hall now. “Snape?” said Seamus indignantly. “Is he mad?”

“I always said he was barking,” sighed Ron without any heat.

Dumbledore chose at that moment to clear his throat for attention. He waited until the silence was absolute before continuing.

“Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength.”

The silence seemed to tauten and strain as Dumbledore spoke. Harry gripped Ginny’s hand as he waited to hear what the headmaster had to say.

“I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle’s magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, and we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that your teachers might impose upon you, however irksome you might find them – in particular, the rule that you are not to be out of bed after hours. I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and others’ safety.”

Dumbledore’s blue eyes swept over the students before he smiled once more. “But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip pip!”

With the usual deafening scraping noise, the benches were moved back and the hundreds of students began to file out of the Great Hall toward their dormitories. Ron trailed dutifully, if reluctantly after Hermione as she darted ahead to fulfill their prefect’s duty of shepherding the first years, and Ginny walked more slowly with Harry, neither of them in any particular hurry to join the massive throng of students that would inevitably crowd up the doors of the Great Hall in their haste to head for their varying common rooms. Neville stayed back with them.

“What do you think happened to Dumbledore’s hand?” he asked them. “It looks just as bad as it did at the trial.”

Harry shook his head. “No idea,” he said, “but I reckon it can’t be good, can it?”

He didn’t dare tell Neville that Dumbledore was slowly dying.

“Hi, Hagrid,” said Ginny loudly, attracting the boys’ attention.

“Hey there, Ginny, Harry, Neville,” said Hagrid, beaming at them. “I trust the rest o’ yer summer was good.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, smiling up at the half-giant. “How’s Grawp doing these days?”

“He’s got a new home up in the mountains now,” said Hagrid cheerfully, “Dumbledore fixed it – nice big cave. He’s much happier than he was in the forest. We were havin’ a good chat.”

“Really?” said Harry, thinking of how little Hagrid’s half-brother, a vicious giant with a talent for ripping up trees by the roots, hadn’t had much to say the single time he’d met him. “That’s – that’s nice.”

“Oh yeah, he’s really come on,” said Hagrid proudly. “Yeh’ll be amazed. I was thinkin’ o’ trainin’ him up as me assistant.”

Harry nodded, trying to keep the skepticism he felt from showing on his face.

“Anyway, I’ll see yeh tomorrow Harry, firs’ lesson’s straight after lunch. Come early an’ yeh can say hell ter Buck – I mean, Witherwings!”

Raising an arm in cheery farewell, he headed out of the front doors into the darkness.

Harry stared after him. “You didn’t purchase the required materials for Care of Magical Creatures,” said Ginny.

“I know,” said Harry. He looked at Neville. “You’re not taking Care of Magical Creatures, are you?”

Neville shook his head quickly. “What about Ron and Hermione?”

“I… I don’t think so, no,” said Harry quietly.

It was a somber trio that made their way up to Gryffindor tower. Neville quickly headed up to their dormitory, but Harry hung back to say goodnight to Ginny. He noticed Romilda Vane and a couple of her friends lingering near the girls’ dormitory staircase, chatting idly and trying not to make it obvious that they were looking at him. “Is the whole school year going to be like this?” he muttered to Ginny.

“You are quite the catch, Harry,” said Ginny with an amused grin. “Testifying against that toad of a woman, heir to a massive fortune, not to mention the whole –”

Harry groaned and kissed Ginny to keep from hearing the words ‘Chosen One’ yet again. A moment later, he pulled away when a couple of girls nearby let out sobs and fled up the stairs. “What is the deal?” he asked Ginny in exasperation. “Did everyone actually believe that rubbish in the Daily Prophet?”

“I think so, yeah,” said Ginny wryly. “Too bad for them I’m extremely possessive.” She pulled Harry into another kiss. “I’ll see you down here before breakfast?”

Harry nodded, leaned close, and whispered, “I love you.”

Ginny smiled at him, kissed him again, and whispered back, “I love you, too.” They parted ways for the night, Harry heading up to his dormitory to find everyone else already changed into their pajamas and climbing into their beds.

“Took you long enough,” said Ron with a grin. “How long does it take to say goodnight to my sister?”

“I’m sure I could’ve taken longer,” Harry teased him, striding to his trunk to dig out his nightclothes as Ron snorted and tossed his pillow at him. Harry easily caught it and threw it back, nailing Ron right in the face.

“How are you okay with this?” demanded Dean suddenly. Harry glanced over at him to see him glaring at Ron. “Your best friend is seeing your sister!”

“I wasn’t aware that I was supposed to automatically disqualify Harry from seeing Ginny,” said Ron, ears going red as he shoved his pillow behind him. “What’s it to you, anyway?”

Dean glared at Ron, but turned away silently and clambered into his bed, quickly drawing his curtains shut.

Harry hesitated, then got ready for bed without another word. He had sensed that Dean wasn’t exactly all that happy about him and Ginny being together, but he hadn’t expected this. Pulling his own curtains shut around his bed, Harry quickly settled down and drifted off to sleep.



Fred and George used to say that Ron could sleep like the dead. “The house could be blown up and he’d easily sleep through it!” George had laughed once.

Ron hadn’t enjoyed the teasing, even though every word was true.

Well, had been true. It wasn’t the case anymore.

It wasn’t the shifting that first stirred Ron from sleep so much as it was the quiet whimpers and moans. It took him a few moments to figure out why he was awake, but then his eyes snapped open and he was quickly sliding out of his bed and crossing over to Harry’s.

When Ron had been about to board the train to come to Hogwarts, Sirius had caught and pulled him aside for a brief moment. “He’s still having nightmares,” he had said. “Can I count on you to help him with that?”

Ron had nodded without hesitation. “Does he still talk in his sleep sometimes?”

“He’s woken me with his screams before,” had been Sirius’s tense reply. “Just – do what you can until I get some things in place to help.”

“Harry,” whispered Ron now, carefully pulling the curtains surrounding Harry’s bed back. He could just make out Harry’s face in the darkness, and saw it scrunched up as he moaned again.

After a moment’s hesitation, Ron reached out to try and gently wake Harry when he spoke. “Please don’t be dead…”

Ron froze, hand inches from Harry’s shoulder. Those words were familiar somehow… and then it came to him. Two days after Harry had saved Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets, he had muttered similar words in his sleep when Ron had awoken in the middle of the night to use the toilet.

It had been over three years ago, but it seemed that Voldemort’s intrusion into Harry’s mind had caused old memories to resurface.

“Stop it… please stop…”

Ron came back to himself and placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Wake up, Harry,” he muttered, shaking Harry gently, but Harry didn’t wake, instead curling into a tight ball on his side and mumbling incoherently into his pillow. Damn, Ron worried more when it was harder to wake Harry because it increased the chances of waking the others. He knew Neville wouldn’t mind (he never did), but Dean and Seamus were bound to be less forgiving considering their reactions the previous year.

Ron shook Harry’s shoulder a little harder. “Harry, please wake up,” he whispered, but Harry groaned, tossing his head on his pillow a bit, and Ron was abruptly thrown back at once to the memory of holding Harry down in the hospital wing on that horrible night in June.

“What’s wrong with him?” demanded Ron as Madam Pomfrey ushered him out of her way. “I thought you gave him Dreamless Sleep!”

“I didn’t,” said Madam Pomfrey, sounding irritated and worried. “The Nerve Regeneration Potion he took –”

“Nerve regeneration?” cut in Ginny. “What do you mean?”

“The Cruciatus Curse attacks the nervous system,” snapped Madam Pomfrey as Harry tossed and turned on the bed. She waved her wand over him, muttering to herself, but nothing changed. Harry was still shifting about restlessly in his sleep, mumbling words that Ron couldn’t make out. “The Nerve Regeneration Potion he needed reacts adversely to the key ingredient that allows for a dreamless sleep, so I had to give him something milder that simply induces prolonged sleep.”

“That’s right,” said Hermione quickly. “Professor Snape spoke about that last year –”

“But he’s only like this when he’s dreaming about whatever You-Know-Who’s doing,” said Ron, not the least bit interested in anything Snape had ever said about any potions at that moment. “I’ve seen this before, this is how he is when he’s having a vision.”

“Vision?” asked Neville sharply. “What –?”

“He sees what You-Know-Who’s doing sometimes,” said Ginny, face pale as Madam Pomfrey continued to work over Harry to wake him up. “Right before Christmas holidays, when he was saying a snake had –”

“Attacked your dad,” finished Neville. “He was right, he actually saw it?” Ron nodded.

“That sounds horrible,” whispered Luna. “But – Ronald, how is it that he’s able to specifically see –?”

“I can’t wake him,” said Madam Pomfrey abruptly, and she started barking out orders, sending Luna and Ginny scurrying for specific potions from her supplies and waving her wand over Harry again, muttering under her breath as the two girls came back carrying three vials of potions each. “The blue one,” she commanded, and Luna quickly handed the vial over. “Mr. Wealsey, I need you to hold down Mr. Potter temporarily while I get him to ingest this.”

“Can’t you just do a Body Bind?” asked Ron as he hurried over to comply.

“It interferes with his ability to swallow,” said Hermione at once, sounding worried.

Ron ended up sitting at the head of the bed, leaning back as far as he could with Harry’s back resting against his chest. He wrapped his arms around Harry, holding his arms down as Madam Pomfrey positioned his head on Ron’s shoulder, opened his mouth, and poured the contents of the vial in.

Harry immediately gagged, feet pushing hard enough against the bed to knock his head into Ron’s. He let go, and Harry slumped to the bed, eyes tightly screwed shut, his scar looking slightly inflamed.

But he didn’t wake up.

Madam Pomfrey waved her wand and then tried another potion, this one lime green, Neville planting himself at the foot of the bed to hold down Harry’s legs. Harry choked it down with mild assistance from the matron, some of it dribbling down his cheek, but Hermione was there with a handkerchief to wipe it away.

Still, Harry didn’t wake.

It went on and on, potions, spells, and more. Harry’s restlessness began to turn more and more violent, and Madam Pomfrey conjured restraints to hold Harry down after he managed to kick her in the side twice.

Ron knew within moments that this was a mistake.

Harry fought harder, the mumbling beginning to become words they could make out. “Stop it, let me go, please, get out of my head… no, you’re not supposed to see… not supposed to… NO!”

“It’s not working!” cried out Hermione. “Please, Madam Pomfrey, isn’t there something else you can try?”

The only solution that seemed to keep Harry from reacting as violently was physically holding him down. Hermione and Luna ended up at Harry’s feet, Neville and Ron with Harry’s arms, and Ginny at Harry’s head, keeping him from bashing into the headboard or anything else. “His scar looks so inflamed,” whispered Ginny at one point when Harry seemed to have a bit of lull where he wasn’t fighting as hard.

“It’s got to be a vision,” said Hermione, “but it’s
never lasted this long!”

“What if…” said Ginny as Madam Pomfrey came back over with a book in one hand and another vial of potion in the other.

“What?” asked Ron.

“What if he’s reacted to something in the sleeping potion he took?”

“It’s entirely possible,” said Madam Pomfrey. “Professor Dumbledore did not see fit to alert me to Mr. Potter’s… whatever this is – visions, you said? But I cannot seem to find a way to wake him. Nothing is working!”

They had to switch up positions every so often as Madam Pomfrey continued to try and find a solution, Harry meandering between mumbling, shouting, and even crying, something Ron had never seen from his best friend. Sometimes he sounded like a small child as he begged to be let out, saying he was sorry and he didn’t do it.

Ron had no idea what that was about, but it couldn’t be anything good.

Time dragged on, everyone slowly feeling more and more haggard as nothing Madam Pomfrey tried worked for Harry. Luna was tense and scared, something Ron had never seen from her before, and Neville needed a second dose of Calming Draught as he started to work himself up again over the possibility that Harry might have been permanently damaged by the Cruciatus Curse, after all.

Professor Snape entered the hospital wing about an hour and a half into Harry’s endless nightmare, apparently having been preoccupied with Umbridge and her Inquisitorial Squad goons. He took one look at Harry and proclaimed that they needed Professor Dumbledore there right away, that no one else would be able to wake him. He quickly left to seek the headmaster out himself, leaving the five teenagers with Madam Pomfrey to keep Harry as safe as possible for another half-hour or so before Dumbledore strode into the wing, dark blue robes sweeping behind him as he swiftly approached the bed. He had Ginny hold Harry’s head still as he withdrew his wand, leaned in close, and began to chant softly.

Ron had never seen anything like it. Harry’s body tensed as he started screaming and flailing violently, and Ron redoubled his grip on Harry’s right arm as the headmaster continued to chant, words Ron didn’t understand flowing from his lips, wand lightly touching Harry’s scar. Then he withdrew. “Wake him,” he told Ron, and he didn’t hesitate, letting go of Harry’s arm to seize him by the shoulders.

“Harry, wake up!”


Harry’s eyes snapped open and he shot upright, Ron just barely catching him by the shoulders as he took in the glassy eyes and gasping breaths. He instantly recognized what was going on. Harry had leapt straight from the nightmare he’d been having into a panic attack.

It had been a few days since the last one, and Ginny had sorted it out quite quickly, but Ginny wasn’t here this time. It was just Ron.

“Harry,” he said softly, “hey, it’s Ron, you’re in Gryffindor Tower, we’re safe, mate, c’mon, I’m right here…” He kept it up, grabbing one of Harry’s hands like he’d seen Sirius do once and pressing it against his chest, trying his best to keep his breathing slow and even as Harry trembled beneath his hands, a tear leaking from a one eye as he stared sightlessly at a point just over Ron’s left shoulder.

Slowly, but surely, Harry stopped gasping for air and began to breathe with Ron, the trembling eventually easing as his friend’s gaze focused. “Ron?” he finally whispered weakly.

“Right here,” said Ron, doing his best to smile.

Harry nodded a bit, pulling his hand away from Ron’s chest to cover his face. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t –”

“Ginny’s rule, Harry,” said Ron quietly. Harry nodded again, propping his elbows on his knees and sighing.

“I know,” he said, hands in his messy hair, “it’s just –”

“Are we really going to have another year of you interrupting our sleep?” came Dean’s annoyed voice from the other side of the dormitory. His curtains were thrown back to reveal a deep scowl on his face.

“Bugger off, Thomas,” snapped Ron at once. “You’re already on thin ice with me.”

“How many nightmares does one bloke have to have, anyway?” asked Dean sourly. “It was almost every night after you got out of the hospital wing, Harry, you realize that, right?”

Harry stiffened and glanced at Dean before slipping out of bed, grabbing his wand, dressing gown, and glasses, and then striding quickly from the room.

“What is his deal?” demanded Dean.

“What the hell is yours?” Ron shot back angrily as Seamus and Neville drew back their own curtains, each boy looking rumpled and tired. “I’m going to deduct points if you keep up with this shite attitude!”

Dean glared at him. “So you’re perfectly content to start our first day of classes without a full nights’ rest, is that it?”

“I wouldn’t have been up with Harry if I wasn’t okay with it.”

“Well, I’m not okay with losing sleep like this!” snarled Dean. “You’re telling me there’s no way to keep him from bothering the rest of us?”

“It doesn’t bother me,” said Neville, chin jutting out defiantly.

Ron glanced at Seamus, who raised his hands defensively and muttered, “It’s a bit hard sometimes, I suppose.”

“Here’s a thought,” said Ron, feeling hot around his ears as he clenched his fists at his sides. “Go do some research and figure it out for yourself! Harry’s doing the best he can, Dean. I mean, surely you’ve noticed that he’s gone through some bloody awful things lately.” He shook his head in disgust. “I reckon it takes someone with the emotional range of a teaspoon to not be more – more sensitive to that fact!”

Snagging his own wand and his maroon dressing gown, Ron stomped from the room to go find Harry as he muttered angrily under his breath about insensitive pricks. He reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped into the common room to see Harry sitting on the rug before the dying fire, legs drawn tightly to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them.

“Hey,” said Ron quietly as he approached his friend. Harry shifted slightly, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge him. Sighing softly, Ron dropped down next to Harry and stared at the dying fire, as well.

“Dean’s a git,” he finally said. “I almost took points for his poor attitude.”

“He’s right, though,” said Harry so quietly Ron almost couldn’t hear him. “I’m starting to get a bit better during the day, but at night –” He broke off and shook his head. “I’d be annoyed if the same person kept waking me up at night over and over, too.”

“Doesn’t give him the right to just have a go at you like that,” said Ron with a scowl. “I think he’s upset about you and Ginny being together, and he’s just taking it all out on you because you’re far less likely to curse him.”

“I’m sure I could come up with something creative,” muttered Harry sullenly, and Ron chuckled a bit.

“I told him he’s got the emotional range of a teaspoon.”

Harry snorted. “Wouldn’t Hermione say that’s the pot calling the kettle black?”

“I’ll have you know,” said Ron imperiously, “that I’ve improved to at least a tablespoon’s worth over the last few months.”

Harry cracked a grin and ducked his head with a soft chuckle. “You probably have,” he allowed quietly.

They sat in silence for some time.

“Madam Pomfrey knows everything,” said Harry at length, not looking at Ron. “Sirius told her, and well… she er, wants me to check in with her every week to make sure I’m… getting better.”

“Is that where you were earlier?” asked Ron. Harry nodded.

“McGonagall says that Ginny had to do the same thing her second year.”

Ron hadn’t known this, but it made sense. Ginny had made massive improvements during their stay in Egypt, but she had still been very reserved for most of the year from what he remembered.

“Every week, huh?”

Harry nodded and groaned. “I know I’m not exactly…”

“Fine,” supplied Ron with a grin, and Harry rolled his eyes.

“But every week?” he finished in frustration.

“It does sound like a lot,” agreed Ron, “but that’s Madam Pomfrey for you.”

“She’s got a house elf monitoring my sleep patterns, too.”

Ron raised his eyebrows. “Very much the excessive style of our school nurse. I’m surprised this house elf of hers hasn’t come in here to demand you get back to bed.”

“I don’t think that’s part of the job description,” said Harry. He hesitated, then asked, “Was Dean really upset?”

Ron scowled. “Forget him,” he said. “I told him to go research how to ensure he gets his beauty sleep on his own rather than take it out on you.” He looked over at Harry. “We’ll figure this out, same as always,” he promised.

Harry nodded. “On a less somber note,” he said, “I haven’t seen you make any moves yet.”

“What?”

“Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches, ring a bell?”

Ron felt himself flush. “I’m still digesting it,” he muttered. “I told you I want to do it right, remember?”

“I remember, yeah,” said Harry. “I did kind of expect more from you by now, though.”

Ron snorted. “Jump in without thinking things through, you mean?”

“Isn’t that our way?”

Ron laughed at this. “Maybe that worked for you with Ginny, but I don’t think that’ll work with Hermione.”

“No,” replied Harry with a grin, “I suppose not.”

They sat comfortably in silence for a few more minutes before Ron encouraged Harry to go back up to their room to try and sleep. He hesitated, but gave in and followed Ron upstairs. When they entered the room, the curtains around Dean and Seamus’s four posters were drawn shut, but Neville’s were still open, and Ron could see the other boy was still awake.

“Hey,” he said softly when Ron and Harry entered. “All right?”

Harry nodded silently and quickly retreated to his bed, still looking withdrawn. Ron exchanged a sad look with Neville and followed suit. He had a feeling that Harry probably wouldn’t sleep well for the rest of the night, but despite his own worry, Ron quickly and easily drifted off to sleep.

Back to index


Chapter 23: First Day

Author's Notes: Imagine my surprise logging onto the website to discover my story won an award! To whoever voted this story the November 2019 Dumbledore' Silver Trinket Award for Best Romance, thank you! All my writing before this story has been more focused on angst/drama/action/whatever, but to try my hand at writing romance and be awarded for it makes me feel ridiculously warm and fuzzy inside. Again, thank you!

This chapter borrows pretty heavily from HBP chapter 9 "The Half-Blood Prince". Like with earlier chapters, I have done my level best to adapt familiar things with the changes that have occurred as a result of the first story. I've gotten some queries as to the fate of Snape's potions book — you'll get your answer here. It was inspired by an article I read once about book misprints and bookbinding errors; if anyone's going to have awful luck with book errors, it's going to be Harry, after all. Enjoy!


Chapter Twenty-Three: First Day



Harry was exhausted, not having slept much after his nightmare and Dean’s adverse reaction to being awoken in the middle of the night. He stumbled out of bed as he heard Dean begin to stir and quickly showered and dressed before heading down to the common room to wait for Ginny. Harry seated himself in an armchair and tried not to notice as various students stared at him as they passed for the portrait hole, some of them whispering behind their hands, eyes wide and curious. Romilda Vane came down with a couple of the girls Harry had seen her with on the train, and she smiled boldly at Harry, starting to head his way.

“There you are, Harry!” called Ginny loudly as she reached the landing, and Harry quickly jumped to his feet, rushing past Romilda to catch Ginny in a tight hug. “Are you all right?” she whispered when he drew back. “You didn’t sleep well last night, did you?”

Dean came down the stairs next to them and strode past, face stiff with anger. “What fickle friends you have, Harry,” whispered Voldemort’s voice, and Harry flinched before he could stop himself from reacting.

“What did Dean say to you?” muttered Ginny angrily as she seized Harry’s hands in her own and pressed closer to him, clearly understanding what Harry hadn’t been able to put into words. “I have half a mind to hex him on principle.”

“Only if I can join in,” said Ron, having just come down into the common room himself. “Thinks he can just go off at Harry for no good reason.”

“I did wake everyone up,” said Harry quietly.

“Rubbish,” said Ron flatly. “I was the one talking up a storm for a solid five minutes.”

“Why were you… oh,” said Ginny. “Panic attack?” she asked in a whisper.

Harry flushed and nodded as Hermione approached. “Must’ve been a bad one,” said Ron. “In your sleep, you were muttering… well, ‘please don’t be dead.’”

Harry recognized the words at once. He had dreamt about the Chamber of Secrets, only with Voldemort’s colorful commentary added to it, and it hadn’t been pleasant to relive the experience like that. “What does that mean?” asked Hermione. “Nightmare?”

Harry recalled ‘Hermione’s Rule’ at that moment. Don’t hide the truth.

“I – I said that when I found you in the Chamber of Secrets,” Harry said quietly to Ginny. “That’s… what I was dreaming about.”

Hermione and Ron both paled as Ginny pulled Harry into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry you relived that,” she whispered. Harry nodded wordlessly against her shoulder.

“Oi!” said Ron loudly without warning. “It’s rude to point!”

Harry pulled away from Ginny to see a tiny first-year boy go scarlet in the face as his eyes darted between Harry and Ron. He muttered to his friend and quickly joined the queue heading out the portrait hole.

“We should get down to breakfast,” sighed Hermione. “We also ought to remember that this place isn’t exactly free of eavesdroppers, either.” They joined the queue to leave the common room.

There were more students glancing at Harry and whispering to themselves. Harry gripped Ginny’s hand and did his best to ignore it all as they stepped into the corridor.

“Hold it!” said Hermione abruptly, throwing out an arm and halting a passing fourth year, who was attempting to push past her with a lime-green disk clutched tightly in his hand. “Fanged Frisbees are banned, hand it over,” she told him sternly. The scowling boy handed over the snarling Frisbee, ducked under her arm, and took off after his friends. Ron waited for him to vanish, then tugged the Frisbee from Hermione’s grip.

“Excellent, I’ve always wanted one of these.”

Hermione’s remonstration was drowned out by a loud giggle; Lavender Brown had apparently found Ron’s remark highly amusing. She continued to laugh as she passed the four of them, glancing back at Ron over her shoulder. Ron smiled in confusion before shaking his head.

“Anyway,” he said as they headed toward the Great Hall, “being a sixth year is going to be fantastic! We’re going to be getting free time this year. Whole periods when we can just sit in the common room and relax.”

“We’re going to need that time for studying, Ron!” said Hermione sternly.

“Yeah, but not today,” said Ron. “Today’s going to be a real doss, I reckon.”

“Not for me,” grimaced Ginny. “It’s O.W.L.s for me this year.”

“Yeah, they started loading on the homework right away,” said Harry with a nod. “Those first few weeks are pretty awful.”

“You did have those detentions taking up homework time, though,” said Ginny sadly, pulling Harry’s left hand away from his right with practiced ease. “I know I’ll manage all right.”

The ceiling of the Great Hall was serenely blue and streaked with frail, wispy clouds, just like the squares of sky visible through the high mullioned windows. Settling down next to Neville, he, Ginny, and Harry told Ron and Hermione about their embarrassing conversation with Hagrid the previous evening.

“But he can’t really think we’d continue Care of Magical Creatures!” said Hermione, looking distressed. “I mean, when has any of us expressed… you know… any actual enthusiasm?”

“That’s it, though, innit?” said Ron, swallowing an entire fried egg whole. “We were the ones who made the most effort in classes because we like Hagrid. But he thinks we liked the stupid subject. D’you reckon anyone in our year’s going to go on to N.E.W.T.?”

“I don’t think so,” said Neville quietly. It was a subdued group that avoided Hagrid’s eye and returned his cheery wave only halfheartedly when he left the staff table ten minutes later.

Professor McGonagall was striding up and down the house table, passing out schedules to the younger years. When Ginny received hers, she sighed. “Double History of Magic first thing this morning?” she groused. “I’m so sick of that subject!”

“It’s very important to know our history, Ginny,” said Hermione between bites of porridge as she perused the Daily Prophet.

“I don’t see you continuing to N.E.W.T. level for that class,” said Ron as he snagged more bacon.

“I seriously considered it, though,” said Hermione primly, lowering the newspaper to look over at Ginny. “I can pass on my notes for you to revise with if you want.”

“Thanks,” said Ginny with a grin. “I appreciate it.”

“Hey Ginny, Harry!” It was Colin Creevy. He grinned widely at the pair of them. “It’s great to be back isn’t it?”

Harry smiled and nodded.

“Ready to face our doom in Binns’s class, Ginny?”

“Not really,” Ginny sighed to him before turning back to Harry. “I’ll see you at morning break, yeah?”

Harry nodded and leaned over to kiss her. “I love you,” he whispered to her, and she smiled at him.

“I love you, Harry,” she replied, kissing him again before setting off with Colin, Harry breathing in the faint traces of floral shampoo she left in the air. He and all the other sixth-years waited as McGonagall began to focus on their year since the distribution of class schedules was more complicated than usual; she needed first to confirm that everybody had achieved the necessary O.W.L. grades to continue with their chosen N.E.W.T.s.

Hermione was immediately cleared to continue with Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions, and shot off to a first-period Ancient Runes class without further ado. Neville took a little longer to sort out; his round face was anxious as Professor McGonagall looked down his application and then consulted his O.W.L. results.

“Herbology, fine,” she said. “Professor Sprout will be delighted to see you back with an ‘Outstanding’ O.W.L.” Neville met Harry’s eyes and Harry sent him a grin. None of them had been surprised to see that Neville had aced Herbology; it was easily his best subject. “And you qualify for Defense Against the Dark Arts with ‘Exceeds Expectations.’ But the problem is Transfiguration. I’m sorry, Longbottom, but an ‘Acceptable’ really isn’t good enough to continue with N.E.W.T. level. I just don’t think you’d be able to cope with the coursework.”

Neville hung his head. “Professor,” said Harry, recalling some of the discussions they’d had during summer break, “Neville told me this summer that his grandmother’s the one insisting he take it, not him.”

McGonagall glanced at Harry and let out a quiet ‘hmph’. “It’s high time your grandmother learned to appreciate the grandson she’s got,” she said to Neville, “rather than the one she thinks she ought to have – particularly after your testimony in the trial last month.”

Neville turned very pink and blinked confusedly; Professor McGonagall had never paid him a compliment before.

“I’m sorry, Longbottom, but I cannot let you into my N.E.W.T. class. I see you have ‘Exceeds Expectations’ in Charms, however – why not try for a N.E.W.T. in Charms?”

“My grandmother thinks Charms is a soft option,” mumbled Neville.

“Take Charms,” said Professor McGonagall, “and I shall drop Augusta a line reminding her that just because she failed her Charms O.W.L., the subject is not necessarily worthless.” Smiling slightly at the look of delighted incredulity on Neville’s face, Professor McGonagall tapped a blank schedule with the tip of her wand and handed it, now carrying details of his new classes, to Neville.

Harry chatted idly with Ron about Quidditch tryouts while waiting for his turn, paying only half an ear to the conversation Professor McGonagall was having with Parvati Patil about the Divination teachers, Sybill Trelawny and the centaur Firenze. Then she turned to Harry.

“So, Potter, Potter…” she said, consulting her notes. “Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration, and Potions… all fine. I must say, I was pleased with your Transfiguration mark, Potter, very pleased.” Harry grinned up at her, recalling his meeting with her to discuss his career, and her determination that he succeed in his ambitions to become an Auror. “And I see you already know that Professor Slughorn accepts students with ‘Exceeds Expecations’ in Potions, good…” She tapped a blank schedule. “Very well, Potter, here is your schedule. Oh, by the way – twenty hopefuls have already put down their names for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I shall pass that list to you in due course and you can fix up trials at your leisure.”

A few minutes later, Ron was cleared to do the same subjects as Harry, and the two of them left the table together.

“Look,” said Ron delightedly, gazing at his schedule, “we’ve got a free period now… and a free period after break… and after lunch… excellent!”

They returned to the common room, which was empty apart from a half dozen seventh years, including Katie Bell, the only remaining member of the original Gryffindor Quidditch team that Harry had joined in his first year. She was pleased to see he had been appointed Captain and insisted on trying out for the Chaser spot like everyone else. “Good teams have been ruined before now because Captains just kept playing the old faces, or letting in their friends…”

Ron looked a little uncomfortable and began playing with the Fanged Frisbee Hermione had taken from the fourth-year student. It zoomed around the common room, snarling and attempting to take bites of the tapestry. Crookshanks’s yellow eyes followed it and he hissed when it came too close.

An hour later they reluctantly left the sunlit common room for the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom four floors below. Hermione was already waiting outside, carrying an armful of heavy books and looking put-upon.

“We got so much homework for Runes,” she said anxiously, when Harry and Ron joined her. “A fifteen-inch essay, two translations, and I’ve got to read these by Wednesday!”

“Shame,” yawned Ron.

“You wait,” she said resentfully. “I bet Snape gives us loads.”

The classroom door opened as she spoke, and Snape stepped into the corridor, his sallow face framed as ever by two curtains of greasy black hair. Silence fell over the queue immediately.

“Inside,” was all he said.

Harry uneasily passed Snape, keeping his gaze averted and wondering if Madam Pomfrey had already spoken to him about the flashbacks and panic attacks. Thankfully, Snape said nothing as he entered, and he was able to turn his attention to the room to see that Snape had imposed his personality upon it already; it was gloomier than usual, as curtains had been drawn over the windows, and was lit by candlelight. New pictures adorned the walls, many of them showing people who appeared to be in pain, sporting grisly injuries or strangely contorted body parts. Nobody spoke as they settled down, looking around at the shadowy, gruesome pictures. Harry recognized one of a witch suffering from the Cruciatus Curse and quickly looked away, gripping his right hand tightly with his left.

Hermione, sitting on Harry’s right, gently placed her hands on top of his for a moment before pulling his hands apart. He glanced around to see Malfoy shoot him a smirk, which he scowled at. Never mind that the Slytherin had the seemingly-impossible task of murdering Dumbledore on Voldemort’s orders. He was still a complete arse.

“I require your fullest attention,” said Snape, closing the door and moving to face the class from behind his desk. His eyes roved over their upturned faces, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Harry’s than anyone else’s. Harry held himself still, refusing to react.

“You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe.”

There was no ‘believe’ about it; Snape obviously knew this, had watched each one come and go, waiting for his chance.

“Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. Given this confusion I am surprised so many of you scraped an O.W.L. in this subject.” It wasn’t surprising to Harry; he had personally taught at least half the class in the D.A. meetings the previous year. “I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will be much more advanced.”

Snape set off around the edge of the room, speaking now in a lower voice; the whole class craned their necks to keep him in view.

“The Dark Arts,” said Snape, “are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible.”

Harry quietly listened, unnerved by the loving caress in Snape’s voice as he spoke about the Dark Arts.

“Your defenses,” said Snape, a little louder, “must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures” – he indicated a few of them as he swept past – “give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse” – Harry looked down, not wanting to stare at that picture again as Ron gripped his left hand – “feel the Dementor’s Kiss, or provoke the aggression of the Inferius.”

“Has an Inferius been seen, then?” said Parvati in a high-pitched voice. “Is it definite, is he using them?”

“The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past,” said Snape, “which means you would be well-advised to assume he might use them again. Now…”

He set off again around the other side of the classroom toward his desk, and again, they watched him as he walked, his dark robes billowing behind him.

“… you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?”

Hermione’s hand shot right into the air. Snape took his time looking around at everybody else, making sure he had no choice, before saying curtly, “Very well – Miss Granger?”

“Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you’re about to perform,” said Hermione, “which gives you a split-second advantage.”

“An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six,” said Snape dismissively (over in the corner, Malfoy sniggered), “but correct in essentials. Yes, those who progress to using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spell-casting. Not all wizards, can do this of course; it is a question of concentration and mind power which some lack.”

He glanced around the room. “You will now divide into pairs. One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other pair will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on.”

Harry had taught the D.A. last year how to do a Shield Charm, but none of them had ever attempted it without speaking. A reasonable amount of cheating (whispering under one’s breath) seemed to ensue as Harry partnered with Ron and Hermione partnered with Neville. It came as no surprise when Hermione managed to repel Neville’s muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx without uttering a single word after about ten minutes, nor was it surprising when Snape completely ignored her success, instead lingering to watch Ron, who was purple in the face, his lips tightly compressed to save himself from the temptation of muttering the incantation. Harry had his wand raised, waiting on tenterhooks to repel a jinx that seemed unlikely ever to come.

“Pathetic, Weasley,” said Snape, after a while. “Here – let me show you –”

He turned his wand on Harry so fast that Harry reacted instinctively; all thought of nonverbal spells forgotten, he yelled, “Protego!”

His Shield Charm was so strong that Snape was knocked off-balance and hit a desk. The whole class looked around and now watched as Snape righted himself, scowling.

“Do you remember me telling you we are practicing nonverbal spells, Potter?”

Harry saw the anger in his dark eyes and averted his gaze at once, unable to repress a flinch. “It is pleasing to see one of my most devoted followers treating you exactly as you ought to be,” Voldemort’s voice whispered, and Harry fought the impulse to react to the words, to give into the flashback, to do anything but be present in that moment as Luna had told him to do.

“Yes, sir,” Harry forced himself to speak, looking slightly to the left of Professor Snape. “I’m sorry.”

Silence encompassed the entire room. No student had ever heard Harry willingly apologize to Snape for anything before. Behind Snape, Neville and Ron gaped openly. Even Hermione appeared shocked.

Snape stilled for a long moment as he eyed Harry. “Very well,” he said neutrally. “Continue as you were.” And he swept away, ordering everyone in the room to get back to work.

“You actually apologized to Snape!” exclaimed Ron once they were safely on their way to break a short while later. “Why’d you do it, anyway?”

Harry shrugged, all-too-aware of the other students around them who were trying to listen in. This was starting to become a frustratingly common occurrence.

“Anyway, crazy the way he talks about the Dark Arts, innit?” said Ron.

“He seems to love them,” agreed Harry with a nod. “All that unfixed, indestructible stuff –”

“Well,” said Hermione slowly, “I thought he sounded a bit like you, Harry.”

“Like me?”

“Yes, when you were telling us what it’s like to face Voldemort. You said it wasn’t just memorizing a bunch of spells, you said it was just you and your brains and your guts – well wasn’t that what Snape was saying? That is really comes down to being brave and quick-thinking?”

Harry was so startled that she had thought his words as well worth memorizing as The Standard Book of Spells that he did not argue.

“Harry! Hey, Harry!”

Harry looked around; Jack Sloper, one of the Beaters on last year’s Gryffindor Quidditch team, was hurrying toward him holding a roll of parchment.

“For you,” panted Sloper. “Listen, I heard you’re the new Captain. When’re you holding trials?”

“I’m not sure yet,” said Harry, privately thinking that Sloper would be very lucky to get back on the team. “I’ll let you know.”

“Oh, right. I was hoping it’d be this weekend –”

But Harry was not listening; he had just recognized the thin, slanting writing on the parchment. Leaving Sloper in mid-sentence, he hurried away with Ron and Hermione, unrolling the parchment as he went.

Dear Harry,
I would like to start our private lessons this Saturday. Kindly come along to my office at 8 P.M. I hope you are enjoying your first day back at school.
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
P.S. I enjoy Acid Pops.


“He enjoys Acid Pops?” said Ron, who had read the message over Harry’s shoulder and was looking perplexed.

“It’s the password,” said Harry quickly as he spotted Ginny. He waved at her; she said goodbye to Colin and her other friends before coming over.

“Hey, you,” she said with a grin as he leaned down to kiss her. “What have you had so far?”

“Just Defense Against the Dark Arts,” said Harry.

“Ooh, what’s Snape like in there?” she asked. “I don’t have him until tomorrow.” Harry, Ron, and Hermione discussed their class with her, and she was clearly as surprised as everyone else had been that Harry had apologized to Snape.

“Why did you say sorry to him?” asked Ron.

Harry shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. “I mean, he’s still Snape, but I…” He sighed, remembering Hermione’s rule. “It was a land mine,” he finally admitted. “I thought it’d end faster if I… did something I don’t normally do.”

No one spoke for a few moments. “I wondered if it might be something like that,” said Hermione at last. “Thank you for being honest with us, Harry.”

“You know,” added Ginny, “if you keep it up, he might shift from antagonizing you to ignoring you!”

“I genuinely prefer being ignored,” said Harry with a small grin. “Anyway…” He showed her Dumbledore’s note, and the four of them spent the rest of break speculating on what Dumbledore would teach Harry that would ensure his victory against Voldemort. The main thing they could agree on was that, whatever the lessons entailed, Sirius thought they were of the utmost importance. Ron thought maybe Harry would be learning spells that not even Death Eaters would know, but Hermione argued against that, again citing Sirius’s approval of these lessons.

“He wouldn’t want Harry to learn illegal curses or the like,” she said, “and I doubt Dumbledore would either.”

After break ended, Hermione went off to Arithmancy, and Ginny to Charms while Harry and Ron returned to the common room, where they grudgingly started Snape’s homework. This turned out to be so complex that they still had not finished when Hermione joined them for their after-lunch free period (though she considerably speeded up the process). They had only just finished when the bell rang for the afternoon’s double Potions and they beat the familiar path down to the dungeon classroom that had, for so long, been Snape’s.

When they arrived in the corridor they saw that there were only a dozen people progressing to N.E.W.T. level. There were four Slytherins (including Malfoy), four Ravenclaws, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan, whom Harry liked despite his rather pompous manner.

“Harry,” Ernie said portentously, holding out his hand as Harry approached, “didn’t get a chance to speak in Defense Against the Dark Arts this morning. Good lesson, I thought, but Shield Charms are old hat, of course, for us old D.A. lags… And how are you, Ron – Hermione?”

Before they could say more than “fine,” the dungeon door opened and Slughorn’s belly preceded him out of the door. Sirius had spoken some about his old Potions teacher, and swore up and down that Uncle Vernon outstripped him in terms of weight and mustache. Harry decided that Sirius’s memory had to be faulty, because both the belly and mustache both were larger than anything his uncle could have ever managed. Slughorn ushered the students in, greeting both Harry and Zabini with particular enthusiasm.

The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapors and odd smells. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sniffed interestedly as they passed large, bubbling cauldrons. The four Slytherins took a table together, as did the four Ravenclaws. This left Harry, Ron, and Hermione to share a table with Ernie. They chose the one nearest a gold-colored cauldron that was emitting one of the most seductive scents Harry had ever inhaled: Somehow it reminded him simultaneously of treacle tart, the woody smell of a broomstick handle, and –

Coloring, Harry leaned away from the cauldron. “What?” whispered Hermione from across the table, but Harry shook his head.

The last scent he’d detected was Ginny’s shampoo, that flowery scent that followed her everywhere she went. He glanced at Ron to see him grinning lazily at him, and did his best to smile back, wondering what this particular potion could be, and what it was his friends had smelled upon inhaling.

“Now then, now then, now then,” said Slughorn, whose massive outline was quivering through the many shimmering vapors. “Scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don’t forget your copies of Advanced Potion Making!” He smiled at the class as they all obliged, pulling out their materials quickly and quietly.

“So,” said Slughorn, inflating his already bulging chest so that the buttons on his waistcoat threatened to burst off, “I’ve prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know. These are the kind of thing you ought to be able to make after completing your N.E.W.T.s. You ought to have heard of ‘em, even if you haven’t made ‘em yet. Anyone tell me what this one is?”

He indicated the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table. Harry raised himself slightly in his seat and saw what looked like plain water boiling away inside it.

Hermione’s well-practiced hand hit the air before anybody else’s. Slughorn pointed at her.

“It’s Veritaserum,” she answered with a worried glance at Harry; Ron’s hand was already gripping Harry’s left wrist to keep it from moving since anything with even the vaguest connection to Umbridge still tended to set off the same reaction almost every time. Harry shot Ron a grateful look as Hermione continued speaking. “It’s a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth.”

“Very good, very good!” said Slughorn happily. “Now,” he continued, pointing at the potion nearest the Ravenclaw table, “this one here is pretty well known… Featured in a few Ministry leaflets lately too… Who can –?”

Hermione’s hand was fastest once more.

“It’s Polyjuice Potion, sir,” she said.

Harry too had recognized the slow-bubbling, mudlike substance in the second cauldron, but did not resent Hermione getting the credit for answering the question; she, after all, was the one who had succeeded in making it, back in their second year.

The third potion, located on their table, turned out to be something called Amortentia, the most powerful love potion in the world. Hermione and Slughorn discussed its characteristics. “It’s supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us,” said Hermione eagerly, “and I can small freshly mown grass and new parchment and –”

She abruptly cut off, turning slightly pink. Well, that explained the different things Harry had smelt, he thought, especially that last one.

“May I ask your name, my dear?” Slughorn asked Hermione, ignoring her embarrassment.

“Hermione Granger, sir.”

“Granger? Granger? Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?”

“No, I don’t think so, sir. I’m Muggle-born, you see.”

Harry saw Malfoy lean close to Nott and whisper something; both of them sniggered, but Slughorn showed no dismay; on the contrary, he beamed and looked from Hermione to Harry.

“Oho! ‘One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she’s the best in our year!’ I’m assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Harry?”

“Yes, sir,” said Harry.

“Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger,” said Slughorn genially.

Malfoy looked rather as he had done the time Hermione had punched him in the face. Hermione looked over at Harry with a radiant expression and whispered, “Did you really tell him I’m the best in the year? Oh, Harry!”

“He only spoke the truth,” said Ron, suddenly looking rather eager as he leaned forward. “I’d have said the exact same thing if he’d asked me.”

Hermione blinked, but smiled warmly at Ron. “Thanks,” she whispered to him, and he sat back, looking pleased with himself.

Maybe the section in Ron’s book about compliments was onto something.

Slughorn explained about how dangerous Amortentia could be due to its ability to cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. “And now,” said Slughorn, “it is time for us to start work.”

“Sir, you haven’t told us what’s in this one,” said Ernie, pointing at a small black cauldron standing on Slughorn’s desk. The potion within was splashing about merrily; it was the color of molten gold, and large drops were leaping like goldfish above the surface, though not a particle had spilled.

“Oho,” said Slughorn again. Harry was sure that Slughorn had not forgotten the potion at all, but had waited to be asked for dramatic effect. “Yes. That. Well, that one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis. I take it,” he turned, smiling to look at Hermione, who had let out an audible gasp, “that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?”

“It’s liquid luck,” said Hermione excitedly. “It makes you lucky!”

The whole class seemed to sit up a little straighter, but none more than Malfoy. Harry was suddenly seized with the intense desire to tackle the Slytherin boy to the floor to keep him from getting his hands on it, though the blonde had made no move to rise. The last thing Malfoy needed was to be lucky enough to succeed in his mission for Voldemort.

“Quite right, take another ten points for Gryffindor. Yes, it’s a funny little potion, Felix Felicis,” said Slughorn. He explained the difficulty in making it, it’s effects (all endeavors would come to pass?), and the side-effects of taking too much. Then, he dropped the bombshell:

“One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis as the prize for today,” said Slughorn, taking a miniscule glass bottle with a cork in it out of his pocket and showing it to them all. “Enough for twelve hours’ luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt.

“Now, I must give you warning that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organized competitions… sporting events, for instance, examinations, or elections. So the winner is to use it on an ordinary day only… and watch how that ordinary day becomes extraordinary!

“So,” said Slughorn, suddenly brisk, “how are you to win my fabulous prize? Well, by turning to page ten of Advanced Potion-Making. We have a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death. I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does it best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!”

There was a scraping as everyone drew their cauldrons toward them and some loud clunks as people began adding weights to their scales, but nobody spoke. The concentration within the room was almost tangible. Harry saw Malfoy riffling feverishly through his copy of Advanced Potion-Making and hoped desperately that Hermione’s attempt would be better than his; twelve hours’ luck was probably more than enough to see Dumbledore dead before Harry could attend the lessons the headmaster had planned for him.

Harry opened his book and blinked. He leaned closer and blinked again. “Sir,” he said, raising his hand, “there’s something wrong with my book.”

Slughorn bustled over and looked at Harry’s book. “Good heavens!” he exclaimed. “It’s so incredibly rare for such a thing to happen.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Ron.

“My book only has the second-half of the contents,” said Harry. “Twice. I don’t have page ten.”

“Well,” said Slughorn, “I do have an extra copy that you can borrow for now until you’re able to have your godfather write to Flourish and Blotts to demand a suitable replacement.” He quickly fetched an old and battered copy of the textbook for Harry to use, and he opened it to the correct page and swiftly bent over it. To his annoyance, Harry saw that the previous owner had scribbled all over the pages, so that the margins were as black as the printed portions. Bending lower to decipher the ingredients (even here, the previous owner had made annotations and crossed things out) Harry hurriedly dug out his ingredients and got to work, doing his best to ignore everyone else around him.

Within ten minutes, the whole place was full of bluish steam. Hermione, of course, seemed to have progressed the furthest. Her potion already resembled the ‘smooth, black currant-colored liquid’ mentioned as the ideal halfway stage.

Having finished chopping his Valerian roots, Harry bent low over his book again. It was really very irritating, having to try and decipher the directions under all the stupid scribbles of the previous owner, who for some reason had taken issue with the order to cut up the sopophorous bean and had written in the alternative instruction:

Crush with flat side of silver dagger, releases juice better than cutting.

The sopophorous bean was proving very difficult to cut up using the printed directions. Debating for a moment, Harry finally decided to give the alternative instructions a chance and pulled out his silver knife, carefully positioning it over the bean and crushing down with the flat side of the dagger. To his astonishment, it immediately exuded so much juice he was amazed the shriveled bean could have held it all. Hastily scooping it all into the cauldron he saw, to his surprise, that the potion immediately turned exactly the shade of lilac described by the textbook.

His annoyance with the previous owner completely vanished in that moment, and he quickly read the instructions to see what he needed to do next, taking into account the additional comments added by the previous owner. The instructions directed for counterclockwise stirring until the potion turned clear as water. The cramped writing insisted on seven counterclockwise stirs followed by one stir clockwise. Could the owner really get this right twice?

Harry stirred counterclockwise, held his breath, and stirred once clockwise. The effect was immediate. The potion turned palest pink.

“How are you doing that?” demanded Hermione, who was red-faced and whose hair was growing bushier and bushier in the fumes from her cauldron; her potion was still resolutely purple.

“Add a clockwise stir –”

“No, no, the book says counterclockwise!” she snapped.

Harry shrugged and continued what he was doing. Seven stirs counterclockwise followed by one stir clockwise again and again, the potion doing exactly what it was supposed to do. Harry looked around, seeing that no one else’s potion had turned as pale as his. He felt elated, something that had never happened before in this dungeon.

Finally, Slughorn called for everyone to step away from their cauldrons and began walking around, taking in everyone’s attempt. He smiled ruefully at the tarlike substance in Ron’s cauldron, and passed over Ernie’s navy concoction without comment. He gave an approving nod to Hermione’s potion, but upon seeing Harry’s, a look of incredulous delight spread across his face.

“The clear winner!” he cried to the dungeon. “Excellent, excellent, Harry! I can scarcely believe this was your least favorite subject when it’s so clear you’ve inherited your mother’s talent. She was a dab hand at Potions, Lily was! Here you are, then, here you are – one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised, and use it well!”

Harry slipped the tiny bottle of golden liquid into his inner pocket, feeling a mixture of pleasure and relief that Malfoy had failed to get his hands on the very thing that would have allowed him to fulfill his mission without issue. He also felt guilt at the disappointed expression on Hermione’s face. This was a subject in which he had never outshone her before.

“How did you do that?” whispered Ron with a dumbfounded expression on his face as they left the dungeon.

“Better learning environment, I suppose,” said Harry, because Malfoy was within earshot.

Once they were securely ensconced at the Gryffindor table for dinner, however, he felt safe enough to tell them everything. “I was honestly just hoping Hermione would do better than Malfoy,” he finished, “because the last thing we need is Malfoy getting luck on his side when we still don’t know his plan.”

“Agreed,” said Ron at once. Hermione’s expression, however, was quite stony.

“I s’pose you think I cheated?” Harry asked her, feeling aggravated by her expression.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly your own work, was it?” she said stiffly.

“He only followed different directions to ours,” said Ron, adding shepherd’s pie to his already-heaping plate of food. “Could’ve been a catastrophe, couldn’t it? But he took a risk and it paid off. We ought to be thankful for that, if nothing else.”

“Hang on,” came Ginny’s voice, and Harry caught another waft of her flowery scent, reminding him vividly of that love potion, Amortentia. “Did I hear right? You’ve been taking orders from something someone else wrote in a book, Harry?”

He looked up to see an alarmed and angry expression on her face, and he immediately knew what was on her mind.

“It’s not like that,” he said quickly. “Ginny, I swear, that’s the last thing I would do, following orders from anything like Riddle’s diary. It’s just an old textbook someone’s scribbled on.”

Ginny sat down next to him, still looked worried. “But you’re doing what it says?”

“I just tried a few of the tips written in the margins,” he replied, taking her hand and giving her the most earnest expression he could. “Ginny, there’s nothing funny –”

“Ginny’s got a point,” said Hermione, perking up at once. “We ought to check that there’s nothing odd about it. I mean, all these funny instructions, who knows?”

“Hey!” said Harry indignantly, as she pulled his copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and raised her wand.

“Specialis Revelio!” she said, rapping it smartly on the cover.

Nothing whatsoever happened. The book simply lay there, looking old and dirty and dog-eared.

“Finished?” said Harry irritably. “Or are there any other decisions you think I’m incapable of making for myself?”

Hermione paled, and Voldemort’s laughter started to fill Harry’s head. Suddenly losing his appetite, Harry seized the book along with his bag and left the Great Hall, ignoring Ginny and his friends as they called out his name. He strode angrily up the grand staircase toward Gryffindor common room, but tripped on the last step and dropped the textbook. Swearing under his breath, Harry bent down to retrieve it, and as he did so, he saw something scribbled in the same small, cramped handwriting as the instructions that had won him his bottle of Felix Felicis, which he was going to safely store inside a pair of socks in his trunk upstairs.

This book is the property of the Half-Blood Prince.



Ginny watched Harry angrily stride out of the Great Hall and turned to face Hermione, scowling deeply.

“You shouldn’t have pushed him like that,” she said.

Hermione glared back at her. “I wasn’t the only one pushing him,” she snapped. “You were the one pushing about how safe the book was to begin with!”

“You both messed up,” cut in Ron tightly. “Didn’t we just apologize yesterday for doubting Harry’s choices and instincts?”

“Seeing as how I never doubted him,” snarled Ginny, temper rising, “I don’t understand why you think I messed up.”

“Look,” said Ron reasonably (something quite unusual for Ginny’s brother), “I get you were worried, Ginny. Books being anything other than what they seem is your land mine, right? But you kept going even after he tried to reassure you that it’s nothing more than a textbook that someone wrote in years ago! And Hermione, I’m sorry, but you made it worse when you took out the book to try and support Ginny’s worry like that.”

“Made it worse?” said Hermione indignantly.

“It’s not my fault!” said Ginny angrily at the same time. “I had to make sure, that’s all!”

“I don’t think that’s how Harry saw it,” said Ron with a shrug, turning back to his plate and stuffing a large bite of shepherd’s pie in his mouth. Ginny stared at him, speechless and confused, while Hermione stared blankly at her own meal.

“Trouble in paradise?” said Romilda Vane snidely as she passed by with a devious smirk on her face. “Maybe Harry needs the loving comfort of someone better suited to him.”

That was it. Ginny was done; she had dealt with snide comments about her and Harry all day, and she’d had quite enough of the disparaging remarks about having bewitched Harry or even pretended to be something she wasn’t to gain access to his inheritance. It certainly didn’t help that the Daily Prophet had made him out to be single on top of all the other nonsense they had been reporting the last couple of weeks.

Turning in her seat, Ginny shot a hard glare at the younger girl. “Tell me, Vane,” she said loudly, “do you think your gold-digging ways are what he actually wants?”

Romilda stopped and turned to face Ginny, that awful smirk still playing about her lips. “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing, Ginny?” she asked snidely.

Ginny saw red, and before she could think it through, she was on her feet, wand in her hand, and Romilda was screaming as bat bogeys erupted from her nose and started flying wildly around her.

“Miss Weasley, what are you doing?”

Ginny winced and lowered her wand as Professor McGonagall rushed over, Banishing the bat bogeys at once and leveling her with her steely gaze.

“She hexed me!” shouted Romilda angrily as she rubbed at her nose.

“You were asking for it!” Ginny fired back. “How dare you assume I’m only with Harry for his fame or fortune, you sick little –!”

“Miss Vane, Miss Weasley, that is quite enough!” McGonagall interrupted. “Twenty points from Gryffindor, and you will each serve detention with me tomorrow after dinner. This kind of behavior is completely unacceptable!”

Ginny glared at Romilda, grabbed her bag, and left the Great Hall, barely noticing the whispers that broke out as she headed for the stairs. She muttered angrily to herself the whole way back to the common room, biting out the password to the Fat Lady and climbing through the portrait hole to see Harry slumped in his favorite chair by the fire. He glanced up at her before looking away.

Ginny’s temper faltered at the withdrawn look on his face, and she slowed her pace as she approached her boyfriend and carefully sat in the chair next to his.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly after a minute of silence. “Ron says… well, I suppose weird books are my own personal land mine.”

Harry nodded, but didn’t say anything in return.

Ginny watched him silently as he stared into the fire. “I hope you know I don’t doubt you,” she finally stated.

“I know that.” Harry said the words so quietly she could barely hear them. “You’ve had my back this whole time.”

“I should’ve believed you right away,” said Ginny.

“You said it was your own personal land mine,” sighed Harry, pulling his glasses off to rub wearily at his face. “I’m not exactly the most reasonable when I’m in that position, myself.” He shoved his glasses back on and looked at Ginny. “I’m not angry with you, Gin, I promise.”

Ginny nodded. “I’ve got detention tomorrow after dinner.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “What for?”

“I hexed Romilda Vane in the middle of the Great Hall.” Harry blinked at her. “She insinuated that I’m only with you because I’m interested in your wealth, and honestly, I’ve been getting snide remarks like that all day, and then she comes along and… well, I snapped. Bat bogeys” – she waved her hands to demonstrate – “all over her face.”

Harry blinked at her again before he snorted and shook his head. “I think you described the interest of every other girl in this castle who keeps staring at me like I’m some juicy steak they’re dying to get a bite of.”

Ginny grimaced. “Not the most pleasant picture you’re painting there.”

“Neither is the rubbish you’re dealing with.”

Ginny smiled before wincing as her stomach rumbled. “I take it you didn’t get around to eating after I left?” asked Harry wryly.

“No,” said Ginny. “I don’t really want to go back to the Great Hall.”

Harry nodded. “How about the kitchens, then?”

That didn’t sound too bad, actually, so Ginny agreed, and they set off, both of them taking along their bags so they could get started on their class assignments.

No sooner had the door to the kitchens opened then Ginny heard the familiar tones of one very happy house elf.

“Harry Potter has come to visit Dobby!”

Next moment, a tiny blur slammed into Harry’s legs, causing him to stumble into Ginny as he greeted the elf with a hint of laughter in his voice. She barely kept them both upright as she grinned down at Dobby.

“Hey, Dobby,” she said. “Have a good summer?”

“It’s Harry Potter’s Miss Wheezy!” Ginny found Dobby wrapped around her legs the next moment and couldn’t stop from giggling. Dobby the house elf was very excitable.

“Dobby’s summer was excellent, Miss Wheezy,” said Dobby from somewhere around her midsection. “Miss Wheezy is so kind to ask Dobby, so good, just like Harry Potter, miss!”

Ginny caught the amused look on Harry’s face. “Any chance of some food, Dobby?” he asked.

Dobby pulled back. “Yes, of course, we is honored to serve Harry Potter and his Miss Wheezy!”

A scuttling sound announced the arrival of five elves carrying quite the dinner spread to choose from. Ginny settled down to eat, her Charms book propped open on a jug of pumpkin juice while Harry chatted with Dobby between bites of food, asking him about what elves did during summer break as well as how the house elf Winky was getting on these days. Ginny had only seen Winky once at the Quidditch World Cup, and not having made a habit of visiting kitchens over the past two years, only knew what she’d heard about the elf’s Butterbeer addiction. She could just spot the small elf, passed out in a small pile of empty bottles on the other end of the kitchen.

With only Dobby to focus on, Harry was definitely calmer than he had been earlier in the Great Hall. Ginny knew Harry was uncomfortable with the excessive praises Dobby showered him with, but it seemed the praise was doing some good after Hermione’s distrust from earlier. Ginny watched him periodically between bites of food or when she turned the pages of her book, taking in the barely-there slump in his shoulders and the subdued warmth in his eyes as he periodically looked through the textbook Slughorn had loaned him for his Potions assignment. He wasn’t happy, but he was more at ease.

“I love you,” she said when Dobby had hurried off to fetch some treacle tart for Harry’s dessert.

Harry met her gaze and smiled. “I love you, too,” he said, reaching out to take her free hand. “Thanks for coming down with me.”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” said Ginny, leaning forward over the small table they were sharing to kiss him.

This first day of school hadn’t exactly been enjoyable, but finishing it with Harry looking at her the way that he did made all the snide remarks from the jealous girls around the school worth it.

Back to index


Chapter 24: The Undertow

Author's Notes: Schools in my state will be going through a "soft close" for the next two weeks. I have Monday and Tuesday to figure out how my students still get to learn while they are not in school. My situation is going to be trickier because my students have significant cognitive disabilities and as such, have very diverse learning needs. I can't do a one-size-fits-all Google Classroom or Canvas page for my students, but I am choosing to leave that for Monday, which means new chapter for you all! I hope you enjoy!


Chapter Twenty-Four: The Undertow



When Hermione came downstairs the next morning, she saw only Ron waiting for her. “Where’s Harry?” she asked him as she reached the common room.

Ron shrugged. “Already gone by the time I got up. Ready?”

Frowning, Hermione nodded, and they headed for the Great Hall. It really wasn’t like Harry to head to breakfast without her or Ron. “Maybe he went down already with Ginny,” she mused. “She wasn’t in her dormitory.”

“Seems likely enough,” Ron agreed. “He was a bit calmer when he turned up at bedtime, but he also didn’t talk much. I reckon he and Ginny spent the rest of the evening together after she stormed off last night.”

Hermione considered this. “You think he’s still upset with me?”

Ron sighed. “Dunno. You did come down on him pretty hard yesterday about that book.”

“I know,” Hermione admitted quietly. “I didn’t mean to.”

“He spent the last year being having his every move called into question,” said Ron after a moment. “It’s just a book, Hermione.”

“I’m well aware of that, Ron,” said Hermione sharply. “I just – worry about him a lot, you know?”

Ron snorted. “He wouldn’t be Harry if we didn’t worry about him.” He suddenly shot Hermione a sidelong glance. “Why do you worry, though?”

Hermione shot Ron a confused look. “What d’you mean, exactly?”

To her surprise, Ron’s face turned a bit red. “Nothing,” he mumbled.

They walked down the corridor in silence for some time.

“I mean,” Ron finally said in a rather stiff tone of voice, “I worry about Harry because he’s my best mate, and what we have… it’s more like what I’d want from a brother. Bill was never around, nor was Charlie, Percy was always lecturing me, and the twins, well…”

Hermione nodded. She’d heard more than enough of his childhood stories regarding Fred and George to know that, much as he loved them, it had been difficult being around them with their testing and teasing ways.

“I feel the same,” she said as she considered Ron’s words. “Harry’s the brother I never had. I rather feel as though there’s a hard line between my childhood and coming here, and it’s… strange, I suppose, to remember that there was a time I didn’t have that kind of familial relationship in my life.” She glanced at Ron and was surprised to see a sudden spring in his step and a smile on his face. “Why are you so happy all of a sudden?” she asked.

“No reason,” said Ron, still smiling. “Nice weather out today,” he added, gesturing to a nearby window. “I need to ask Harry when he’s thinking of holding Quidditch tryouts, maybe get in a spot of practice before then.”

Baffled by this non sequitur, Hermione said nothing, but continued down with Ron to the Great Hall, where she spotted Harry sitting with Ginny and three of her friends, Colin Creevy, Danielle Cole, and Emily McGann. They were apparently in the middle of telling a rather hilarious story about a Charms lesson gone awry two years earlier. “… so then Colin’s sitting there, covered in it, right, and the whole class is silent, including Flitwick, just waiting for him to say something,” Danielle was saying as Hermione and Ron approached, pushing a stream of black braids over her shoulder as she smiled broadly at the others in the small group.

“Go on, Colin,” said Emily with a wicked grin, “tell ‘em what you said!”

Colin was blushing and mumbled something Hermione couldn’t hear. It seemed everyone else heard him, though, because they all burst out laughing, even Harry.

“Flitwick cleared him up pretty quick,” said Ginny with a grin, “but he set Colin and Jacob lines for the rest of the period. And that is where the phrase ‘baboon brandishing a stick’ came from.”

The group started laughing again, and Hermione couldn’t help but feel her spirits lift at the sight of Harry’s smile and twinkling eyes. “Sounds like we missed a good story,” said Ron as he and Hermione found seats on the other side of the table.

“It was only for early risers,” said Emily with a grin, “and seeing as how Harry and Ginny were here before anyone else…”

“Ginny’s not a morning person,” said Ron. “Everyone knows that.”

Emily and Danielle glanced at each other and giggled. “What?” asked Ron.

The two girls looked over at Ginny. “She is for Harry!” said Danielle, and they left the table, still laughing as Colin followed, shaking his head in bemusement.

Ron blinked after the trio of fifth-years. Hermione frowned. “You were both up early?”

“I didn’t finish Slughorn’s essay last night,” said Harry with a shrug, “so I got up early to work on it.”

“Not unusual for you, I’m afraid,” said Hermione, and Harry nodded his agreement with a small grin.

“But what about you, Ginny?” asked Ron. “You put off waking up for as long as possible!”

“I didn’t finish my Charms homework,” said Ginny. “We got to be grumpy early-risers together.”

“Harry’s not grumpy in the mornings,” said Ron, bewildered.

Hermione watched as the smile vanished from Harry’s face. “I was taught not to be that way,” he said quietly enough that only their small group could hear.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the four of them. Ron was pale, but scowling, and Ginny’s face was resigned, which told Hermione that she’d already known this. Not for the first time, she wished that different choices could have been made for Harry’s sake. A different family, a different life…

The fiery expression on her mother’s face as she’d argued with Dumbledore about the decision to not pursue punishment for the Dursleys’ treatment of Harry growing up came to mind in that moment. Jean had been so determined to see that Harry was safe from his abusers despite the risks regarding his safety from Voldemort, and Hermione had wanted so badly to let her mother have her way that her chest ached from having had to repress that desire.

Protecting her parents from her world had been so difficult, but Hermione had come too far at this point to be able to do anything else. As for Harry… she was determined to be there for him, no matter what.

“There are a few lessons of theirs you could stand to unlearn,” Hermione finally said.

Ron nodded vigorously from behind a mouthful of sausage.

“We’re working on it,” said Ginny. “I’ll make a grumpy riser out of you yet.”

Harry chuckled at this, and they finished breakfast and headed off to their respective classes for the day.



“Half-Blood Prince?”

Sirius stared dubiously at the potions textbook Harry was showing him through the mirror he held in his hand. Nary a page went by as Harry carefully flipped through the book that wasn’t covered in small, cramped handwriting.

“Do you know of anyone who could have had Prince as their surname?” asked Ginny from out of view; she was holding up the mirror on Harry’s end so he could show Sirius the book. “I can’t think of what else it could mean, I mean, we don’t have royalty in our world like the Muggles do.”

Sirius shook his head. “I know it’s not part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight,” he said.

“What’s that?” asked Harry, lowering the book.

“Rubbish,” said Ginny. “Someone published this list of families they believed to be the most pure back in the 1930s or so. My family somehow made the list.”

“As did mine,” said Sirius, nodding. “The Potters didn’t, though. Your ancestry has consisted of blood traitors and supposedly ‘tainted blood’ a bit longer than the Weasley line, I’m afraid.”

Harry snorted. “Ron told me four years ago that most wizards these days are half-blood anyway or else they’d’ve died out by now.”

“He’s right,” said Sirius, nodding. “Inbreeding creates a whole host of problems, and family lines have absolutely died out because of it.” He thought briefly of the Gaunts, of how they had dwindled to just a single remaining descendent, and hoped that line would end once the Horcruxes were at last destroyed.

“So, Prince?” asked Ginny.

“Never heard of it,” said Sirius. “You could probably take look through the Hogwarts school records and see if you can find anyone with that last name if you’re that interested. When was the book printed?”

“Nearly fifty years ago,” answered Harry. “It looks as though it’s seen a fair bit of use, though.”

“Some families will pass on textbooks to the next generation so long as they’re still being used by the professors there,” said Sirius reasonably. “I confess I find myself a bit curious about the previous owner. Let me know if you happen to find anything out.”

“Yeah, I will,” said Harry, and the mirror shifted a bit as Ginny sat down next to him so Sirius could see both of their faces. “Dumbledore sent me a note for my first lesson.”

“Saturday at eight,” said Sirius, nodding. “I’ll be there, too.”

“Any chance you’ll tell me what to expect?”

Sirius chuckled. “Nope. You already know these lessons are important, but they’re laid out in a very specific way for a reason. Trust me on that.”

“I do trust you,” said Harry firmly. “It’s Dumbledore I worry about.”

“And rightly so,” said Sirius, inwardly pleased by Harry’s hesitation to trust the headmaster. “There was a fair bit of discussion between Dumbledore and myself about these lessons, but I believe the er, curriculum, if you will, is solid.”

Harry considered this and nodded. “Okay,” he said.

“Changing the topic,” said Sirius after a moment, “what’s been going on with the other assignment I gave you three days ago?”

He watched as Harry and Ginny glanced around. “I doubt anyone’s going to walk into this vacant classroom,” said Harry quietly to Ginny. “It should be fine.”

“Agreed,” said Ginny before looking at Sirius. “We’re a bit swamped with beginning of the year homework, but so far, Malfoy’s been giving mixed signals.”

“Meaning?”

“He’s not always acting like himself,” said Harry. “He’ll shoot me stupid looks and talk behind our backs, but he hasn’t initiated a single confrontation with any of us. He’s also not talking with his friends as much during mealtimes. I’ve seen a few of the other Slytherins shooting him concerned looks or even asking him if he’s fine, but he always shrugs them off.”

“We’ve also used the map, but so far, nothing,” added Ginny. “Still, it’s only been a couple of days. He might be settling into his routine as a student first before he starts branching out into his mission.”

Sirius nodded thoughtfully. “That’s very likely,” he said. “Keep me updated, yeah?”

Harry and Ginny nodded. “Where are Ron and Hermione?” Sirius asked them.

“Hermione’s ignoring me,” said Harry, rolling his eyes. “She doesn’t like the book I’ve been using in Potions.” He held up the battered book again and shook it a bit. “Keeps saying I’m cheating because my potions keep turning out better than hers with the notes left in this book.”

“I think she’s more upset with the fact that you’re suddenly better than her in two subjects as opposed to just one,” said Ginny, scowling a bit.

“It’s not like I’m not learning anything, though,” said Harry, nodding. “I did more research regarding a note left about how to get the most juice out of sopophorous beans and I found the note had merit, after all.” He started describing how sopophorous beans reacted to different metals and pressures, and Sirius was left marveling at how academic his godson suddenly sounded.

“I added that into my essay on our first potion and got an ‘O,’” Harry finished with a shrug. “Slughorn thinks I’ve got my mother’s natural talent.”

“She was really good with Charms and Potions,” agreed Sirius. “I used to think it was just because she would always partner with Snape in class, but even after they stopped talking to each other, she could whip up potions better than anyone else but him.”

“I don’t think that it’s talent that I’ve got going for me,” said Harry. “It’s this book. Some of Snape’s old lectures are actually starting to make more sense now with the notes the previous owner left in here. If I’d had a teacher like this the last five years, I’d have earned an O instead of an E on my O.W.L.s for sure.”

“Or maybe you are that talented,” said Ginny in amusement, “and the book is helping you to see that.”

Harry laughed, but shook his head. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “I only happened to find better instructions and notes than what Hermione’s got.”

“It’s a bit weird, though, using a book in Potions class,” mused Ginny. “Snape always wrote the directions on the board when he taught us. The books we had were more about the ingredients than the actual potions.”

“I never liked that very much,” said Harry. “It was hard to read the directions on the board sometimes through all the steam.”

“No, it wasn’t,” said Ginny frowning slightly.

Sirius blinked and suddenly felt a fool. “When was your prescription for your glasses last checked, Harry?”

He’d forgotten that James would visit with an Oculist every year during the summer break to check and make sure his prescription was still acceptable, or to buy larger frames for his changing face.

Harry frowned, clearly confused, and Sirius let out a loud sigh. “How in Merlin’s name do you spot the Snitch with a potentially outdated prescription?”

“I… didn’t know you updated that kind of thing,” said Harry slowly. “I mean, I suppose my glasses are starting to feel a bit tight, now that you mention it, but I just figured a carefully-placed Enlarging Charm would take care of it –”

“Right, we’re going to have to visit the Oculist in Hogsmeade on Saturday morning,” Sirius cut him off firmly. “The clothes were a pressing matter to me this summer, but I should’ve considered your eyesight, as well. I’m sorry I missed that, Harry.”

“It’s not like I knew any better,” shrugged Harry. “It’s fine, Sirius, really.”

“It’ll be fine when I know your eyesight is at its best,” said Sirius. “I’ll see you Saturday morning at breakfast, and we’ll head straight down to Hogsmeade after that, okay?”

“Okay, Sirius,” said Harry with a small smile. “Thanks.”

They wrapped up the conversation, and Sirius leaned back in his desk chair as he set down his mirror, considering their conversation. Draco hadn’t made any moves yet, Harry had discovered the best potions book by virtue of a bizarre set of circumstances, a fact that Hermione wasn’t happy about it would seem, and Harry needed new glasses.

He couldn’t do much about most of these things, but he could most certainly take care of the glasses. Resolving to head into Hogsmeade the next morning to get everything arranged with both the Oculist and the Aurors in the area, he headed downstairs to see what Kreacher had made for supper, unsurprised to find Tonks sitting at the table and reading what was clearly a new letter from Remus.

“Any news?” he asked her as he settled down opposite her and leaned back so Kreacher could slide a plate of steak and potatoes with a thick, creamy gravy that sharply reminded Sirius of his childhood when he still thought his mother loved him. The memory was bittersweet, but the food was delicious.

“It’s slow going,” sighed Tonks, setting the letter down and accepting a plate of food from Kreacher with a murmured “thanks.”

“Distrust?”

“Mostly, yeah,” answered Tonks with a small scowl. “He bears all the signs of having tried to integrate into our society, and if they knew he was in love with a witch –” She broke off and shook her head. “I know we need him there,” she said, “but I can’t go a single day without worrying about whether he’ll survive out there with all the werewolves who’ve eschewed everything he is.”

Sirius nodded his understanding. “I worry about him, too,” he admitted. “He’s the only friend I’ve got left, and the idea of him not coming back, well…” He shrugged. “I try to focus more on Harry’s needs to try and compensate, remembering that there’s someone who still needs me.”

“I need you, too,” Tonks whispered, reaching across the table to grab his hand. “I need someone who understands, someone I can worry with who’s going to get it.”

“I’m here whenever you need me,” said Sirius.

Tonks smiled sadly. “When are you coming over for dinner?” she asked abruptly. “Mum says she’ll ambush you at the next Order meeting if you don’t give me an answer tonight.”

Sirius chuckled. “I’ve been very busy with the world’s most important teenager,” he said, “but I do want to spend time with Andy and Ted outside Order business. I’m a bit over-scheduled through Saturday, but maybe Sunday?”

“I’ll check with her,” said Tonks, “but that should work.” She let out a wide yawn. “Being stationed at Hogsmeade is exhausting,” she sighed. “Well, boring, which kind of makes it worse.”

“You working Saturday, by chance?” Sirius asked her. “Only I realized about five minutes ago that Harry hasn’t had his vision checked since Petunia got him his glasses, and he was around eight at that time.”

Tonks groaned. “Every time I think I’ve heard the worst those Muggles have to offer,” she grumbled. “You want to take him to the Oculist in Hogsmeade, I take it?”

“Saturday morning, yes.”

“I’ll get the word out,” said Tonks. “Dawlish will want to be made aware for sure, the pompous git.” She shoveled food into her mouth, eyes drifting back to Remus’s letter.

Sirius stared at the wrinkled parchment, as well. “He’s resilient,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t stop the worry, but I know he’ll be okay out there. He did it back during the first war and managed to make a couple contacts. I know he can do this.”

“Thank you,” whispered Tonks.

They ate in silence, each lost to their own thoughts. Finally, Tonks finished and bade Sirius farewell, and Sirius retreated to his room to do some reading on Horcruxes Dumbledore had given him before turning in for the night.



Saturday morning, Harry was forced to endure Hermione outright demanding to Sirius during breakfast that he confiscate the potions book Harry had been using to great success in their Potions classes as other students passed by, staring in open curiosity at Harry and his godfather. Sirius had completely ignored the looks and, with Harry’s permission, had looked more carefully through the book, occasionally pointing out a spell he recognized from his days at Hogwarts (“This one was really popular,” he said, pointing at the words Levicorpus (nvbl) with a small grin, “I’ll tell you more about it later.”), but otherwise didn’t seem bothered by the book.

“It’s just a book, Hermione,” he finally said, shutting it and handing it back to Harry. “I suppose you’re more upset with the fact that Harry isn’t admitting out loud that it’s the book that’s allowed him to be so successful in your classes with old Sluggy.”

Hermione scowled, but nodded. “Here’s the thing, though,” said Sirius more quietly, and Harry leaned in closer to hear him along with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. “Dumbledore could’ve found some up-and-coming Potions master to take over those classes, but instead he sought out an old colleague. Do you really think there wasn’t some ulterior motive to that choice?”

Harry blinked, not having really thought about it before. It made sense, though, in the context of the conversation he’d had with Dumbledore the night he’d helped the headmaster convince Slughorn to come out of retirement. “What does he have that Dumbledore wants?” he asked.

“Information that we think will help you defeat Voldemort,” said Sirius simply. “Information he won’t give to the headmaster, but that he might give to you, Harry, if you play your cards right.”

“Dumbledore really does want Slughorn to… collect me for his Slug Club, doesn’t he?” sighed Harry.

“You need to give him every reason to want you,” agreed Sirius. “That book is only helping to make you all the more appealing to him at this point, and as much as I detest the thought, we need just that right now.” He looked at Hermione. “Please stop bothering Harry about the book,” he told her firmly. “Can you do that, Hermione?”

Hermione’s scowl only deepened, but she finally nodded and turned back to her food without a word.

The trip to Hogsmeade took the rest of the morning. Having spells and weirdly-shaped equipment shoved in his face made Harry distinctly uncomfortable, but he and Sirius eventually walked out of the Oculist’s shop at lunchtime with an updated prescription (“Wizards eyes tend not to change as quickly as Muggle eyes,” the Oculist, an old, wizened man with very few teeth, had told Harry, “but that doesn’t mean regular checkups aren’t of vital importance!”) and new frames that almost exactly resembled the frames had worn for the last eight years. Sirius proposed eating lunch at the Three Broomsticks, and Harry agreed.

“As I live and breathe!” came Madam Rosmerta’s booming voice the moment Sirius had entered the pub. “Sirius Black!”

Silence fell over the entire establishment, and Sirius grinned. “You missed me, admit it, darling,” he said to Madam Rosmerta in a charming voice Harry had never heard from him before as the older woman quickly came around the bar to hug him, glittering heels clicking rapidly against the floor.

She laughed and swatted his arm lightly as she pulled away. “You haven’t changed a bit, young man!” she told him.

Sirius laughed. "And you're just as gorgeous as the last time I saw you!"

Just then, Madam Rosmerta spotted Harry. “You brought your godson, too!” she exclaimed. “Oh goodness, you both must be starving! Come in, come in, let me give you the best seats in the house and you can regale me with tales of your life.” She quickly escorted them to a private table that was rather secluded from the rest of the pub, and the noise level gradually rose once more now that they weren’t the center of attention anymore.

Madam Rosmerta personally served them their food along with fresh Butterbeer, and fetched a gillywater for herself before plonking down at their table and beginning to pester Sirius for the whole story behind his innocence. Harry had learned over the summer that his godfather was quite the talented storyteller, but this wasn’t a story Sirius enjoyed telling. He quietly watched as Sirius stiffly explained the switch between himself and Wormtail at the last moment, and more haltingly covered the events that followed when he had caught up with the traitor. Madam Rosmerta listened intently to every word and made sure Harry had extra servings of Butterbeer on the house as she showered Sirius with sympathetic clucks and hand pats. She was a proper audience, but Harry was secretly relieved when it was finally time to leave and head back to the castle.

Sirius and Madam Rosmerta exchanged hugs once more before he and Harry headed for the door, stepping out into the warm afternoon –

FLASH!

“There they are!” shouted a voice as dozens of bright lights went off in Harry’s face.

“Mr. Black, Mr. Potter, gimme a quote and I can feed my family for a month!”

“Mr. Black, any word on the manhunt for Peter Pettigrew?”

“Mr. Potter, can you comment on the security measures put into place at Hogwarts?”

“Show us your Animagus form!”

“Mr. Potter, how do you feel about being named heir to the Black fortune?”

“Mr. Potter, tell us all about being Britain’s most-eligible bachelor!”

“This is how you deal with fame, Harry?” Voldemort laughs as Harry stares incredulously at Rita Skeeter’s Quick-Quotes Quill while it claims things about him that are untrue. “The utter confusion, stumbling over your words… Or better yet…” The memory changes to sitting in the Three Broomsticks with Hermione, Luna, and Skeeter, discussing what happened at the graveyard, the reporter pressing Harry for details that he gives haltingly, painfully, wanting to do the right thing but hating the personal cost.

“The stories that reporter could have told had she known the truth of your home life,” muses Voldemort. “She had no idea, truly, of the damage she could have brought to your name, let alone how that could have set the public to be far less at odds with the plans I have for our kind. Your death in the face of that truth would have been rather merciful, don’t you think?”


This was deep, much deeper than Harry usually sank, and while a part of him recognized what was happening, it felt as though he had been driven into the undertow, destined to be pulled out to sea and lost forever.

Now Harry sees Gilderoy Lockhart spot him in Flourish and Blotts, watches as he’s pulled from the crowd and squished against the pretender’s side. “Fraud,” remarks Voldemort, “but he knew how to be in the spotlight, how to use his fame to his own ends. You could never hope entice others to your cause without the backing or ideas of others.” Hermione is convincing him to do the article flashes before his eyes, Hermione’s making the suggestion that Harry teach others Defense Against the Dark Arts, Hermione’s speaking to the interested group of students in the Hog’s Head…

“The Mudblood,” whispers Voldemort. “Clever girl with her grandiose ideas and stolen magic. Wiping her ilk from existence would only strengthen our kind against the Muggle infection that has been bleeding into our society.” He laughs. “Can you imagine erasing everything that makes your little Mudblood friend who she is? All that knowledge and pride… gone forever?”


“Harry! Dammit, c’mon kid, I need you to breathe with me.”

“Without her around, none of your little exploits over the years would have been possible.” Hermione’s now bringing out the book with information about Nicholas Flamel, Harry’s discovering the crumpled paper in her hand after she was Petrified, she’s telling Harry and Ron that Remus is a werewolf, Harry’s practicing the Summoning Charm with her before the First Task, he’s practicing new spells with her and Ron before the Third Task…

“Please, Harry, I need you to focus, you’re not in that nightmare, you’re with me right now! C’mon kiddo, please come back to me…”

Voldemort was laughing again, high and cold, but it was starting to sound muted as a buzzing pressure filled Harry’s mind, pressure as though he were drowning, surrounded by a deep nothingness – no. Not nothing. There was something there.

Someone.

… Sirius?

It gradually occurred to Harry that he wasn’t drowning so much as hyperventilating. Once he understood that, his chest and throat began to loosen, but his fingers began to ache. Harry blinked several times, trying to focus, and finally he could see Sirius crouching in front of him, hands gripping Harry’s shoulders as tightly as he was gripping Sirius’s robes.

“Sirius,” he gasped out.

The terrified expression on his godfather’s face immediately melted into sheer relief, and he pulled Harry against him, all but crushing him in a fierce embrace. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and clutched at the other man, realizing he was shaking.

“Wh-what happened?” he finally asked.

“Press ambushed us,” said Sirius tightly, still hugging Harry with everything he had. “Set off the worst flashback I think you’ve had yet. I yelled at them to back off, but you were already… I couldn’t think of what else to do other than Apparate out of there.”

“Where a-are we?”

Sirius chuckled wetly. “Shrieking Shack,” he muttered. “Safest place I could think of on the spot.”

Harry blinked his eyes open again and saw that they were, indeed, back in the Shrieking Shack, right in the very room where Harry had learned that Sirius was an innocent man. New layers of dust attempted to cover the footsteps and marks of scuffles between Ron, Sirius, Snape, and even Wormtail, but Harry could trace the story left behind, all the same.

As he shifted to look around, Sirius pulled back, searching Harry’s face almost anxiously. “Are you okay, kiddo?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, not quite willing to relinquish his grip on his godfather. “It’s just… weird, I suppose, being back here. So much as changed.”

“Indeed it has,” said Sirius quietly. He squeezed Harry’s shoulder and looked around, as well. “I was not in my right mind back then,” he said. “It never… never occurred to me that knowing I was innocent didn’t mean completely sane. The way I went about things that year…”

“You lost out on twelve years of your life,” said Harry. “I don’t think you really got the chance to figure out how to be completely responsible before you were framed.”

Sirius grinned and chuckled. “I still mess up,” he admitted.

Harry shrugged. “So long as you’re willing to admit it and try better, I don’t see a problem.”

Sirius stared at Harry for so long at this that Harry started to feel uncomfortable. “Sirius?”

“You really don’t get how… truly unique you really are,” he finally said, shaking his head a bit.

Harry was confused by this statement, but Sirius abruptly stood and offered to pull Harry to his feet. “I sent a Patronus to the school,” he admitted to Harry, acting as though he hadn’t made the previous comment. Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to call him out on it. How could he say that he, Harry, was someone who was truly unique? Outside of his bizarre connection to Voldemort, Harry wasn’t sure he understood what Sirius meant by the words. “If those reporters are still around, they might be waiting there for us, but alerting Dumbledore means they ought be sent away soon enough. I’m waiting to hear back before we try heading that way.”

After Harry’s reaction to their ambush, the last thing he wanted was to risk that. “D’you think it’ll take long?” he asked.

Sirius shook his head. “Dumbledore will get it cleared up quickly. The press aren’t allowed on the school grounds after that awful business you had to put up with your fourth year, after all.”

Harry shuddered a bit as he recalled Rita Skeeter once more. Her invasion into his life had been most unpleasant.

“Once we get back to the castle I can speak with Dumbledore about how best to handle the press,” said Sirius. He grimaced and shook his head. “I’d bet someone in the Three Broomsticks tipped them off.”

Harry agreed with this, and hoped the press would be banned from Hogsmeade on the days students were allowed to go and visit. He did not want to experience another surprise run-in like that.

Soon enough, a silvery phoenix arrived saying it was safe to return, and Sirius Apparated them both to the castle gates, Harry’s elbows feeling a bit disgruntled in the process.

When they reached the castle doors, Sirius sent Harry to Gryffindor tower to clean up and “have a good snog”, promising to speak to Dumbledore at once about the actions of the press that afternoon and figure out what to do to prevent them from ambushing Harry like that ever again. Harry clambered through the portrait hole a few minutes later and heard Hermione call out his name.

“Harry, how was – what happened to you?”

“Long story,” said Harry, not feeling quite ready to talk about it. “I’d like a shower and change of clothes first.”

Hermione looked ready to protest, but Ron quickly said, “Sounds good, mate, come find us when you’re ready,” and pushed a book into Hermione’s hands, reminding her that she had yet to explain Snape’s latest homework assignment to him in a way that actually made sense. Grinning at the consternated look on Hermione’s face, Harry quickly headed upstairs to shower and change.

Ginny had joined Ron and Hermione downstairs by the time Harry was refreshed, and he quietly explained what had happened down in Hogsmeade. Ginny and Hermione both expressed joy over his new glasses and improved eyesight, but all three of them were nothing short of horrified by what happened with the press.

“How dare they!” exclaimed Ginny hotly. She spouted vitriol, aided by Ron, for some time after, boosting Harry’s mood to know just how much his friends supported him and hated the press.

The rest of the afternoon and dinner passed in relative peace (Harry and Ginny found time to snog, as per Sirius’s orders) before Harry had to head up to Dumbledore’s office for his first private lesson. He left in trepidation, bolstered only by the support of his friends and the knowledge that Sirius would be in these lessons, as well.

Back to index


Chapter 25: A Gaunt Memory

Author's Notes: The last three weeks have been nothing short of exhausting with the sudden shift to online teaching for my students. Mind, I work with students with significant cognitive disabilities, so this shift has been particularly difficult in my case due to the wide variety of needs and IEP goals my students work on. Thankfully, this next week is Spring Break, so I am going to get creative!

This chapter does borrow content from HBP chapter ten "The House of Gaunt", but as always, I tried to make it my own as much as I could. Having Sirius there plus Harry's ongoing recovery does make for slightly different conversations and perspectives, after all. Enjoy!


Chapter Twenty-Five: A Gaunt Memory



Harry almost wasn’t on time for his lesson with Dumbledore and Sirius due to ducking out of sight behind a statue so as to avoid running into Professor Trelawney. She was meandering down the hall, muttering to herself as she shuffled a dirty-looking pack of playing cards, and smelling strongly of cooking sherry.

“Two of spades: conflict,” she murmured, as she passed the place where Harry was crouched, hidden. “Seven of spades: an ill omen. Ten of spades: violence. Knave of spades: a dark young man, possibly troubled, one who dislikes the questioner –”

She stopped dead, right on the other side of Harry’s statue.

“Well, that can’t be right,” she said, annoyed, and Harry heard her shuffling vigorously as she set off again. He waited until he was certain she was gone before he continued to the single gargoyle in the seventh-floor corridor.

“Acid Pops,” said Harry, and the gargoyle leapt aside; the wall behind it slid apart, and a moving spiral stone staircase was revealed, onto which Harry stepped, so that he was carried in smooth circles up to the door with the brass knocker that led to Dumbledore’s office.

Harry knocked.

“Come in,” said Dumbledore’s voice.

Harry opened the door and stepped inside, pleased to see Sirius lean around in his chair to look at Harry. “You’re looking better now,” he commented as Harry shut the door behind him.

“Loads,” agreed Harry.

“I was very sorry to hear about the ambush by the press this afternoon,” said Dumbledore heavily from behind his desk. “Sirius and I are already taking steps to ensure that such a thing does not happen again.”

Harry nodded as he approached the desk and took the seat next to Sirius.

“I trust the rest of your first week back at school has been enjoyable?”

“Yes, sir,” said Harry, thinking mainly of the time spent with Ginny. He noticed the twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes and suspected he had an idea of what Harry was thinking at that moment. His face felt a bit warm, and he looked away.

“Good. Now then,” said Dumbledore, “if you will recall from our conversation back in July when we sought out Professor Slughorn” – Sirius scowled at this – “that you asked me why I had not imparted to you the knowledge of how to defeat Voldemort once and for all.”

Harry nodded. “You said the information was… ‘beyond the firm foundation of fact,’ sir.”

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore with a pleased smile. “I’m afraid the three of us will be journeying together through the murky marshes of memory into thickets of wildest guesswork. From here on in, Harry, I may be as woefully wrong as Humphrey Belcher, who believed the time was ripe for a cheese cauldron.”

“But you think you’re right?” said Harry.

“I believe he is,” said Sirius, nodding slowly. “What he’s found, his reasoning… it makes sense.”

“Thank you, Sirius,” said Dumbledore graciously. “Though I have already proven that I make mistakes like the next man.”

“And this information – you’re sure it’ll help me… survive?” asked Harry quietly.

“Yes,” said Sirius firmly, glancing at Dumbledore before meeting Harry’s eyes. “We’re both certain of it.”

Harry knew he could trust Sirius on this, so he nodded his understanding and watched as Dumbledore rose to retrieve something from the cabinet beside the door. When Dumbledore turned back to Harry and Sirius, he was holding a very familiar stone basin etched with odd markings around its rim. Harry tried not to fidget as the headmaster placed the Pensieve on the desk. His experiences with it in the past hadn’t exactly been pleasant.

“‘Murky marshes of memory,’” he repeated quietly as he stared at the stone bowl. “You’ve been collecting memories of Voldemort’s life.”

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a crystal bottle containing a swirling silvery-white substance. “This memory belonged to a man named Bob Ogden. He was employed by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and while he died some time ago, I was able to track him down before that so as to persuade him to confide these recollections to me. We are about to accompany him on a visit he made in the course of his duties. If you both would stand, Harry, Sirius…”

But Dumbledore was having difficulty pulling out the stopper of the crystal bottle: His injured hand seemed stiff and painful, reminding Harry sharply of the truth they had yet to discuss.

Dumbledore was dying.

Sirius reached out and quickly pulled free the stopper without comment, allowing Dumbledore to pour the contents into the Penseive, where they swirled and shimmered, neither liquid nor gas.

Harry met Sirius’s eyes, and Sirius shook his head ever so slightly. This wasn’t the time to discuss that particular topic. “After you,” said Dumbledore, gesturing to the bowl.

Taking a steadying breath, Harry obliged the headmaster and soon found himself standing beside Dumbledore and Sirius on a country lane bordered by high, tangled hedgerows, beneath a summer sky as bright and blue as a forget-me-not. Some ten feet in front of them stood a short, plump man wearing enormously thick glasses that reduced his eyes to molelike specks. He was reading a wooden signpost nearby, wearing an odd assortment of clothes, reminding Harry that inexperienced wizards tended to choose strange combinations of Muggle clothes in hopes of blending in appropriately: Ogden was wearing a frock coat and spats over a striped one-piece bathing costume. Before Harry had time to do more than register his bizarre appearance, however, Ogden had set off at a brisk walk down the lane.

Sirius’s hand was clasped on Harry’s shoulder as they, along with Dumbledore, followed Ogden. As they passed the wooden signpost the wizard had been reading, Harry glanced up to see one sign, pointing back the way they had come read: GREAT HANGLETON, 5 MILES. The arm pointing after Ogden said LITTLE HANGLETON, 1 MILE.

The trio headed along the path a short way with nothing to see but the hedgerows, the wide blue sky overhead and the swishing, frock-coated figure ahead. Then the lane curved to the left and fell away, sloping steeply down a hillside, so that they had a sudden, unexpected view of a whole valley laid out in front of them. Harry could see a village, undoubtedly Little Hangleton, nestled between two steep hills, its church and graveyard clearly visible. Across the valley, set on the opposite hillside, was a handsome manor house surrounded by a wide expanse of velvety green lawn.

Harry paused, taking in the manor. Something about it seemed… disturbingly familiar. His gaze drifted to the graveyard. “You have taken every moment of what should have been victory and turned it into defeat, boy. Every ounce of your existence is in direct opposition to what I am trying to do for our kind!”

Tied to a headstone against his will, a large cauldron bubbles in front of him as a voice chants –


“Harry?”

“That’s where it happened,” Harry heard himself saying as though from a great distance. “That’s where he came back. I remember.” Harry shook his head a bit and blinked several times, trying to focus. “Where exactly is Ogden going?” he asked, hating that his voice was shaking a bit.

“Not down there,” said Sirius quickly, “I promise you that.” He was pale, but urged Harry to follow Ogden again, who eventually turned sharply through a gap in the hedge and disappeared.

They followed Ogden along a narrow dirt road bordered by higher and wilder hedgerows than those they had left behind. The path was crooked, rocky, and potholed, sloping downhill like the last one, and it seemed it be heading for a patch of dark trees a little below them. Sure enough, the track soon opened at the copse, and the three observers came to a halt behind Ogden, who had stopped and drawn his wand.

After a few seconds, Harry was able to spot a building hidden in the dark shade provided by the old trees surrounding it. The location seemed as strange as the house itself, for its walls were mossy and so many tiles had fallen off the roof that the rafters were visible in places. Nettles grew all around it, their tips reaching the windows, which were tiny and thick with grime. Harry had just decided that the place couldn’t possibly be occupied when once of the windows was thrown open with a clatter, and a thin trickle of steam or smoke issued from it, as though somebody was cooking.

Ogden moved forward quietly and, it seemed to Harry, rather cautiously. As the dark shadows of the trees slid over him, he stopped again, staring at the front door, to which somebody had nailed a dead snake.

Then there was a rustle and a crack, and a man in rags dropped from the nearest tree, landing on his feet right in front of Ogden, who leapt backward so fast he stood on the tails of his frock coat and stumbled.

“You’re not welcome.”

The man standing before them had thick hair so matted with dirt it could have been any color. Several of his teeth were missing. His eyes were small and dark and stared in opposite directions. He might have looked comical, but he did not; the effect was frightening, and Harry could not blame Ogden for backing away several more paces before he spoke.

“Er – good morning, I’m from the Ministry of Magic –”

“You’re not welcome.”

“Er – I’m sorry – I don’t understand you,” said Ogden nervously.

“What’s the man saying, Harry?” asked Sirius quietly.

“He keeps saying Ogden’s not welcome,” said Harry, nonplussed for a moment before it hit him. “Parseltongue,” he sighed, eyeing the dead snake on the door. “He’s speaking in Parseltongue.”

“You really don’t hear it for what it is?” asked Sirius in curiosity as the man in rags began to advance on Ogden, knife in one hand, wand in the other.

“It sounds like English unless I know to listen for it,” said Harry as Ogden tried to warn off the man, only to end up on the ground, clutching his nose as a nasty yellowish goo squirted from between his fingers.

“Morfin!” said a loud voice.

Harry watched as an elderly man hurried out of the cottage, shutting the door so hard that the dead snake swung pathetically. This man was shorter than the first, and oddly proportioned; his shoulders were very broad and his arms overlong, which, with his bright brown eyes, short scrubby hair, and wrinkled face, gave him the look of a powerful, aged monkey. He came to a halt beside the man with the knife, who was now cackling with laughter at the sight of Ogden on the ground.

“Ministry, is it?” said the older man, looking down at Ogden.

“Correct!” said Ogden angrily, dabbing his face. “And you, I take it, are Mr. Gaunt?”

“S’right,” said Gaunt. “Got you in the face, did he?”

“Yes, he did!” snapped Ogden.

“Should’ve made your presence known, shouldn’t you?” said Gaunt aggressively. “This is private property. Can’t just walk in here and not expect my son to defend himself.”

“Defend himself against what, man?” said Ogden, clambering back to his feet.

“Busybodies. Intruders. Muggles and filth.”

Ogden used his wand to stop the goo from coming from his nose as Gaunt muttered to Morfin out of the corner of his mouth.

“Get in the house. Don’t argue.”

This time, ready for it, Harry recognized Parseltongue; even while he could understand what was being said, he distinguished the weird hissing noise that was all Ogden could hear.

“What did he say?” asked Sirius. Harry repeated what he’d heard as Morfin appeared ready to disagree with his father. Gaunt shot Morfin a threatening look, and the younger man lumbered away to the cottage with an odd rolling gait, slamming the front door behind him, so that the snake swung sadly again.

It turned out that Ogden was there to see Morfin and wouldn’t be put off from discussing his business inside, so they retreated inside the cottage, which seemed to contain three tiny rooms. Two doors led off the main room, which served as a kitchen and living room combined. Morfin was sitting in a filthy armchair beside the smoking fire, twisting a live adder between his thick fingers and crooning softly at it in Parseltongue. Without being prompted, Harry translated the words uneasily: “He’s saying ‘hissy, hissy, little snakey, slither on the floor, you be good to Morfin or he’ll nail you to the door.’”

Sirius’s face matched how Harry felt about the rhyme. The man, Morfin, was clearly mad.

A sudden scuffling noise in the corner alerted Harry to the fact that it was not only the two men who lived in the tiny cottage. There was a girl whose ragged grey dress was the exact color of the dirty stone wall behind her. She was standing beside a steaming pot on a grimy black stove, and was fiddling with the shelf of squalid-looking pots and pans above it. Her hair was lank and dull and she had a plan, pale, rather heavy face. Her eyes, like her brother’s stared in opposite directions. She looked a little cleaner than the two men, but Harry thought he had never seen a more defeated-looking person.

“M’daughter, Merope,” said Gaunt grudgingly, as Ogden looked inquiringly toward her.

“Good morning,” said Ogden.

Harry caught the frightened look she shot at her father before turning away without answering.

Ogden got to business after that, revealing that Morfin had performed magic in front of a Muggle the previous night.

Merope dropped one of the pots.

“Pick it up!” Gaunt bellowed at her. “That’s it, grub on the floor like some filthy Muggle, what’s your wand for, you useless sack of muck?”

This is emotional abuse, Harry thought, recognizing the tone of voice Gaunt was using all too well. Merope was hardly better off than Harry had been in terms of treatment her whole life. He quietly watched as she drew her wand from her pocket pointed it at the pot, and muttered a hasty, inaudible spell that caused the pot to shoot across the floor away from her, hit the opposite wall, and crack in two.

Morfin let out a mad cackle of laughter as Gaunt demanded that Merope mend the pot.

Ogden, however, beat her to it, clearly disturbed by the callous attitude the other two men showed her. Gaunt seemed ready to berate Ogden, but then jeered at his daughter, “Lucky the nice man from the Ministry’s here, isn’t it? Perhaps he’ll take you off my hands, perhaps he doesn’t mind dirty Squibs…”

Harry couldn’t see any signs of physical abuse as Merope picked up the pot and returned it to its place with trembling hands, but the way she stood after that, facing the wall… Harry recognized it. She wished to be anywhere but here. How many times had he wished the same?

Sirius’s grip on his shoulder was comforting and solid as Ogden again approached Gaunt with the fact that his son had performed magic in front of a Muggle. “Morfin has broken Wizarding law,” Gaunt laughed mockingly, and Morfin cackled again. “He taught a filthy Muggle a lesson, that’s illegal now, is it?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is,” was Ogden’s answer as he pulled out a small scroll of parchment from an inside pocket of his frock coat.

“What’s that then, his sentence?” said Gaunt, his voice rising angrily.

“It is a summons to the Ministry for a hearing –”

“Summons? Summons? Who do you think you are, summoning my son anywhere?”

“I’m Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad,” said Ogden.

“And you think we’re scum, do you?” screamed Gaunt, advancing on Ogden now, with a dirty yellow-nailed finger pointing at his chest. “Scum who’ll come running when the Ministry tells ‘em to? Do you know who you’re talking to, you filthy little Mudblood, do you?”

“I was under the impression that I was speaking to Mr. Gaunt,” said Ogden, looking wary, but standing his ground.

“That’s right!” roared Gaunt. For a moment, Harry thought Gaunt was making an obscene hand gesture, but then realized that he was showing Ogden the ugly, black-stoned ring he was wearing on his middle finger, waving it before Ogden’s eyes. “See this? See this? Know what it is?”

It looked to be the strange ring Dumbledore had been wearing that night in July, Harry realized.

“Know where it came from? Centuries it’s been in our family, that’s how far back we go, and pure-blood all the way! Know how much I’ve been offered for this, with the Peverell coat of arms engraved on the stone?”

A sudden frown flashed across Sirius’s face at the name.

“I’ve really no idea,” said Ogden, blinking as the ring sailed within an inch of his nose, “and it’s quite beside the point, Mr. Gaunt. Your son has committed –”

But now Gaunt was dragging Merope forward by a chain around her neck. “See this?” he bellowed at Ogden, shaking a heavy gold locket at him, while Merope spluttered and gasped for breath.

“I see it, I see it!” said Ogden hastily.

“Slytherin’s!” yelled Gaunt. “Salazar Slytherin’s! We’re his last living descendants, what do you say to that, eh?”

“Mr. Gaunt, your daughter!” said Ogden in alarm, but Gaunt had already released Merope; she staggered away from him, back to her corner, massaging her neck and gulping for air.

Gaunt seemed to think he’d made his point as to the importance of his family, but Ogden was not to be discouraged from his reason for being there. “Our information is that Mofrin performed a jinx or hex on the said Muggle, causing him to erupt in highly painful hives.” Morfin giggled at this, but was silenced by his father in Parseltongue, who seemed to care little for Ogden’s words. Despite this, Ogden carried on, describing when the hearing would be taking place when the jingling, clopping sounds of horses and loud, laughing voices drifted in through the open window. Apparently the winding lane to the village passed very close to the copse where the house stood. Gaunt froze, listening, his eyes wide. Morfin hissed and turned his face toward the sounds, his expression hungry, but it was Merope who caught Harry’s attention. Her face, as she raised her head, was starkly white.

“My God, what an eyesore!” rang out a girl’s voice, as clearly audible through the open window as if she had stood in the room beside them. “Couldn’t your father have that hovel cleared away, Tom?”

“It’s not ours,” said a young man’s voice. “Everything on the other side of the valley belongs to us, but that cottage belongs to an old tramp called Gaunt, and his children. The son’s quite mad, you should hear some of the stories they tell in the village –”

The girl laughed, and the sounds of jingling, clopping sounds grew louder and louder. Morfin made to get out of his armchair.

“Keep your seat,” said his father warningly in Parseltonge, Harry translating without prompting.

Now the two on the lane were discussing the snake on the door. “Don’t look at it, Cecilia, darling,” said the man’s voice, and Morfin’s gaze turned toward his sister.

“‘Darling,’” whispered Morfin in Parseltongue, Harry quietly translating the oncoming exchange in revulsion. “‘Darling, he called her. So he wouldn’t have you anyway.”

Merope was so white now that Harry worried she might faint.

“What’s that?” said Gaunt sharply as he looked between his son and daughter. “What did you say, Morfin?”

“She likes looking at that Muggle,” said Morfin, a vicious expression on his face as he started at Merope, who now looked terrified. “Always in the garden when he passes, peering through the hedge at him, isn’t she? And last night –”

Merope shook her head jerkily, imploringly, but Morfin went on ruthlessly, “Hanging out of the window waiting for him to ride home, wasn’t she?”

“Hanging out of the window to look at a Muggle?” said Gaunt quietly.

It seemed they had all forgotten about Ogden, and Harry vaguely noticed the bewildered and irritated expression on his face at this renewed outbreak of incomprehensible hissing and rasping as he continued to translate for Sirius’s benefit.

“Is it true?” said Gaunt in a deadly voice, advancing a step or two toward the terrified girl. “My daughter – pure-blooded descendant of Salazar Slytherin – hankering after a filthy, dirt-veined Muggle?”

Merope shook her head frantically, pressing herself into the wall, apparently unable to speak.

“But I got him, Father!” cackled Morfin. “I got him as he went by and he didn’t look so pretty with hives all over him, did he, Merope?”

“You disgusting little Squib, you filthy little blood traitor!” roared Gaunt, losing control, and his hands closed around his daughter’s throat, only now it was Uncle Vernon grabbing at Harry’s throat as Voldemort laughed and mocked –

No! Harry forced himself to focus as Ogden raised his wand and cried, “Relashio!” Gaunt was thrown backward, away from his daughter; he tripped over a chair and fell flat on his back. With a roar of rage, Morfin leapt out of his chair and ran at Ogden, brandishing his bloody knife and firing hexes indiscriminately from his wand.

Ogden ran for his life, Dumbledore motioning for Harry and Sirius to follow him as Merope’s screams echoed in his ears.

He didn’t dare look back.

Ogden hurtled up the path and erupted onto the main lane, arms over his head, were he collided with the glassy chestnut horse ridden by a very handsome, dark-haired young man who looked so very familiar, like –

“I think that will do,” said Dumbledore quietly, and before Harry knew it, they were emerging from the Penseive.

Harry dropped into the chair he’d been sitting in before, realizing he was rubbing absently at his own neck, phantom feeling of his uncle’s thick hands on his skin. “Harry, are you all right?” said Sirius quietly, kneeling in front of Harry and gently pulling his hand away from his throat.

“That man on the horse looked like the Riddle I met in the diary,” whispered Harry. “Exactly the same.” He looked past Sirius to Dumbledore as he seated himself behind his desk. “That was Voldemort’s father at the end, there.”

Dumbledore nodded. “So then… Merope was his mother?” asked Harry.

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore heavily. “Ogden Apparated back the Ministry and returned with reinforcements within fifteen minutes after what happened. Morfin and his father attempted to fight, but both were overpowered, removed from the cottage, and subsequently convicted by the Wizengamot. Morfin, who already had a record of Muggle attacks, was sentenced to three years in Azkaban. Marvolo, who had injured several Ministry employees in addition to Ogden, received six months.”

“That was his middle name,” said Harry. “Tom Marvolo Riddle. She named him after his father and his grandfather.”

Dumbledore nodded. “The Gaunts were a very ancient Wizarding family noted for a vein of instability and violence that flourished through the generations due to their habit of marrying their own cousins. Lack of sense coupled with a great liking for grandeur meant that the family gold was squandered several generations before Marvolo was born. He, as we witnessed tonight, was left in squalor and poverty, with a very nasty temper, a fantastic amount of arrogance and pride, and a couple of family heirlooms that he treasured just as much as his son, and rather more than his daughter.”

Harry considered this. “How exactly did Merope end up with Tom? Do you think she used the Imperius Curse?” Harry asked before thinking of the Amortentia potion Slughorn had shown his class. “Or – a love potion?”

“Probably a love potion,” said Sirius, nodding. “The effects are much harder to fight off.”

“I am sure,” added Dumbledore, “that it would have seemed more romantic to her, and I do not think it would have been very difficult, some hot day, when Riddle was riding alone, to persuade him to take a drink of water. In any case, within a few months of the scene we have just witnessed, the village of Little Hangleton enjoyed a tremendous scandal. You can imagine the gossip it caused when the squire’s son ran off with the tramp’s daughter, Merope.

“But the villagers’ shock was nothing compared to Marvolo’s. He returned from Azkaban, expecting to find his daughter dutifully awaiting his return with a hot meal ready on his table. Instead, he found a clear inch of dust and her note of farewell, explaining what she had done.

“From what I have been able to discover, he never mentioned her name or existence from that time forth. The shock of her desertion may have contributed to his early death, but in any case, weakened as he was by his stay in Azkaban, Marvolo did not live to see Morfin return to the cottage.”

“But Merope ended up dying, didn’t she?” said Harry. “The Riddle in the diary showed me a memory where he said he’d grown up in an orphanage, that his mum died after naming him.”

“Indeed he did,” said Dumbledore, inclining his head.

“Riddle came back a few months after he’d left,” said Sirius quietly. “Apparently he said he’d been ‘hoodwinked’ and ‘taken in,’ meaning –”

“Whatever enchantment he’d been under stopped working?”

“Possibly,” said Dumbledore. “Another likely theory is that Merope could not bear to continue enslaving him by magical means and may have stopped giving him the love potion. In any case, the villagers assumed she’d lied to him and said she was going to have his baby.”

“Only she did have his baby.”

“Not until a year after they were married,” said Sirius. “Riddle left her when she was still pregnant, and he never bothered to seek her out again after that.”

Harry could not imagine it.

“I think,” said Dumbledore after a moment, “that will do for tonight, Harry.”

Harry nodded, eyes straying of their own accord to Dumbledore’s hand. “Why won’t you tell me what happened to your hand?” he asked bluntly. “You’re dying, sir.”

Dumbledore said nothing for a very long moment, Sirius quietly waiting from the chair beside Harry’s.

“I did not wish to trouble you with that which cannot be halted,” the headmaster said at last. “And as for what happened, I will tell you, but not until the time is right.”

Harry didn’t like it, but knew better than to argue. “That ring Gaunt was wearing,” he said, instead. “It’s the same one you wore the night we spoke to Professor Slughorn.”

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore.

“How long have you had it?”

“I acquired it very recently.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Does it have to do with what happened to your hand, then?”

“That,” said Dumbledore, “is a story for another time.”

Harry fought to conceal a scowl, and switched topics. “What about Malfoy, then, sir?”

“Alerting Mr. Malfoy that I know of his mission would jeopardize the lives of himself and his family,” said Dumbledore heavily. “I am told you deprived him of the chance to finish his mission quickly by winning the Felix Felicis Professor Slughorn offered your class the first day.”

“So you know about the book, then,” said Harry, feeling a bit embarrassed.

Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling. “Sirius informed me this afternoon, as well as noting the effect it seems to have on Professor Slughorn’s opinion of you. I know it goes against your natural instincts, but as Sirius has already told you, we will need his fondness for you in due course. Though I am certain your friend Miss Granger has a rather low opinion of your use of this book, Sirius has already looked through it and expressed his trust in your ability to make good use of its notes in your various potions and make sound judgements regarding the other notes contained within.”

Harry smiled at Sirius. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “Er, am I allowed to tell my friends everything you’ve told me?”

Dumbledore and Sirius exchanged glances. “Ron, Hermione, and Ginny only,” said Sirius firmly.

“Impress upon them the importance of not repeating this to anyone else,” added Dumbledore. “It would not be a good idea if word got around how much I know, or suspect, about Lord Voldemort’s secrets.”

“No, sir, I’ll make sure it’s just them and no one else.”

“I’ll walk you back to your common room,” said Sirius, and Harry nodded, bidding Dumbledore a good night and retreating down the spiral staircase with Sirius, thinking back over the memory he’d witnessed.

“Merope… she was eighteen in the memory, right?”

Sirius glanced over at him and nodded.

“So…” Harry hesitated a moment, but finally decided to ask. “Those child abuse laws you’ve talked about before, they existed at that time, right?”

Sirius nodded again. “Then why did no one help her before then?”

Harry watched as Sirius sighed heavily. “From what I’ve learned, Marvolo decided not to send his children to Hogwarts because the school had become too ‘tainted.’” He shook his head. “It isn’t compulsory to attend the school, of course, though you’d be hard-pressed to find a magical family in our community who doesn’t send their children here.”

“Some students didn’t come back this year,” said Harry quietly.

“I know,” agreed Sirius as they reached the bottom of the spiral staircase and set off for Gryffindor tower. “The tricky part of every child abuse law out there, magical or Muggle, is, well – they rely on the testimony of eyewitnesses to start the process of identifying abuse and detrermining the best course of action for the child in question. The Gaunts had so little contact with the rest of the Wizarding community that the likelihood of anyone ever noticing, well…” He trailed off uncomfortably.

“Sometimes people only see what they want to see,” Harry whispered, more to himself than to his godfather, but Sirius must have heard, because he caught Harry by the shoulder and stopped walking, turning Harry to face him.

“I hope you know what they did was wrong,” he said earnestly.

“Yeah,” said Harry quickly. “’Course I do.” He stared at Sirius for a moment, then asked, “Did anyone report your parents?”

Sirius stiffened slightly, but shook his head. “I wouldn’t let my friends say anything once they figured it out,” he admitted. “Fleamont and Euphemia were rather cross with me for not letting your dad tell them – your grandparents,” he added at Harry’s confused look, “Merlin’s beard, you’re in need of some family history lessons.”

Harry stared at him. “You really get why I…” He trailed off and looked down.

“Why you never wanted to talk about it,” finished Sirius quietly, and Harry nodded. “I do, but I also know the good that comes from trusting others with your past, even if the abusers never see punishment for their crimes.”

Harry couldn’t speak, but Sirius seemed to understand the expression on his face, because he was pulling Harry into a firm hug a moment later. “You’re still healing,” he muttered to Harry, “and it’s okay, I promise you that.”

Harry nodded into Sirius’s shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut, knowing he was safe and loved in that moment.

Back to index


Chapter 26: Breathe

Author's Notes: Next chapter! I've gone back and forth on this one a ton over the last few months after its original draft was created. Not the first part, but the last section. I know there are many fics that have some form of continuation of the D.A., and I don't want to fall into the cliche, but... it works in the grand scheme of this story, especially given that there will be no third part to this story. Once this story ends (in say, 40 chapters or so), it's over. You'll see why I'm saying this once we get to chapter 38 (if all goes as planned, of course). In the meantime, I hope you enjoy!


Chapter Twenty-Six: Breathe


CHOSEN ONE AND GODFATER HAVE LUNCH IN HOGSMEADE


Yesterday, Harry Potter, the Chosen One, was spotted in Hogsmeade having lunch with his godfather, pardoned escapee from Azkaban Sirius Black. Madame Rosmerta, landlady of the Three Broomsticks, claims the pair showed up at her pub after having visited the Occulist in the small village.

“Harry Potter has always been so polite in my pub, never causes any troubles,” says Rosmerta of Potter. “I’ve wondered more than a few times if perhaps his guardians were a bit impoverished, though, because his Muggle clothing was always a bit too large and old-looking. Same glasses this whole time, as well. But now I’d say Sirius Black is acting the proper guardian to him, providing him with everything the boy deserves.”

Black and Potter did not make any comments to the reporters who arrived for a glimpse of the Chosen One and his godfather, though Black did insist the reporters “back off” before Apparating away with Potter.

“They had a good time in my pub,” insists Madam Rosmerta. “Served them personally myself.”

Potter is currently attending his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.


“Well, they’ve certainly written a lot worse before,” remarked Ron as Hermione finished reading the article out loud. “And there’s nothing about the panic attack, either.”

“Sirius said he got me out out of there before they could notice,” said Harry.

“Good thing he acted so quickly,” said Hermione, and Ginny nodded in agreement. “Otherwise, this is just a ridiculous fluff piece.”

Harry didn’t look convinced by this, Ron noticed. “She talks about the Dursleys, though,” he said quietly to their group at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.

“It’s speculation at best,” said Hermione immediately. “No one knows who they are, Harry.”

“But if they –”

“No one is going to figure anything out about them,” cut in Ginny.

“But loads of people here know I don’t like them,” said Harry.

“Doesn’t mean they know the first thing about why,” said Ron sharply.

Harry’s eyes glazed over, and Ron felt a pang of guilt for setting off a flashback. Harry already hadn’t slept well the night before, most likely a result of the massive panic attack in Hogsmeade. Ginny was, as always, right on top of things, immediately grasping Harry’s hands and leaning in close to murmur into his ear. Ron watched as his friend’s eyes cleared moments later.

“I just – worry,” he said softly.

“It’s not something you need to worry about,” said Ron firmly. “The only people who know the truth aren’t going to say anything, are they?”

“Ron’s right,” said Hermione, smiling at him, and he felt a strange fluttering sensation near his navel. “The truth is as good as buried, Harry.”

Harry smiled and nodded. “You’re right. I’m just being stupid.”

“No you’re not,” said Ginny. “It’s a legitimate worry, but we’re here to reassure you whenever you have doubts.” She leaned in and kissed him, and Ron made sure to focus on his platter of sausages before she made contact.

Then he wondered what it would be like to be able to kiss Hermione like that whenever he wanted. No, that was not happening, he had to ask her out first if he wanted a chance to do anything else.

Ron refocused on his food as he considered his first step and hoped it would work out like he wanted it to when the time came.



The next evening after dinner, Harry made his way to the hospital wing for his first checkup with Madam Pomfrey, feeling distinctly agitated about the whole thing. Apart from the unpleasant experience with the press two days ago and the first night back at Hogwarts, Harry had managed all right with four or five short flashbacks each day, and no other panic attacks.

Sleeping, on the other hand…

“You’re averaging about four hours of rest each night, Mr. Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey in her usual brisk way. “Part of that seems to have been mismanagement of your time spent doing homework, but the majority is increased restlessness and nightmares that woke you up every night this past week. The house elf I assigned to you said she has placed enchantments around the beds of your roommates who have expressed discontent at being disturbed.”

That explained why Dean hadn’t gone off at Harry again since their first night back, though he still gave Harry quite the cold shoulder everywhere else. Harry nodded silently.

“Now, tell me about incidences this past week.”

“Incidences?”

“Flashbacks, panic attacks, convulsive reactions that cause self-harm,” elaborated the matron.

“Oh,” said Harry. “Er… I guess four or five flashbacks every day, but nothing that seriously took me out of what I was doing.”

“What about the panic attack the first night back?”

“Bad nightmare,” said Harry, feeling his face heat up. “Ron managed to sort things out, though.”

“And the incident with the press on Saturday?”

Harry shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “That… was the worst it’s been since term started,” he finally answered. “I haven’t er… self-harmed, I think you said? Not since the first day of classes, but Ron and Hermione caught it pretty quick both times.”

“Both times,” echoed Madam Pomfrey. “Which classes?”

“Er… Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions, ma’am,” said Harry quietly.

“What preceded the self-injurous behaviors?”

Harry hadn’t realized just how invasive this process was really going to be, and he was beginning to have to fight off the impulse to flee the hospital wing rather than continue to answer these questions.

“Professor Snape has a photo of a witch being tortured by the Cruciatus curse in his classroom,” he said softly. “So long as I don’t look at it, I’m fine.”

“And in Potions?”

“Professor Slughorn had a cauldron of Veritaserum in his classroom,” he muttered.

“It would be safe to presume, then,” said Madam Pomfrey as she took notes, “that anything related to the incident in June tends to trigger an involuntary reaction?”

Harry nodded as the nurse suddenly reached out and grasped his left hand, pulling it away from his right. He looked down and saw the indents his nails had left behind on the scarred skin. “Sometimes I don’t even realize I’m reacting,” he murmured, embarrassed.

“It would be safe to presume that your friends have had ample practice in catching this particular reaction,” observed Madam Pomfrey in a much quieter voice than usual. “Have the flashbacks been strictly auditory, or have there been visuals to accompany them?”

“It’s almost always just… auditory,” said Harry. “Saturday was visual, as well, though.”

After a few more questions, Harry was finally cleared to leave with instructions to return the next week at the same time. Nodding his understanding, he quickly left and headed upstairs to the common room to begin working on his latest essay for Slughorn, hoping that his problems would continue to lessen so that he wouldn’t have to endure these weekly meetings with Madam Pomfrey. Just this first meeting alone left him feeling incredibly agitated and out of sorts –

Rounding a corner, Harry bumped into another student and stumbled.

“Watch where you’re going, Potter!”

Harry looked around as he righted himself to see it was Draco Malfoy he’d run into. “Same goes for you, Malfoy,” he replied sourly, turning away to continue his trek upstairs, but Malfoy spoke again, causing him to stop in his tracks.

“It won’t be long before everyone knows, Potter.”

Harry turned back to the blonde. “Knows what?” he asked warily.

Malfoy smirked and stepped closer to Harry, clearly interested in using his taller height to intimidate Harry, but Harry stood his ground, fist already clenched around his wand just in case.

“It won’t be long,” Malfoy said in a quiet voice, “before everyone realizes how close to coming unhinged you really are.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Harry tightly. “Sod off, Malfoy.” He turned to leave again, but Malfoy actually reached out and caught him by the shoulder, forcing him to turn around again. Harry immediately shoved his hand away and took a step back from the other boy, jaw clenched as they pointed their wands at each other in unison.

“Don’t ever touch me again,” he snarled angrily.

“Spoken just like the abused boy you really are.”

The words weren’t exactly the same, but it carried the same gut-wrenching weight as when Umbridge had spoken to him at the trial the previous month. Harry froze, heart racing and throat tight.

“You know we all saw how you reacted at the trial last month,” said Malfoy, triumph etched across his pale, pointed face. “It started just like this, you know. And after that, you clearly had a panic attack.” He laughed softly. “Panicked Potter,” he mused. “I don’t think everything’s right inside your mind these days, is it?”

Harry couldn’t think past the high, cold laughter growing louder in his mind. He needed to get out of there, but he couldn’t seem to get his legs to listen to him. His wand arm was shaking, and he could feel his breathing becoming more and more eratic against his will.

“What is going on here?”

As if the situation couldn’t get any worse, Professor Snape swept around the corner and came to a halt, taking in the savage look of triumph on Malfoy’s face before meeting Harry’s eyes. There was a pause. “So weak,” whispered Voldemort’s voice in Harry’s mind.

“Mr. Malfoy, remove yourself from the area at once,” Snape said at length. “I will deal with Potter.”

Malfoy looked frustrated, but lowered his wand and stepped back, smirking at Harry before walking away.

Not daring to look at Snape again, Harry immediately lowered his arm and backed up against the wall, all-too-aware of how close he was to having a panic attack. He pushed his free hand against his chest, trying to remember what to do.

“Slow, deep breaths, Potter.”

Harry startled a bit at the quiet words, but nodded and tried to do just that. Leaning forward, he braced his clenched fists on his knees and took in a shuddering breath, trying hard to keep his slow and steady, but it wasn’t working this time. He was sinking fast, Voldemort’s laughter growing louder and louder in his mind, knowing he was far too close to losing his grip on what was happening.

“Potter, I need you to look at me.” Suddenly, Snape was crouched down before Harry, dark eyes boring into Harry’s, and he flinched away.

“Don’t,” he gasped out. “Don’t read –”

“I am not going to use Legilimency on you, Potter,” snapped Snape. “You are on the verge of a severe panic attack, and as I am the only person around with training on the matter, you will simply have to make due with my presence. Now look at me.”

Harry forced his gaze back to the older man. “I am going to count slowly to four as you breath in,” said Snape in a much gentler voice than Harry had ever heard from the dour man. “You will hold for a count of four, and then release on a count of four. Do you understand?”

Nodding a bit, Harry kept his gaze trained on Snape as he began to count out loud, forcing himself to match his breaths to the pattern being set for him. Slowly, he felt his chest and throat loosen and his heartbeat begin to slow as the laughter in his mind was silenced. A wave of exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him, and he slid down the wall until he was sitting on the cold stone floor, finally looking away from Snape to stare at his hands, which still rested on his knees, the fingers of his right hand loosely curled around his wand.

Neither he nor Snape spoke for some time. Now that Harry had managed to calm down, he felt nothing short of embarrassed. What should he even say in response to help from a man who had gone out of his way for the past five years to humiliate and belittle him?

Snape suddenly straightened, and Harry started, glancing up at the older man as he backed up a couple of steps before slowly rising himself.

“Who drew their wand first?” asked Snape at length. “Yourself, or Mr. Malfoy?”

Harry shrugged as he stowed away his wand. “Both, sir,” he said quietly. “I was trying to walk away after I ran into him, but he grabbed me by the shoulder and, well –” He broke off uncomfortably. “He – he said – are you really the only one Voldemort’s told about –?”

“I believe I have told you multiple times to not speak his name in my presence,” Snape cut Harry off sharply. “As it stands, anything Mr. Malfoy might say could only come directly from your little display at the trial last month and from no where else.”

Harry stiffened, trying not to react, but he could already feel the nails of his left hand digging into his right.

“You truly have no idea how to clear your mind, do you, Potter?”

“Not like you ever explained how that works, sir,” ground out Harry, finally dragging his left hand away from his right and clenching it into a tight fist at his side.

There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence.

“I am giving you detention this Saturday evening,” Snape said at last, and Harry fought the impulse to scowl. “We will… discuss this matter further at that point, Potter. Now, return to your common room at once. I believe you have an unfinished essay from my class to work on, yes?”

Nodding tightly, Harry quickly headed away without another word, feeling completely bewildered by everything that had just happened. Every interaction that he and Snape had had since June had been nothing short of confusing, this last exchange even more so than usual. Deciding to put it from his mind, Harry continued to Gryffindor tower, forcing himself to think only of the pile of homework awaiting him and nothing else.



Hermione tried to contain her glare as she held up a copy of the Evening Prophet for Sirius to view through Harry’s mirror Wednesday night. “You are all but adding fire to flames,” she accused him.

“Hermione,” sighed Sirius, but she interrupted before he could say anything else.

“Don’t you understand how it looks for Harry when you keep saying ‘no comment’ with a wink to all these questions coming your way about Harry being the Chosen One?” she demanded angrily, the headline she had in her hands filling her with rage and disgust: Harry Potter Confirmed as Chosen One?

“Why were you at the Ministry today, anyway?” she demanded, trying to reign in her temper.

“I can’t tell you that,” said Sirius quickly. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Why?” asked Harry, tilting the mirror in his hand so he could see Sirius’s face. “What are you up to?”

“Something to help you,” said Sirius, and he sounded sincere, “but it’s still in the early stages of research.”

“Anything I can do to help?” offered Hermione.

“Aren’t you busy enough with eight N.E.W.T. classes?” asked Ron incredulously. Hermione shushed him at once.

“I appreciate the offer, Hermione,” said Sirius, “but what I’m doing – or what I’m attempting to do, well…” He sighed. “The fewer who know what I’ve got in the works, the better.”

“But you’ll tell us when you can?” asked Ginny.

“Of course!” answered Sirius right away. “If my current research wasn’t so easily susceptible to outside influences, I’d tell you now.”

“We get it,” said Harry, and he sounded sincere. “You’d never keep anything from us without good reason, Sirius.”

“You’ve definitely trusted us with more than Mum and Dad ever have,” agreed Ron.

This was true. Hermione knew now that Sirius had wanted to tell Harry about what was hidden in the Department of Mysteries a year ago, that he had long felt Harry was more than deserving of the truth, especially the parts that pertained to him.

More and more, Hermione felt certain that, had Harry known about the prophecy earlier, he would never have fallen for Voldemort’s attempt to trick him with the vision he’d planted in Harry’s mind of him torturing Sirius in the Hall of Prophecies, which could have prevented much of the trauma the end of the school year had brought. Sirius’s approach of trusting Harry with important information, or of promising and then following through on sharing information later was obviously working well, because it was clear Harry trusted his godfather just as much as he trusted her, Ron, and Ginny.

After everything they’d all been through, having an adult they knew was really and truly on their side, trusting them, helping them even, was exactly what they needed right now. What Harry needed, more than any of them.

“If you need any help from us,” she finally stated, “we’re always happy to do what we can.”

“I know,” said Sirius, “and I appreciate that. What I need most right now from you is to continue to focus on your studies and the mission I already gave you.”

“We will,” said Harry. “You stay safe, all right?”

“I’ll do my best,” said Sirius with a grin. After finishing up with Sirius, Hermione sat back and sighed.

“He didn’t explain why he’s fanning the flames around the Daily Prophet’s obsession with you, Harry,” she said.

“He’s obviously got his reasons,” said Ron with a shrug. “We have to trust he knows what he’s doing.”

Hermione frowned, considering this. “True,” she said slowly, “but it keeps everyone at school talking and wondering –”

“And staring,” cut in Ginny with a scowl. “What if they start wondering why Harry isn’t doing more?”

“An underage wizard who hasn’t finished school yet?” said Hermione with raised eyebrows. “Surely they’d all realize how important a complete education is!”

Harry shrugged, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “There could be some who don’t care about that,” he said quietly. “The people who are losing the most right now might become the most outspoken against the Ministry or even me.”

The words were deep and struck a chord with them all.

“How do we make sure that doesn’t happen?” asked Ron at length. “I mean, we know the reality, the prophecy and all, but how do we make sure the public doesn’t turn on Harry again?”

“Joining up with the Ministry isn’t the answer,” said Ginny, “we’re certain of that much, at least.”

Hermione hadn’t been able to help but notice the way Minister Scrimgeour had all but catered to Harry at the trial last month, doing everything he could to make it seem like he was on Harry’s side.

“I don’t want to be used,” agreed Harry.

“Which, between Sirius and Dumbledore, isn’t going to happen,” said Hermione firmly. “Our primary goal right now needs to be our schooling, just like Sirius said.”

“And figuring out what Malfoy’s plan is to assassinate Dumbledore,” said Ron.

“And healing,” added Ginny, squeezing Harry’s hands with her own.

“So we keep an eye on what the press is saying about Harry for now,” decided Hermione. “Push comes to shove, we can always post an article in the Quibbler again.”

“Agreed,” said Harry. “We do this our way, not theirs.”

It was good to have them all on the same page, Hermione thought as they departed ways for the night. The new book in her bag, however, weighed heavily on her conscience, but this one thing was her burden to carry and no one else’s. She needed to have everything ready to go come Christmas holidays. Whatever the point was of Dumbledore’s lessons with Harry, she knew she needed all other distractors safely out of the way before she could commit to whatever was coming their way. This one thing had to be seen to in order to make that happen.

She just hoped nothing happened to her parents between now and December.



Ginny rubbed her eyes and fought against a yawn as she worked on her latest assignment for Transfiguration in the library Friday evening. Next to her, Harry was staring at his own Transfiguration textbook, eyes glazed over as he clearly struggled to finish his own essay for Professor McGonagall.

Life had become incredibly hectic for the both of them. Ginny had suffered through multiple speeches from her teachers regarding how important O.W.L.s were the previous week, and her homework load had increased such that she was frequently up later than she preferred, trying to finish up complicated translations for Ancient Runes or sorting through Hermione’s History of Magic notes in an attempt to get her homework completed for her least favorite class. Harry’s hair was often much messier than usual due to running agitated hands through it as he tried to understand his own workload. Annoyingly, this only seemed to attract more and more whispering crowds of girls who glared enviously at Ginny from behind the bookshelves of the library, or from across the common room in the evenings. It made it hard to focus, sometimes, and she hated how each and every girl engaging in this petty display of jealousy could not get it into their thick skulls that she wasn’t going anywhere.

For his part, Harry certainly noticed the stares, but no matter how uncomfortable they obviously made him feel, he carried on with whatever he was doing at the time, often tangling his free hand with Ginny’s as he read textbook after textbook, or sitting close enough that she could scratch gently at his scalp near the nape, something Ginny had come to realize was immensely calming to him.

Moments like those were usually when Ginny could forget everything else around them, only seeing the boy she loved so much it took her breath away.

Unfortunately, Ginny and Harry didn’t get a lot of time together without a looming pile of assignments to complete, so they frequently worked next to each other in the library or the common room while Ginny’s friends moaned over her increasing absences from their study group. “You’ll still have the weekends,” Danielle had told her at dinner earlier. “Just come upstairs with us!”

After the incident with Malfoy a few days earlier, though, the last thing Ginny wanted was to leave Harry on his own for any reason. More than once she had expressed frustration over the fact that they were in different years, but whenever Ron and Hermione were forced to attend to their prefect duties, Ginny found she had to be close by or else she would have to deal with gradually increasing anxiety over whether or not Harry was fine.

“He’s not some damsel in distress you need to rescue,” Ron had told her with raised eyebrows.

“I’m not taking the risk,” Ginny had responded firmly.

Harry didn’t mind Ginny’s reticence to leave him on his own, however. He had secretly admitted to her that the confrontation with Malfoy as well as Snape’s actions had left him feeling more shaken than he cared to admit to her brother or Hermione.

Ginny would have had to be completely daft to not realize the enormity of his trust in her, that he would allow himself to be this vulnerable with only her and no one else. How so few people around them realized this… She couldn’t understand the strangeness of it all.

One of the stranger things about this school year compared to others was in how Professor Snape taught. After a scary but riveting speech Ginny’s first lesson regarding their lackluster education thus far and the importance of O.W.L.’s, he tended to lecture for a few minutes at the start of each class period before having students work on spells in pairs much as Remus had done Ginny’s second year, and very reminiscent of Harry’s style of teaching the D.A. the previous year. Though he lacked Remus’s warmth and Harry’s enthusiasm, each class was still incredibly interesting. Moreover, Snape’s penchant for stinging barbs had dramatically lessened. To be sure, he was still a tough teacher with high expectations, but Ginny found she didn’t dread his classes as the D.A.D.A. teacher the way she had his Potions classes. Of course, none of this kept Ron from frequently referring to Snape as a git. Or worse.

Some things, Ginny thought, would never change.

Harry shoved his hands through his hair yet again from his seat next to Ginny and groaned in frustration. “I don’t get half the things McGonagall is saying anymore,” he sighed. “Even Hermione has to ask her to repeat herself sometimes. And all the nonverbal spell practice…” He shook his head. “I think I really ought to do the D.A. again,” he admitted. “Give everyone more chances to practice even if I’m not always so good at it myself.”

“A safe, structured environment where students can really help each other,” said Ginny thoughtfully. “I can see a lot of students responding well to that. Only thing is –”

“How Snape would react,” finished Harry. “Before Monday, I would have said badly. Now…” He trailed off and shrugged. “If I just called it an open study group, it might go over better, don’t you think?”

“Definitely,” said Ginny firmly. “But maybe we ought to ask McGonagall what she thinks.”

“McGonagall?”

“Well, she likes you,” said Ginny easily, “and she’ll probably know the best way to approach the idea so Snape doesn’t retaliate. In fact,” she added, shooting a disgusted look at their homework spread over the table, “I say we call these essays a lost cause for the night and go talk to her now. Sound good to you?”

Harry stared at her for a moment before agreeing, so they gathered their work and left the library for McGonagall’s office, bypassing Romilda Vane, who shot Ginny a fierce glare behind Harry’s back. Ginny ignored her, thinking vaguely of writing to the twins for prank ideas that could put the annoying girl in her place.

When they reached Professor McGonagall’s office, she opened the door and immediately looked concerned. “Is everything all right?” she asked at once. “This week has been rather hectic, but I understand that there was an incident with Mr. Malfoy back on Monday evening –”

“I’m fine, Professor,” Harry cut her off quickly. “Really though,” he added at the skeptical expression on her face. “Ginny and I wanted to talk to you about something else.”

They explained in depth the function and success of the D.A. the previous year, Ginny taking the chance to admit that she had come up with the idea of having it stand for Dumbledore’s Army instead of the Defense Association as Cho Chang had suggested. McGonagall’s eyebrows had risen quite high at this admission. “It caused a great deal of strife last year, that particular name,” she said.

“I know,” said Ginny quietly. “None of us expected to get caught, and we all thought it rather ridiculous that Minister Fudge genuinely thought the headmaster would create an army from the students here.”

McGonagall nodded thoughtfully. “I believe an open study group could be rather useful,” she said at length. “We had record numbers of students pass their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. this past June.”

“I noticed,” said Harry. “Our N.E.W.T. class with Professor Snape is the largest out of all of my classes.”

“Indeed,” said McGonagall. “Professor Snape has mentioned this ‘peculiar’ phenomena many times, and says the students as a whole from your class tend to be more capable than his seventh-years. Well, apart from the few who were also a part of the D.A. this past year, that is.”

Harry nodded. “Katie was excellent last year,” he said. “And the other two, well –” he broke off and shrugged.

Ginny didn’t blame him for it. The other two had been Cho and her traitor friend Marietta. They had both been making good progress in their meetings from what Ginny could remember, though.

“I do think such an idea has merit,” said McGonagall, “but do you think you could handle running such a group on top of your duty as Quidditch Captain? I must admit I’ve become quite accustomed to having the Quidditch cup in my office.” Ginny glanced at the cup and grinned to herself.

“Yes,” said Harry firmly, “mainly because I know Ron, Hermione, and Ginny will all pitch in to assist, possibly others, as well. I want the structure to be such that we can all help each other as needed. If someone is struggling with nonverbal spells, than another student could be there to assist them in figuring it out.” He hesitated, then said, “The Sorting Hat has talked a lot the last couple of years about being united, hasn’t it? This could be a way to help make that happen.”

Ginny blinked, surprised by what Harry was saying. And yet, there was truth to the words. There had been a certain level of unity between Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff in those meetings the previous year, something that wasn’t seen nearly often enough.

“Very astute words, Mr. Potter,” said McGonagall after a moment.

Harry shrugged a bit. “Look,” he finally said, “the happiest I felt last year was during those meetings, Professor. There was a certain thrill in defying Umbridge, but the greater part of it, at least for me, was that we were all united around the idea of preparing ourselves for more than just our exams, no matter what year or which house we were in. We were preparing to be able to defend ourselves from any dangers that could come our way. It’s naïve to think that we’re safe just because we’re underage,” he added. “What we were doing, that was how Ginny was able to get through everything in the Department of Mysteries with me.” He reached out for her hand and squeezed it. “It was all due to the D.A.”

“It was due to you,” said Ginny firmly. “The whole idea may have been Hermione’s to begin with, but you are the one who made it the safe and effective learning space that it was.” She turned to look at McGonagall. “People would want to join because they think Harry’s the Chosen One” – Harry snorted softly – “and they’ll want to see what he’s capable of. They’ll stay because, no matter what the truth is, they’ll see that he knows what he’s doing and cares about what they’re doing.”

Ginny could tell that Harry was a bit embarrassed by her words, but she meant every last bit of it.

“You make a very good argument, Miss Weasley,” said McGonagall. “For something like this, however, you ought to have a teacher sponser it.”

“Either yourself or Professor Flitwick,” said Harry at once.

“Professor Snape –”

“Is the Defense teacher, yes,” Harry cut her off firmly, “but if students are already struggling to learn from him in their classes, having him there at each meeting would defeat the whole purpose, Professor.”

“Exactly,” said Ginny. “Struggling students learn best when they’re exposed to the same material from a different source, aren’t they? Hermione told me the other day that Muggles have educational studies proving that it’s true.”

McGonagall’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “Allow me to speak on your behalf with the headmaster about this idea,” she said. “I believe such a thing could be very good for our school in these dark times.” She dismissed them, and they hurried back to Gryffindor tower, speaking in hushed tones about ideas for structuring the group and ignoring the students who watched them go past in open curiosity.

“I think that’s a great idea!” said Neville enthusiastically when Ginny and Harry spoke to him, Ron, and Hermione later that evening as the common room at last began to clear out for the night.

“But open to everyone?” said Ron doubtfully. “That could easily mean Slytherin students showing up to try and sabotague the whole thing.”

“Not if McGonagall or Flitwick is the sponsor,” said Hermione firmly. “Slytherin students wouldn’t dare try to cause any problems in front of either of them.” She beamed at Harry. “I think it’s absolutely wonderful, Harry, this whole idea. I know how difficult it was to agree to it last year, but you did such an incredible job teaching all of us!”

“Especially me,” said Neville. “I was rubbish at that subject before you started teaching me last year.”

Ginny stifled a grin as Harry’s face reddened in embarrassment. “Sometimes it just takes the right person to see you were good at it all along,” he mumbled.

“Which was you,” said Ginny, taking his hand firmly in hers. “I’ll try and talk with Luna in the morning before Quidditch tryouts.” She shot a sudden grin at Ron. “Think you’ll make it on the team again this year, brother?”

“I’ve been out with him a few times,” said Hermione quickly, “bewitching Quaffles since my aim isn’t very good, and he’s done well with blocking them.”

“When’d you find time to do that?” asked Ginny in surprise. “I could’ve helped you practice, Ron.”

“We’d actually head out early before our Prefect duties,” admitted Ron sheepishly. “But it certainly gave you the excuse to be Harry’s guard dog for a bit longer, didn’t it?”

Harry was grinning behind a cough as Ginny rolled her eyes at her brother.

“I’d like to see Malfoy try anything with you around, though,” continued Ron in amusement. “He wouldn’t stand a chance against you, Ginny.”

“That’s definitely true,” said Neville with a grin.

The five of them chatted quietly for a few more minutes before finally turning in for the night, Ginny looking forward to the Quidditch tryouts in the morning.

Back to index


Chapter 27: The Tryouts

Author's Notes: My muse has been all over the place lately, but I've finally managed to get my focus in the right place. Also, two more weeks, and school is out for the summer! More importantly, next Friday, the 15 of May, marks the day that "Path Diverged" was first published here on SIYE! I'm hoping to have the next chapter ready to go by then in celebration. Fingers crossed!

This chapter includes some content from HBP Chapter 11 "Hermione's Helping Hand". Enjoy!


Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Tryouts



Ron was nervous. It would have been a lie to say otherwise at this point. He woke earlier than usual and stared at the canopy of his bed until he heard Harry begin to stir, at which point he forced himself to get up and get ready to head down to breakfast.

“You ready, Weasley?” said Seamus brightly as he pulled on his shoes, both of them ignoring Dean’s hasty retreat from the room. “I know you made the team last year, but I hear McLaggen’s trying out this year.”

Harry looked up from tying his own shoes. “What do you know about him, Seamus? I met him on the train, and he seemed a bit of git to me.”

Seamus snorted. “If you ask me, ‘git’ doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he said. “He was going to try for the Keeper spot last year, but he ended up in the hospital wing after eating a pound of doxy eggs for a bet.”

Ron’s nerves increased at the words. He’d been lucky to make the team at all last year. What if this McLaggen guy was better than him? He knew Harry was giving all Keepers trying out exactly five penalty shots to block the Quaffle. Angelina Johnson had done the same last year, and he’d barely managed four of the five. His only saving grace had been that the others who tried out were either worse than him, or had other commitments that clashed with Quidditch in a way that Angelina hadn’t found acceptable.

Harry frowned at Seamus’s words. “Sort of takes ‘stupidity’ to a new level, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t like him much, myself,” said Neville as he returned to the room from brushing his teeth in the bathroom. “Don’t really see him as being much a team player.”

“Too right,” chuckled Seamus. “I guess we’ll just have to see how it all goes. I know you’ll try to keep it as fair as possible, though, right Harry?”

“Of course,” said Harry as he grabbed his Firebolt. “A good team isn’t about favors to friends. It’s about the people who work best.”

“I hope I make the cut,” said Seamus, “though I’ll be surprised if Katie doesn’t make the team again. Ginny’s probably a cert, too.”

Harry shrugged. “It all depends on how the tryouts go.”

“Excellent noncommittal answer, Harry,” grinned Seamus. “Good luck making the call today!”

Harry nodded and headed out with Ron for the Great Hall. “I’m not feeling very hungry,” he mumbled to Harry.

“Ron, you pulled through last year,” said Harry encouragingly as Hermione and Ginny caught up with them at the queue leaving the common room. “I still regret that I wasn’t there to see the final match.”

Ron scowled, recalling that Hagrid had cajoled Harry and Hermione away from the final match last year to share the reason behind why he constantly looked as though he was being beat up: Grawp, Hagrid’s half-brother, who was also a full-blooded giant, was living in the forest and Hagrid had feared for him in his final days before having to flee the castle. “Still can’t believe Hagrid brought a giant back here,” he muttered.

“Speaking of which,” said Hermione, “what do we do about Hagrid? He hasn’t been to any meals since that first day, and I know he’s been ignoring us in the corridors between classes.”

“He’s been pretty weird in my class, too,” said Ginny. “Half the time I feel as though I don’t exist when he’s teaching us.”

“Well that’s not fair to you,” said Hermione crossly. “It’s not your fault we didn’t choose N.E.W.T. level for his class.”

“Maybe he’s been thinking you’ll do the same thing we did,” said Ron with a shrug.

“He’s not even given us the chance to explain,” said Hermione. “We really ought to try.”

“After tryouts,” said Harry decisively.

“But we still have to practice the Aguamenti Charm for Flitwick, and – how are supposed to explain that we hated his stupid subject?” said Ron.

“We didn’t hate it!” said Hermione.

“Speak for yourself,” Ron countered her darkly, “I haven’t forgotten the skrewts.”

Hermione sighed, shoulders slumping. “I just… I hate not talking to Hagrid,” she said quietly.

“I promise we’ll talk to him,” said Harry. “But after Quidditch. I expect that’ll take most of the morning, though, the number of people that have applied.” He suddenly looked nervous. “I dunno know why the team’s so popular this year.”

Ginny snorted. “It isn’t Quidditch that’s popular,” she said.

Hermione nodded at Harry’s confused expression. “Harry, it’s you,” she said impatiently. “You’ve never been more interesting, and regardless of that fact that you’re going out with Ginny, you’ve never been more fanciable.”

Ron stumbled and scowled, unsurprised to see a matching expression on his sister’s face. “It’s complete rubbish,” Ginny stated as they reached the Great Hall and set off to find empty seats. “This whole ‘Chosen One’ campaign by the Daily Prophet on the heels of your growth spurt and the Ministry leaking about how you’re inheriting the Black fortune is just –”

“It’s made you fascinating, Harry,” Hermione cut her off. “That’s why so many people are coming.”

Ron gulped a bit, but said nothing to this as Harry flushed beet red, instead sitting down next to Hermione and doing his best to ensure he ate a good enough breakfast to see him through the tryouts. It was obvious the things Hermione and Ginny were saying had only served to embarrass Harry.

Hedwig landed a few minutes later with a new copy of Advanced Potion-Making for Harry that Sirius had ordered for him. “I don’t suppose you’re going to rethink things and give the old copy back?” said Hermione in a would-be casual voice.

“Are you mad?” said Harry with raised eyebrows. “Dumbledore basically approved of me using the copy I borrowed, remember? Anyway, I’ve already thought it out –” Ron watched as Harry pulled out his wand to magically switch the covers of the books and had to grin at the appalled look on Hermione’s face.

“Sirius said Harry should keep it, too,” he pointed out as Harry shoved the Prince’s book back into his bag. “Though, why are you carrying it everywhere you go these days?”

Harry shrugged and dug into his breakfast. Ginny looked between him and Hermione and smiled a bit, but said nothing. Hermione glared at Harry’s bag before opening the latest issue of the Daily Prophet a brown owl had delivered to her.

“Anyone we know dead?” Ron asked as casually as possible. This had become a habit of his as of late, asking Hermione this same question every morning when the paper was delivered.

“No,” she said quietly, “but there have been more dementor attacks. And an arrest.”

“Someone important, I hope,” said Ginny.

Hermione shook her head. “Stan Shunpike.”

“What?” said Harry in surprise. “Stan Shunpike, a Death Eater?”

Hermione grimaced and started reading aloud: “‘Stanley Shunpike, conductor on the popular Wizarding conveyance the Knight Bus, has been arrested on suspicion of Death Eater activity. Mr. Shunpike, 21, was taken into custody late last night after a raid on his Clapham home…’”

“There’s no way he’s a Death Eater,” said Harry.

“He might have been put under the Imperius Curse,” Ron pointed out. “You can never tell.”

“It doesn’t look like that’s the case here,” said Hermione, still reading the article. “It looks like he was talking about the Death Eaters’s secret plans in a club.”

“Sounds like he was trying to make out that he knew more than he did than it does the Imperius Curse,” said Ginny, and Ron had to concede the point.

“I dunno what the Ministry’s playing at,” said Harry with a scowl, “taking Stan seriously.”

“Didn’t he claim he was going to become Minister for Magic when he was trying to chat up those Veela back at the World Cup?” asked Ron.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, that’s him.”

“I think the Ministry is trying to make it look as though they’re doing something,” said Hermione, frowning. “People are terrified – Parvati says her parents are still trying to convince her and Padma to come home.”

“Hogwarts is safer, though,” said Ron incredulously. “We’ve got all these extra protections, Aurors – Dumbledore!”

“Have you seen Dumbledore at all this week, though?” asked Ginny quietly.

Harry looked up at the staff table, and Ron followed his gaze to see Dumbledore’s empty seat. “I haven’t seen him since our lesson last Saturday,” said Harry, keeping his voice quiet, as well.

“He must be doing something with the Order,” said Hermione in a low voice. “I mean… it’s all looking serious, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded. “You heard about Hannah Abbott?” he asked Ginny.

Ginny nodded, and Ron sighed, recalling the horrible incident in Herbology the day before when Hannah had been taken out of class to be told her mother had been found dead. They hadn’t seen her since.

When they left the Gryffindor table five minutes later, they walked past Parvati and Lavender. Ron wondered briefly what it must be like to have your parents so determined to see you somewhere else than the safest place to be found for miles when Lavender suddenly met his eyes and gave him a wide smile. Ron blinked in surprise and cautiously returned it, recalling a passage from the book he’d been reading about cues that a girl liked you.

For some reason he couldn’t fathom, Lavender was giving him favorable cues. Why had she suddenly noticed him when she had only ever seemed annoyed with him in years past? He allowed this puzzle to fill his mind as he traipsed outside with Harry, Hermione, and Ginny, and hoped to figure it out soon.

The Quidditch pitch was crowded with dozens of hopefuls, some who had brooms of their own, and others who were going to have to use the school brooms. Ron took in the scene with wide eyes, and felt slightly bolstered when he saw that Harry’s expression matched his own.

“Good luck to you all,” said Hermione before she retreated to the stands to watch.

A tall, wiry-haired boy Ron knew to be Cormac McLaggen approached Harry in an annoying friendly and familiar way that made Harry go stiff and made Ron scowl. Apparently McLaggen had been a part of that lunch meeting of Slughorn’s on the train that Harry and Ginny had attended. He was pleased to note how quickly Harry dismissed McLaggen as well as the flicker of annoyance that passed over the other boy’s face at the easy dismissal.

Harry had clearly meant it when he said the trials would be as fair as possible.

The first part consisted of just flying laps, which eliminated a good chunk of the students on the field, including a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Ron watched them sprinting off the field, giggling madly, and prayed things would calm down by the time Harry started Keeper tryouts.

The Chaser trials were first. Ron was pleased to see Katie Bell make the team again, and was unsurprised when Ginny outflew the competition and scored seventeen goals to boot. Harry’s last Chaser pick was a fourth year named Demelza Robins who he noted was very skilled in dodging Bludgers.

Seamus was disappointed that he hadn’t made the cut. “Fair is fair, though,” he told Ron when Harry had made his final decision and took to shouting complainers off the field. “They’re all excellent.”

“They are,” agreed Ron, who was starting to feel as though he might be sick.

He watched Harry move onto the Beaters, and thought he’d made good choices with the two boys he found for the job: Jimmy Peakes, a third year, had managed to hit a Bludger so ferociously that he’d raised a lump the size of an egg on the back of Harry’s head (Hermione had quickly intervened to bring the swelling down), and Ritchie Coote, who looked weedy but aimed well. Neither of them were quite up to the brilliance of Fred and George, but Ron thought they’d do a good job.

The stadium had slowly filled as the trials had gone on, and Ron was now past feeling as though he might be sick. He knew he would be sick at this rate. Harry shot him a worried glance before starting the trials for Keeper.

The first five to try didn’t save more than two goals apiece, which actually bolstered Ron’s nerves a bit. He still had a chance.

Then it was Cormac McLaggen’s turn. He shot a smirk at Ron before taking to the sky on his broom and positioning himself at the goals. Ginny, Demelza, and Katie were all taking turns trying to score so Harry could carefully observe each Keeper. Ron waited on tenterhooks as McLaggen saved one, two, three, four –

On the fifth shot, aimed by Katie, McLaggen shot off in the completely wrong direction, and those sitting in the stands began to laugh and boo as he returned to the ground, grinding his teeth.

Now it was Ron’s turn. You can do this, he told himself as he mounted his broom and rose, heading for the goalposts. He met Ginny’s gaze and saw nothing but confidence and encouragement. “Good luck!” called out a voice from the stands, and Ron looked around to see that it was Lavender who had called out to him. She looked a mixture of pleased and embarrassed and buried her face in her hands.

Hermione’s face was unreadable.

Trying not to think about what had just happened, Ron turned his focus back to the three Chasers. Katie was poised to go first. He’d played with her last year, and he knew her tells, so when she feinted right with that little twist of a smirk on her face, he knew what was coming and went to her left, saving the first penalty shot.

Demelza was next. Ron only had the morning to go off of, but when she threw the ball, he reacted and –

Saved! Two penalty shots down now, Ron knew it was Ginny’s turn. She grinned at him, paused, and then shot off in a flash, throwing the Quaffle with everything she had and he wasn’t going to catch it this time, he was certain of it, but then – yes!

There were cheers from the spectators in the stands. He was three for three!

Two more shots, and Ron had saved all five. He’d done it! The stands exploded with cheers from his fellow Gryffindors, and he flew down to the ground with the three Chasers, the two new Beaters grinning up at him.

That’s when he saw McLaggen get into Harry’s face. “His sister didn’t really try. She gave him an easy one!”

“Rubbish,” said Harry hoarsely. “That was the one he nearly missed.”

“Give me another go.”

“No,” said Harry. “You had your go. You saved four. Ron saved five.”

“You’re playing favoritism, picking your best friend and your girlfriend when there are better players walking away right now, you know that?”

“I picked the best,” said Harry firmly. “It’s not my fault the Weasley family produces better players than most in Gryffindor.”

McLaggen glared at Harry. “Give me another go,” he demanded.

“I already gave you my answer,” said Harry angrily. “Ron’s Keeper, he won it fair and square.”

McLaggen shot Ron a venomous glare. “You think you’re so special, Potter,” he growled, focusing on Harry again. “Famous for something that happened when you were just a baby –”

Ginny had clearly had enough of the seventh year’s attitude. Moments later, McLaggen let out a rather undignified shriek as bat bogeys exploded from his nose. Ron burst out laughing at the sight, turning to face Harry –

“Bugger,” he muttered upon seeing the glassy stare, roughly spinning Harry away from the others and leaning in close. “Snap out of it, mate,” he whispered. “You’re not there. You’re here with me and the Quidditch team.”

Harry sucked in a harsh breath as his eyes cleared and focused. “I’m fine,” he whispered, turning to take in Ginny shouting angrily at McLaggen. “Bat bogeys?”

“It is her specialty,” remarked Ron as McLaggen shot Ginny a scathing glare and stalked off the pitch at last, rubbing his nose sullenly as he went.

“Are you all right?” called out Hermione as she approached. Harry nodded and smiled at her. “Ron, you were brilliant!” she said next, grinning happily. “I knew that extra practice would pay off!”

“I’m glad you were willing to help me get ready,” said Ron, smiling broadly back at her and promptly forgetting all about the bizarre behavior of Lavender Brown. “Anyway, Katie has this little tell when she’s feinting, did you know?” After Harry set up their first practice for the following Thursday evening, Ron carefully described each penalty he saved as Ginny pressed herself against Harry’s side, an arm around his waist as the four of them headed towards Hagrid’s hut.

“And Ginny, that third penalty, you really put me through my paces on that one,” he told his sister enthusiastically. “I thought for sure I wasn’t going to catch it –”

“Well obviously I couldn’t go easy with everyone watching,” Ginny teased him over her shoulder.

“Didn’t stop McLaggen from thinking so, though,” said Ron with a scowl. “Git. Anyway, the arc of the Quaffle as you threw it, Ginny, it took me almost too long to identify exactly where to reach for, but then I got it!”

“And brilliantly, too, I might add,” said Hermione, positively beaming at him.

He grinned back her. “Thanks! I thought I was going to miss that fourth penalty. Tricky shot from Demelza, did you see, had a bit of a spin on it –”

“Yes, yes, you were magnificent,” said Hermione.

Grinning in satisfaction, Ron said, “I was better than McLaggen anyway. Did you see him lumbering off in the wrong direction on his fifth? Looked like he’d been Confunded, the great lout.” He thought Hermione blushed at this, but was too excited to pay attention. “But that last shot from from Katie…” He continued talking about each penalty, feeling as though he could cast the world’s best patronus, and only stopping his descriptions of his saves when they reached Buckbeak, the large grey hippogriff Sirius had escaped from Hogwarts with their third year.

“Oh dear,” said Hermione nervously. “He’s still a bit scary, isn’t he?”

“Come off it,” said Ron, “you’ve ridden him, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” said Hermione as Harry stepped forward and bowed low to the hippogriff, “but I can’t say it was exactly the most pleasant experience.”

“You know he wouldn’t hurt you without a good reason,” said Ginny, following Harry’s motions and approaching Buckbeak after he bowed to them both. “He’s really quite gorgeous, isn’t he?”

“I bet you’re enjoying the chance to be outside again,” said Harry as he stroked the feathery head. “Hagrid taking good care of you, then?”

“Oi!” said a loud voice.

Hagrid had come striding around the corner of his cabin wearing a large flowery apron and carrying a sack of potatoes. His enormous boarhound, Fang, was at his heels; Fang gave a booming bark and bounded forward.

“Git away from him! He’ll have yer fingers – oh. It’s yeh lot.”

Ron was struggling to fend off Fang now, who was jumping up at both him and Hermione, trying to lick their ears. He looked up at Hagrid to see him stare at them all for a split second before turning and striding into his cabin, slamming the door behind him.

“Oh dear!” said Hermione, looking stricken.

“Well, that about sums up my classes with him,” sighed Ginny.

“That isn’t fair of him,” said Harry firmly. He scowled and strode to the door, knocking loudly. “Hagrid! Open up, we want to talk to you!”

There was no sound from within.

“If you don’t open the door, we’ll blast it open!” Harry said, pulling out his wand.

“Harry!” said Hermione, sounding shocked as Ginny approached him, wand already in hand. “You can’t possibly –”

“Yeah, I can!” said Harry.

“We both will,” snarled Ginny.

Before either of them could do anything, though, the door flew open again, and Hagrid was revealed, glaring down at Harry and Ginny in a way that made Ron want to back up rather hastily.

“I’m a teacher!” he roared at the two of them. “A teacher, Potter! How dare yeh come along with Weasley an’ threaten ter break down my door!”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Harry, emphasizing the last word as he immediately stowed away his wand.

Hagrid looked stunned. “Since when have yeh called me ‘sir’?”

“Since when have you called me ‘Potter’?” Harry retorted almost scathingly.

“Oh, very clever,” growled Hagrid. “Very amusin’. That’s me outsmarted, innit? All righ’, come in then, yeh lot of ungrateful little…”

Mumbling darkly, he stood back to let them pass. Ron watched Hermione scurry past Hagrid, looking rather frightened, but he followed Harry and Ginny’s lead, marching in calmly to sit down around Hagrid’s enormous wooden table.

“Well?” Hagrid said grumpily as Fang immediately approached Harry and dropped his head down onto Harry’s knee, drooling all over his robes. “What’s this? Feelin’ sorry for me? Reckon I’m lonely or summat?”

“We could start with the way you’ve been treating Ginny in class,” said Harry firmly, “but when you get right down to it, we wanted to see you.”

“We’ve missed you!” said Hermione tremulously.

“Missed me, have yeh?” snorted Hagrid. “Yeah. Righ’. An’ it’s me own business ‘ow I treat my students in class, I’ll have yeh know.”

Ginny rolled her eyes with a soft snort, but didn’t respond. Ron and the others watched silently as Hagrid stomped around, brewing up tea and serving large mugs to them with his usual rock cakes. Ron noticed that Harry immediately grabbed one and started eating.

Hagrid dropped into his seat with his potatoes and started to peel them rather roughly. “Hagrid,” said Hermione in a soft, timid voice, “we really wanted to carry on with Care of Magical Creatures you know.”

Hagrid snorted loudly and said nothing. Ron sighed and started drinking his tea, letting Hermione do all the talking.

“We did!” said Hermione. “But none of us could fit it into our schedules!”

“Yeah. Righ’,” said Hagrid again.

Just then, there came a funny squelching noise from a large barrel in the corner. Ron quickly vacated his seat at the sight of the foot-long maggot-looking things inside; they were slimy, white, and writhing. Thankfully, these turned out to only be large maggots that Hagrid was planning to feed to Aragog, the giant talking spider that Ron and Harry had only just managed to escape from their second year at Hogwarts. He was ill, possibly dying, and Hagrid was utterly distraught at the prospect, bursting into tears as he explained what was going on.

Ron knew he ought to be sympathetic to Hagrid’s plight, but given that spiders were his greatest fear, well… Hagrid seemed to cheer up after Hermione and Ginny spoke soothingly to him, Hermione going so far as to ask if there was anything they could do to help.

Like Ron would ever want to help out a spider. The only good spider was a dead spider, as far as he was concerned.

“I knew yeh’d all have a difficult time fittin’ me into yer schedules,” Hagrid finally allowed after he’d calmed down. “I jus thought maybe yeh preferred Professor Grubbly-Plank.”

“Absolutely not,” said Ginny firmly, shooting Ron a look when he let out a disbelieving cough. “Her classes are positively boring compared to yours, especially when you’re on point and enthusiastic!”

She kept up a steady stream of encouragement, Harry and Hermione easily joining in while Ron did so reluctantly, and when they left at dusk, Hagrid cheerily waved them off, looking every bit the cheerful half-giant they’d known for so long now.



Ginny couldn’t help but notice the way Cormac McLaggen had to try two times to get through the doors to the Great Hall. Ron guffawed loudly as this before entering the Great Hall, but Ginny’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. She looked up at Harry, and he nodded at her silent question, catching Hermione by the arm and holding her back.

“What?” she snapped defensively.

“If you ask me,” said Harry quietly, “McLaggen looks like he was Confunded this morning.”

“You were the closest to him in the stands during his trial,” added Ginny softly.

Hermione blushed. “Yes, it was me,” she admitted in a whisper. “But you should have heard the way he was talking about Ron and even you, Ginny!” She scowled. “Anyway, he’s got a nasty temper, hasn’t he, I was only doing you a favor in the long run.”

“Fair enough,” said Harry. “But wasn’t that dishonest, Hermione? I mean, you’re a prefect, aren’t you?”

“Oh, be quiet,” Hermione snapped.

“What are you lot doing?” demanded Ron, reappearing in the doorway.

“Nothing,” said Ginny quickly, grabbing Harry’s hand and pulling him forward. “You’d better eat quickly, Harry, your detention with Snape isn’t too far off now.”

Harry groaned. “Don’t remind me,” he said, stomach audibly growling as they set off for Gryffindor table.

Suddenly, Professor Slughorn appeared, blocking their path.

“Harry, Harry, just the man I was hoping to see!” he boomed genially, twiddling the ends of his mustache and puffing out his enourmous belly. “I was hoping to catch you before dinner! What do you say to a spot of supper tonight in my rooms instead? We’re having a little party, just a few rising stars, I’ve got McLaggen coming and Zabini, the charming Melinda Bobbin – I don’t know whether you know her? Her family owns a large chain of apothecaries – and Miss Granger, Miss Weasley, I do hope you would both do me the favor of coming along, as well!”

He acted as though Ron were invisible, something Ginny knew was likely to put Ron in quite the mood.

“I can’t come, Professor,” said Harry quickly. “I’ve got a detention with Professor Snape.”

“Oh dear!” said Slughorn, his face falling comically. “Dear, dear, I was counting on you, Harry! Well, now, I’ll just have to have a word with Severus and explain the situation. I’m sure I’ll be able to persuade him to postpone your detention. Yes, I’ll see you three later! Eight-thirty on the dot!”

He bustled away out of the Hall.

“He’s got no chance of persuading Snape,” said Harry the moment Slughorn was out of earshot. “I’ve never known him to postpone a detention for anything.”

“You could be dying in the hospital wing and he’d still turn up, demanding your presence,” agreed Ginny with a scowl.

“Sirius was right, though,” said Hermione, “about his interest in you.”

“And I’d do my best to put up with it if I could,” Harry sighed, “but it’s out of my control this time.” He led the way to the table so they eat dinner before returning to their common room, Hermione snagging an abandoned copy of the Evening Prophet when they found a group of chairs to sit down in.

“Anything new?” asked Harry.

“Not really…” Hermione had opened the newspaper and was scanning the inside pages. “Oh, look, Mr. Weasley’s in here – he’s all right!” she quickly added at the alarmed looks on Ron and Ginny’s faces. “It just says he’s been to visit the Malfoys’ house. ‘This second search of the Death Eater’s residence does not seem to have yielded any reults. Arthur Weasley of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counerfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects said that his team had been acting upon a confidential tip-off.'”

“He must mean that conversation Harry and I had with him and Sirius the night before we left for school,” mused Ginny. “Sirius said he’d do what he could from outside Hogwarts to figure out what’s going on – maybe we should ask him if he knows more about this.”

“We can ask in the morning,” said Harry. “But if there was nothing at his house, is there any way he could have brought whatever it was he wanted at Borgin and Burkes’ here?”

“I don’t see how,” sighed Hermione. “You saw Filch confiscating that shrunken head from Crabbe the night of the Opening Feast. The Secrecy Sensors do a good job of catching anything that’s dark.”

“Not to mention he said all the owls are being checked, too,” added Ginny.

“I’ll do some more research,” said Hermione, “but I think whatever it is Malfoy’s working on, it must already be here somehow.”

The thought wasn’t pleasant to consider. Hogwarts concealed so much within its walls as it was, after all.

“Harry?” said the new Chaser, Demelza Robbins, appearing suddenly at Harry’s shoulder. “I’ve got a message for you.”

“From Professor Slughorn?” asked Harry, sitting up and looking hopeful.

“No… from Professor Snape,” said Demelza. Ginny barely stopped herself from groaning out loud. “He says you’re to come to his office at half past eight tonight to do your detention – er – no matter how many party invitations you’ve received.”

“Not surprising,” muttered Ginny.

“Thanks, Demelza,” sighed Harry, and Demelza hurried off to her friends as he slumped against his chair again. “Mind playing up how much I regret missing this stupid party so Slughorn keeps trying to get his hands on me?” he said to Hermione and Ginny. “Only it’s for a secret mission I’m not privy to just yet.”

Ginny patted his hand sympathetically. “I’m sure it’ll be plenty boring,” she said honestly. “The train ride wasn’t exactly the most thrilling experience, after all.”

“At this point, just about anything is better than being stuck alone with Snape,” said Harry grimly. “Apart from Monday night, I’ve yet to really be alone with him, especially knowing everything I know now.” Ginny watched as he glanced at Ron, only to realize he was staring absently at Lavender. “All right, Ron?”

“What?” said Ron, starting a bit as he looked around. “Oh er, yeah. Just – tired, I suppose. I’ll just head off to bed early.” He quickly rose and left, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny staring after him.

“What’s gotten into him?” said Ginny, frowning.

“Oh, I think that – that he’s upset Slughorn invited all of us to his party and completely ignored him,” fretted Hermione.

“But there’s usually some kind of outburst when he gets jealous like that,” said Ginny, still frowning at the stairs to the boys’ dormitories. “Maybe he’s finally growing up.”

“This sort of thing usually puts him in more of a foul temperament, though,” said Hermione. “I shudder to think what he’ll be like in the morning.”

Ginny nodded. “He does get rather touchy about this kind of thing,” she agreed. “Famous best friend, brightest witch best friend, annoyingly talented sister…”

“Just – give him some space to work it all out,” Harry quietly offered. “He wants to be better.”

“And how would you know that?” asked Ginny, blinking in surprise.

“We do have actual conversations about things other than Quidditch, you know,” said Harry with a smirk.

“That can’t possibly be true,” laughed Ginny. “When?”

“You and Hermione were helping your mum in the garden, and Ron and I talked about – something else,” he finished lamely, suddenly looking as though he regretted saying anything at all.

Ginny raised her eyebrows and Harry flushed. “I’m going to have to start guessing at what the topic of conversation was,” she told him with a sly smile. “I don’t think it was about me and you, because we already know Ron’s stance on us… was it about Phlegm?”

“Not telling,” said Harry firmly.

“So probably a bit about her,” said Ginny, “especially given the way Ron acted like such a prat in her presence… does he fancy someone?”

“I don’t want to be late to Snape’s detention,” Harry said quickly, rising with a slightly panicked expression. “You know he still likes to take points off me whenever he can, and I don’t want to give him a reason for it again.”

“But there’s still twenty minutes before –” started Hermione.

“He does fancy someone!” said Ginny delightedly. “You’ve got to tell me who it is!”

“Even if there was someone he fancied,” said Harry, “there’s no way I’d betray his confidence on the matter. Besides, you two don’t want to miss out on Slughorn’s little party,” he added, backing toward the portrait hole. “Don’t forget to make it sound like I really regret missing it.”

Ginny rose and quickly caught up to him. “It’s Hermione, isn’t it?” she whispered as she pulled Harry close before kissing him. Harry blinked bemusedly at her when she pulled away, and she knew she was right. “Good luck in detention,” she said in a louder voice. “I love you, Harry.” One last quick kiss, and she was heading back to Hermione with a knowing grin on her face.

“What?” Hermione asked her as Harry paused, blinked, and then left the common room.

“Nothing,” said Ginny airily. Ron secretly fancied Hermione, after all! She knew she was going to have to carefully orchestrate things so they could get together and ease the tension she knew everyone could feel between them. Hermione frowned at Ginny, but then shook her head and buried herself in the Evening Prophet again.

“Ginny?” It was Dean, and he was looking bothered about something. “Can er, can we talk? Privately?”

Ginny crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. “I’m quite comfortable where I am, Dean,” she said. “Public places are usually the perfect place for uncomfortable conversations, wouldn’t you agree, Hermione?”

“Oh yes, perfect location,” said Hermione absently as she turned a page of the newspaper in her hands.

Dean frowned a bit. “Look, this is really awkward for me –”

“Probably,” Ginny cut him off, “but I’m sure I can think of ways to make it much worse if needed.”

“You’re really not making this any easier,” said Dean in annoyance. “I wanted to apologize!”

Ginny gazed up at Dean and said nothing, waiting to hear what he had to say.

Dean sighed and scratched at the back of his head. “Look,” he finally said, “I thought you were interested in me at the end of the last school year. We were getting on really well, and I thought – but then overnight, you’re suddenly with Harry, right? Only I’d never seen any signs he was interested in you, and I’ve just been so baffled by what changed.”

He paused, almost as though he expected Ginny to speak up now, but she maintained her silence, waiting to see what he’d say next.

“I asked Harry on the train what happened,” Dean told her. “He said he’d always noticed you, but it took a sort of ‘hard knock’ to realize why, but I – well –” He broke off stiffly and glanced around the common room.

“I’ve been a right prat about this,” he admitted quietly. “Harry’s obviously been through some hard things lately, but when he’s with you…” Dean sighed. “Harry told me you are the best thing that’s ever happened to him.”

“He told you that?” said Ginny, surprised and pleased all at once.

Dean nodded. “And it’s obviously true.” He smiled sadly. “Look, I’m probably always going to wonder what might have happened if we’d been together, but it’d be stupid of me to not want Harry or you to be happy. And you are happy with him, and he’s happier than I’ve ever seen him, so… well, I’m really sorry about the way I’ve been acting the last couple of weeks.”

Ginny smiled sadly. “It’s not really me that you need to apologize to, Dean.”

“I know,” said Dean quietly. “First chance I get, I promise I’ll make this right.” He stuck out his hand. “Friends?”

Ginny took his hand and shook it firmly. “Friends,” she replied, then glanced at her watch. “We’d better get going, Hermione, Harry’s counting on us to pass on his remorse about missing Slughorn’s dinner party.” She said farewell to Dean, and then she and Hermione set off, hoping that Harry’s detention wasn’t the complete disaster she feared it might be.

Back to index


Chapter 28: Focus

Author's Notes: One year ago I posted a story that I was interested in exploring, yet had no clue where it was heading in the long-term, Path Diverged. I'm not going to lie: I have floundered somewhat in this sequel. I've even relied a little more heavily on canon than I first thought I would as I have struggled to figure out where this is going and how it's going to end. In reality, I've recently finished writing the first draft of chapter 38 with a clear ending in mind at long last (and even some parts of the final battle have been written out, as well!). I know I've used canon material (more than I expected to, in all honesty), and while I can promise it is not going to stay that way, you'll have to bear with me through chapter 38 to really see this story take off in a rather unexpected direction. The buffer between where you're at as the reader and where I'm at as the writer has helped somewhat in shaping this story, but as the school year wraps up (the last day of school where I teach is 22 May), I'll have loads more time to really write and get this story the way I want it to be, which will also mean posting more frequently again. For those of you who have stayed with me this long, thank you so much!

And now, on with the chapter. Enjoy!


Chapter Twenty-Eight: Focus



Harry hesitated for a moment before knocking on Snape’s office door.

“Enter.”

Pushing the door open, Harry was unsurprised to see that Snape’s dungeon office hadn’t changed one bit despite him no longer being the Potions master. Snape was seated behind his desk, grading what looked like fifth-year homework.

“Shut the door, Potter.”

Harry obliged, hoping that his nervousness about being here wasn’t showing on his face.

“As much as I’m certain you’d rather be enjoying yourself with Professor Slughorn’s little party, rescheduling detentions for such trifles is not something I am in the habit of doing.”

Harry nodded quickly. “I didn’t ask him to talk to you, sir. I only told him I had the detention tonight.”

Why had he said that? Snape never believed him, always claimed that Harry was an attention-seeker who wanted all the fame and attention that came with it.

Snape glanced up at Harry, but Harry averted his eyes, all-too aware of the power behind that dark-eyed gaze. He clenched his shaking hands into fists at his sides, grateful that his robes concealed the action.

“Sit down, Potter,” was all Snape said. That was odd.

Harry moved to the chair opposite Snape and sat down, balling his hands on his lap.

Snape stared at Harry for a few seconds. “Monday evening, you made it inescapably clear that you do not know how to clear your mind. I had previously thought you were too stubborn to actually try – or just incompetent.”

Harry tried not to squirm. He genuinely hadn’t understood how to clear his mind, nor had he completely wanted the visions to stop in case someone else he cared about was harmed by Voldemort. His failure at mastering Occlumency meant that it had nearly been his and Sirius’s downfall.

“It occurs to me now,” continued Snape, “that while stubbornness may have played a significant role in your lack of progression with Occlumency, the greater part is that you have never been instructed how best to manage your emotions and mind.”

Harry shrugged. “I suppose so, sir,” he said quietly.

Snape paused, then said, “When is your mind at its most calm and clear state?”

Harry frowned. “What? Most calm… I don’t – ” He broke off, feeling his face flush as the answer to the question came to him.

“Potter?”

Embarrassed, Harry muttered his answer, but Snape clearly didn’t hear him, because he demanded Harry repeat himself.

“When I’m with Ginny,” Harry told his knees.

Snape said nothing for long enough that Harry chanced a glance at the professor. He was eyeing Harry in a very calculating manner. “What emotion were you feeling when you stopped the Dark Lord from possessing you?”

Harry instantly recalled the pain, the fear that filled him as he realized he was dying –

“I… I love you,” Ginny’s words echoed in his mind.

“Love,” whispered Harry. “It… it was love. And I didn’t stop him, sir, Ginny saved me.”

“She gave you what you needed to save yourself, Potter,” said Snape, an unreadable expression on his face. “Did you think specifically of her in that moment?”

“Yeah,” said Harry quietly. “Her and Sirius.”

“That is what you need to learn to harness, then,” Snape told him with a strangely neutral expression. “The Dark Lord does not understand or care for emotions such as love. He will never be able to enter your mind again if you can learn how to use that emotion as your shield against him.”

Harry considered this. “Do you really think I can learn how to do that, sir? I was rubbish at it last year, and there’s a lot more… how do I manage the ravaged mess in here?” he asked, pointing at his forehead.

“Your mind is not a ‘ravaged mess,’ as you so indelicately describe it,” said Snape evenly. “The Dark Lord had access to your mind for five hours, Potter.”

Harry snorted bitterly. “I know, sir, I was there for every last second of it.”

Snape actually pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked thoroughly consternated, something that was wholly unusual for the dour teacher. “You have been traumatized, Potter,” he finally stated. “The flashbacks and panic attacks are clear signs that your mind has struggled to cope with the experience you suffered while at the Dark Lord’s mercy. I described your mind to Lupin as that of a Muggle minefield. The land mines are hidden well, with no telling as to which step taken will trigger the bomb.”

“I know that, sir,” said Harry, trying not to sound sullen. “He told me.”

“What you fail to realize,” continued Snape as though he hadn’t heard Harry speak at all, “is that the surface of minefields are the innocuous sort, meaning you cannot see the damage from the surface. You remain very much the stubborn, reckless, recalcitrant Gryffindor you have been from the day you set foot in this castle.”

Harry frowned, trying to figure out if he was being insulted yet again or not.

“You have not changed, Potter,” said Snape, expression once again unreadable. “You are burdened and damaged, yes, but still wholly you.”

Harry looked away, uncertain what to say to this. Was he still himself? It certainly didn’t always feel like it. He shifted uncomfortably in the silence that enveloped the room. “Why –?”

“The assignment I am giving you as of now,” Snape cut him off, “is to use your emotions for Miss Weasley as your focus when attempting to clear your mind before you sleep. Five minutes each night.” He eyed Harry intensely. “You will practice the breathing technique I used with you this past Monday and focus on only Miss Weasley and the emotions you feel for her. You go straight to sleep after that. The house-elf monitoring your sleep will keep me updated as to whether or not you are completing your assignment. We will meet again in a fortnight at seven o’clock to check on your progress, understood?”

This was probably the strangest assignment Harry had ever been given. “Why are you – helping me?” he burst out, curiosity getting the better of him. “You hate me.”

Snape stared at him and he quickly added, “Sir.”

There was a moment of tense silence. “You admitted at the trial that your mother sacrified herself to save you,” Snape said slowly. “In the light of the Dark Lord’s obsession to see you dead at his hand, I expect you to do everything in your power to live up to that sacrifice.”

It was the closest they had come to that particular subject with each other. Harry didn’t know what to say, wasn’t certain he dared ask any of the burning questions he still had about Lily Potter. His thoughts were cut off when Snape abruptly rose.

“In the meantime, for drawing your wand on another student, your detention will consist of sorting out rotten flobberworms from good ones to use in Potions lessons.”

Harry was unable to contain his scowl. “Am I allowed gloves, sir?”

Snape actually smirked. “Not necessary, Potter. Come with me so you can get started.”

Inwardly groaning, Harry rose and followed Snape out of his office and over to a nearby room where a large container of flobberworms awaited him. Disgusting as it was, Harry knew he had little choice in the matter, so he rolled up his sleeves, grimaced to himself, and got to work as Snape settled down at a nearby desk with a stack of homework to grade.

Some things felt different in how Snape spoke to him now compared to the previous years, but clearly some things were meant to stay the same no matter what.



Sirius grimaced. “Flobberworms? Gross.”

Harry nodded at him through the small mirror Sirius held in his hand. “And no gloves, either.”

“But he also wants you thinking about Ginny every night before bed,” said Sirius, trying to keep his grin in check. Judging by the blush on Harry’s face, he hadn’t succeeded.

“Bloody bizarre, is what that is,” came Ron’s voice from out of sight. He stuck his head into view behind Harry and grimaced. “I don’t want to know what kind of thoughts are going on in your head, Harry. Ever.”

Harry’s face turned beet red and Sirius couldn’t contain a grin or his laughter at the sight.

“Being the subject of a daily assignment is clearly the highest form of flattery,” came Ginny’s voice, and her cheery face popped into view a moment later as she kissed Harry on a very pink cheek. “Anyway, we wanted to ask you about Dad’s raid at the Malfoy’s manor.”

Sirius sighed. “Yes, that. Arthur looked around as hard as he could, but there’s nothing there that could conceivably aid Malfoy in his task.”

Harry scowled unhappily. “Which leaves us back at square one,” he said.

Sirius nodded. “I’m thinking my next step is to question Mr. Borgin directly.”

“But what if he alerts Malfoy about you stopping by?” said Harry with a frown. “We don’t want to make him aware of the fact that we know what he’s up to.”

“I’ll have Kreacher spike his drink with Veritaserum and Obliviate him afterwards,” said Sirius. “Easy.”

“Memory charms can be broken through,” said Harry. “That’s how Voldemort was able to learn about Crouch Jr. still being alive.”

“I do this right, and no one suspects a thing,” said Sirius firmly.

“He seems to be a really paranoid man, though,” said Ron with a frown as he crowded into view, as well. “Are you sure Kreacher could do it and not get caught?”

“Yes,” said Sirius firmly. “Wizards are so certain of their dominance over house elves that they frequently underestimate just how powerful their magic is.” He thought of Kreacher’s tale, of being left for dead but escaping the powerful enchantments Voldemort had doubtlessly placed over that cave.

“Sirius?” questioned Harry softly.

“Trust me,” said Sirius quickly, “if anyone can make this happen, it’s Kreacher. I’ll have him track Borgin’s movements for a few days to identify the best time to dose and question him. Any luck on your end with Malfoy?”

“We check the map whenever we can,” said Ginny quickly, “but so far, nothing. He’s either wandering aimlessly, in his common room, or in the library in the evenings.”

“Let me know if that changes,” said Sirius firmly, and the four teenagers nodded their understanding.

Sirius hadn’t had as much to do with Harry back at Hogwarts, but he had been finding ways to be busy. Rather than answering his many missives by owl, he started heading into the various businesses and even Gringotts to see to matters personally. There was also the matter of the research he’d been doing which had included a couple of horribly public visits to the Ministry of Magic, but it would be some time before he had enough of the pieces in place to act. As for what remained of the Black family, his dear aunt Druella had immediately given him the cold shoulder when he tried to visit, but he had dinner with his cousin Andromeda to look forward to, so he wasn’t too put-off by his aunt’s reaction.

The years had been much kinder to Andy than they had to her sister Bellatrix. Even though the two looked remarkably alike, Andy’s features were much less severe, her hair a smooth light brown as opposed to the heavy dark locks of her sister.

“How’s Harry?” she asked that evening when Sirius came over for dinner.

“Doing well,” answered Sirius. “Are you still all right with coming to visit us Christmas Eve?”

“I want to get to know Harry,” said Andy warmly. “Nymphadora speaks highly of him.”

“Mum, how many times must I ask you not to call me that?” shouted Tonks from the living room. Andy sighed and rolled her eyes.

“It is your name, daughter of mine,” she returned. “I long for the day you accept it.”

“Remus has taken to calling her Dora,” offered Sirius.

“How is he?” asked Andy a bit stiffly. Sirius knew she was struggling with her ingrown bias against werewolves, but was trying to step back and allow her daughter the freedom to who whoever she wanted. Sirius knew it had been hard on her to be disowned for loving a Muggleborn, and that she did not want the same for her daughter.

“Keeping busy,” sighed Sirius. “He’s made some headway with the werewolves, but not as much as we had hoped for by this point.”

“Greyback makes it hard to see there’s potentially a better way,” said Tonks, walking into the kitchen with a scowl. “He’s had years to manipulate the way the others in the packs think. ‘Course, the Ministry’s regulations haven’t helped much, either.”

“Umbitch’s fault, you know,” said Sirius gravely. “I’ve started petitioning for the Wizengamot to reconsider every law she’s pushed through in light of her actions over the past year.”

“Good,” said Ted Tonks firmly from the kitchen table, where he’d been reading the Evening Prophet. “Isolation and division will not help us in these dark times. You know, Muggles have a long history of dividing their own with disastrous results. The systemic slavery of the African peoples, concentration camps for the Jewish…” He trailed off and shook his head. “We need to focus on unity. It’s the only way out of this mess.”

“That’s what I’m hoping to push for,” said Sirius, nodding at Ted. “I’ve got Griselda Marchbanks and Tiberius Ogden on my side already, and they’re working with both myself and Augusta Longbottom to convince others. Dumbledore says he’ll call for a special session as soon as we get enough members of the Wizengamot on our side.”

“What about Scrimgeour?” asked Tonks.

“He’s not opposed to reviewing her legislation, but his attention is on other things,” sighed Sirius.

“Like arresting that bloke, Stan Shunpike,” said Ted darkly.

“The problem,” said Tonks, “is that You-Know-Who and his followers got too much of a headstart on their plans before they were fully found out. We’re struggling to do more than react to each crisis as it hits.”

“Are you sure Severus can’t give the Order more to work with?” asked Ted.

Sirius heaved a great sigh at the question. “Snape’s position… we can’t afford to jeopardize it in any way.”

Tonks eyed him. “Is there something you know that we don’t?” she asked carefully.

That, Sirius thought, was rather a loaded question. Draco’s mission, Snape’s role, Dumbledore’s inevitable death, the Horcruxes…

“I need you to trust me,” Sirius finally offered. “The long game we’re playing right now…” He trailed off and shook his head.

An uncomfortable silence fell on the small group.

“The trouble with long games,” said Ted at length, “is the amount of sacrifices made along the way.”

“Don’t think I’m happy with it,” said Sirius tightly. “If I hadn’t stumbled onto a key piece of the puzzle, I wouldn’t even know the long game, myself.” He shook his head. “I never should’ve said anything, I’ve gone and ruined the mood.”

“Nonsense,” said Andy firmly. “Just tell me this: will we win?”

Sirius looked long and hard at his cousin, taking in the exhaustion, the concern, and the tiny flicker of hope.

He thought of Dumbledore’s mission to find out as much as possible about the remaining Horcruxes, of the lessons Harry had yet to have, of what truly lay before them.

Could they really do it? Was it possible to win once and for all?

The real question, however, was did he trust that Harry could do all that was being asked of him? Did he trust Harry?

Sirius smiled.

“Yes,” he answered. “We will.”

And for the first time, he believed it.



Hermione was checking Harry’s latest Defense Against the Dark Arts assignment when Dean approached Harry. She had witnessed his apology to Ginny the previous evening, but was curious to see what he’d say to her best friend.

“Harry, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Hermione watched as Harry looked up, appearing slightly startled. “Er, sure,” he said, sounding uncertain.

“Best do it here, Dean,” said Hermione as she resumed looking over Harry’s essay. “Public places are the best locations for uncomfortable conversations, after all.”

“Yeah, Ginny made that clear,” sighed Dean.

“You spoke to Ginny?” asked Harry in surprise.

Hermione took a peek at Harry and Dean to see Harry appeared wary, and Dean looked even more uncomfortable than he had the previous evening.

“Last night, yeah,” said Dean. “Listen, I’m going to get right to the point. I’ve been an arse, and I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” said Harry as Ron came downstairs with a new bottle of ink and spotted them, eyes narrowing.

“It doesn’t take a genius to see how happy you two are together,” Dean continued as Ron approached, eyes fixed on Harry. Hermione looked at Harry, as well, taking in the neutral expression on his face and feeling silently grateful that Danielle and Emily had successfully dragged Ginny away to study in the library. “It’d be stupid of me to try and stand in the way of that.”

“Come to your senses, have you?” said Ron tightly as he dropped into the chair next to Harry’s.

Hermione watched as Dean nodded, looking ashamed. “It was wrong of me to argue about who your sister should or shouldn’t date, Ron,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry about that.”

Ron nodded stiffly.

Then Harry stood up.

Hermione abandoned the essay completely, curious to see what Harry would do now. He’d never needed much of an apology from Ron before when he acted foolishly, but then, Ron was his best mate. She watched as he faced Dean, paused, and then offered his hand.

“We’re good, you and I,” he said, and a grateful look spread across Dean’s face as he took Harry’s hand.

Hermione smiled.

“Just don’t be a prat again, and we’re good, as well,” said Ron, rising as well to shake Dean’s hand.

“You have my word,” said Dean, smiling in relief.

Hermione returned to Harry’s essay, pleased by Harry and Ron’s easy forgiveness. The world needed more of that in these dark times.



“Explain the trigger to me.”

Harry heaved a sigh. “He said almost exactly the same thing Umbridge said at the trial,” he answered quietly.

Madam Pomfrey’s eyebrows shot up before an enraged expression briefly crossed her face. “I do recall that incident quite clearly,” she said. “When did Professor Snape intervene?”

“Less than a minute later,” said Harry. “He sent Malfoy away and then, well…”

“Talked you through the calming technique to stop your panic attack,” finished Madam Pomfrey. Harry nodded.

A few more questions, and Harry was allowed to leave the hospital wing. Ginny was waiting outside for him. “How’d it go?” she asked as they set off down the corridor.

“Fine,” said Harry. “She said I actually started getting a bit more sleep Saturday after I began Snape’s assignment.”

That had been interesting to explain when he’d returned to the common room at half-past eleven Saturday night. Hermione had already gone to bed, but Ginny had apparently sneaked into Harry’s dormitory to check if he was there yet, and had then camped out in her favorite chair in the common room to wait for his return from the detention with Snape.

“It’s probably the best assignment you’ve ever had,” said Ginny, grinning. “Knowing that you’re thinking of nothing but me for five minutes is doing wonders for my personal ego.”

Harry chuckled, though his face felt warm. “Happy to help, I suppose.”

Ginny laughed lightly and took Harry’s hand. “Got the map?” she asked.

It had been a few days since they had last checked to see if Malfoy was doing anything unusual. Harry nodded, and they ducked into an unused classroom on the fifth floor, making sure to lock the door behind them. Harry added an extra spell for good measure:

“Muffliato!”

“What’s that do?” asked Ginny.

“Found it last night in the Prince’s book,” said Harry. “It fills the ears of anyone nearby with an unidentifiable buzzing so people can’t hear what you’re saying.”

“Brilliant!” said Ginny as Harry pulled out the map and activated it. They settled down on a desk and bent in close, looking carefully over the map to see if they could find Malfoy, but he didn’t seem to be anywhere.

“That’s suspicious, isn’t it?” said Ginny darkly. “Not being able to see him at all.”

“Definitely strange,” agreed Harry, still scanning the map carefully. “I can’t see Crabbe or Goyle, either, can you?”

Ginny shook her head. “Are there any places this map doesn’t show?”

“Not that I can think of,” said Harry, frowning as he thought the question over. “And with tightened security everywhere, sneaking out through one of the passages would be much more difficult these days. If he even knows about any of those passages, that is.”

Ginny sighed. “What we need is more time to look, and none of us has got that,” she said.

It was true. Between their immense school workloads, Ron and Hermione’s prefect duties, and Quidditch practice, there wasn’t a lot of time to try and track down Malfoy’s whereabouts. Deciding to give up for the evening, they dropped the enchantments protecting the classroom and made their way back to Gryffindor tower to work on more homework.

That night, Harry did as he’d done the past two nights and settled himself on his bed for his five minutes of meditation. He’d felt rather awkward the first night, especially after the light teasing Ginny had given him for this unusual assignment, but he was starting to find the routine calming as nothing had been for him before.

And really, spending five minutes thinking about the way Ginny made him feel? It was probably the most enjoyable assignment he’d ever been given, which was especially bizarre given the source of said assignment.

Harry closed his eyes and started first with mentally talking himself through a breath in to a count of four, holding it for a count of four, and then releasing the breath on a count of four. He did this a few times to settle into the rhythm before turning his thoughts to Ginny.

He had so many happy memories to draw from now, an entire summer of wild freedom to be a teenager in love, away from the responsibilities that awaited him. Ginny had long been a part of his life, but she had quickly and easily become such an integral part of it he couldn’t imagine life without her to anchor him when the perilous reality of his life threatened to overwhelm him.

Ginny was fiercely determined to see Harry happy no matter what. Never having had that before coming to Hogwarts, the concept of being happy had been almost foreign to him. He had tried to seize what little moments of happiness he could as a child, but he hadn’t really understood what it meant to be happy before Ron and Hermione. More than that, he hadn’t known joy until getting together with Ginny.

He knew joy now. And happiness. Even love, something that he had heard of but never understood.

And so he thought of sunlit days playing two-a-side Quidditch, Ginny dragging him outside to sit in the orchard and just be when he became overwhelmed, discussing her Charms and Transfiguration summer homework, snogging under the trees in the orchard…

Well, maybe a little less of those particular thoughts.

Five minutes of meditation later, Harry settled down in bed, ready to fall asleep. It wasn’t long before he fell into a peaceful slumber.



Ron shifted nervously from foot to foot. He’d been thinking long and hard about what his first move ought to be. The book Bill had given him discussed birthday gifts, and Ron had struggled to decide what to get this year.

That’s why he’d always gone for a box of chocolates in years past. Simple presents like that were the easiest.

Trouble was, Ron didn’t want easy anymore.

Hermione deserved better than that from him.

“She’ll like what you picked out,” Harry had reassured him the day before when he’d accompanied Ron down to the kitchens to ask Dobby about procuring wrapping paper, something the small elf had been more than eager to fetch for them.

“Harry Potter’s Wheezy is getting a present for Miss Granger, he is so kind and thoughtful…”

Ron had felt very hot around the collar and ignored the grin on Harry’s face.

“Good morning, Ron!” called Hermione as she reached the common room, her bag filled with many books as per usual.

“Happy Birthday!” said Ron quickly, thrusting out his present, wrapped in the red and gold wrapping paper Dobby had procured for him.

“Oh, thank you!” Hermione beamed, dropping her bag to the ground with a loud ‘thunk’ and taking the package, quickly unwrapping it to see a rectangular box inside. “What is it?” she asked. “Chocolates?”

“Just – go on and see,” said Ron, feeling his face warm.

Smiling uncertainly, Hermione did just that. “Oh, you bought more of my favorite quills!” she exclaimed happily. “How did you know I needed more? I completely forgot to ask your mother to purchase more at Diagon Alley last month, and I wasn’t eager to use the mail order service for Flourish and Blotts.”

Ron shrugged. “I notice things sometimes,” he said, then added, “I’m glad you like them.”

Hermione’s expression was almost radiant as she looked up at Ron. “Thank you, Ron,” she said in a very sincere voice. “I can tell you put a lot of thought into this.” She set the box down on top of her bag and threw her arms around Ron, hugging him tightly. He hugged her back, quickly thinking over what he ought to say in return.

“It’s the least I could do for the most important girl in my life.”

Wait.

Did he really just say that?

Hermione pulled back, looking startled. “Ron?”

He needed to come up with something to ease the awkward moment, and quickly at that!

“Will you go to Hogsmeade with me next month?”

Had he actually said that? Did Hermione understand him? What if he’d said it too quickly, or what if she said no?

Hermione was pink in the cheeks, and Ron couldn’t help but find it adorable. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’d – I’d like that, very much.”

Grinning joyfully, Ron helped Hermione pick up her bag, and they set off for the Great Hall.

Ron thought about holding Hermione’s hand, but didn’t think he should go that far just yet.

“Happy Birthday, Hermione!” Ginny called when they entered. She was sitting with Harry and Neville, and waved Ron and Hermione over.

“Thank you,” said Hermione happily as she sat down next to Ginny, Ron slipping into the seat on her other side. A small pile of presents lay on the table.

“Food first, then presents,” said Ginny firmly. “Wait, where’s Ron’s present?”

“Oh, he already gave it to me!” said Hermione cheerfully. “He noticed I was on my last quill and bought me new ones.”

Ginny blinked and looked over at Ron. “You noticed something outside of Quidditch?”

“Shut it, Ginny,” snapped Ron, ears feeling warm.

“It was a very thoughtful gift,” Hermione defended him at once. “Did my parents’ present already come?”

“Right here,” said Harry, tapping a brown package tied with string. “Arrived about two minutes before you did.”

“Anyway, eat!” cut in Ginny impatiently. “We don’t have the time to just banter when there’s presents to be had!”

Laughing, Ron immediately set about loading up his plate. As he ate, he couldn’t help but cast surreptitious looks in Hermione’s direction, mind replaying what had happened up in the common room.

He’d actually asked her to go to Hogsmeade with him! And more than that, she had said yes!

Hermione looked up and met his eyes. She smiled at him, and it was different from all the other smiles she’d ever given him.

Ron wondered if he could possibly cast the best Patronus ever in that moment.

When their small group had finished eating, which included Luna drifting over and settling down next to Neville with a present, as well, Hermione dug into her presents. Ron barely remembered what any of the other gifts were because Hermione was kind and thanked everyone, but none as enthusiastically as she had thanked Ron. Thinking of the smile on her face and the way she had hugged him served to sustain him all the way through an otherwise difficult day.

It was only when he collapsed in bed that night that panic set in. How was he to handle taking Hermione to Hogsmeade on a date?

Back to index


Chapter 29: The Changing of the Keeper

Author's Notes: Finishing up the school year is both exhausting and relieving! I still have progress reports to finish up as well as preparing summer school packets for a student I qualified for summertime instruction long before COVID-19 came to town, but otherwise, I have more time to write again! Chapter 39 is about 40% written at this point, so I feel okay with getting this chapter out now. Enjoy!


Chapter Twenty-Nine: Changing of the Keeper



Harry didn’t want to pester Professor McGonagall about his and Ginny’s idea for a brand-new version of the D.A., but when a full week had passed without hearing anything, he had to ask, Hermione trailing behind him with a stack of photocopied pages from educational journals her parents had sent her a couple days ago to back up the theory that students who couldn’t learn material from their regular teacher could learn that same material from a different teacher.

“I’m afraid the headmaster has been very busy of late,” said McGonagall apologetically. “I have not had ample chance to discuss the matter with him. But rest assured, the moment I can, I will bring it up with him. It’s a solid idea you and Miss Weasley have, one that I think would greatly benefit the school.”

Hermione passed on the Muggle research for Professor McGonagall to share with Dumbledore, and Harry went about his life, doing his best to focus on schoolwork, Ginny, Quidditch practices, Ginny, trying to track Malfoy’s movements, and Ginny.

Focusing on Ginny was easily his favorite task of the lot.

Any stolen moment he and Ginny could manage was worth it, no matter the location. Sometimes Ginny would simply snag Harry’s hand during morning break and find the first unoccupied space that afforded privacy. It never went further than snogging (though Harry started casting Muffliato every time just in case), but those moments with Ginny were enough to make Harry stop thinking too much, to remind him that in spite of all his worries and struggles, he was still very much a teenaged boy.

As if Snape’s assignment wasn’t already giving him enough interesting dreams to make that point any less obvious. Harry was immensely glad that neither Ron nor Ginny were capable of Legilimency because of the ways in which Ginny began to crop up in his dreams lately. It was both pleasurable and embarrassing, if Harry had to be honest.

Yes, it was definitely in his best interests to keep his dreams of late to himself. Ginny would probably find the whole situation downright hilarious. Ron, on the other hand, would likely deck him.

For her part, however, Ginny started insisting on a new strategy regarding Professor Slughorn: playing hard to get.

“You can’t give into him too quickly,” she had told Harry the day after the dinner she and Hermione had attended. “He wants you, and badly at that.”

“Dumbledore did say I’d probably be the ‘jewel’ of his collection or some rubbish,” Harry had sighed, recalling that late night sojourn with the headmaster.

“The best jewels are the most difficult to obtain, right?” Ginny had said. “So let’s be difficult. Slughorn claimed he’d always send out an invitation the day before the next meeting, but you and I are on the team and need to practice –”

“Which is a higher priority right now for sure,” Harry had cottoned on. “Does Hermione know this?”

Ginny had nodded. “She’s not exactly a fan of my idea, but she’s willing to deal with it. Slughorn finds her quite fascinating, being Muggle-born and brilliant to boot, so she ought to be able to keep him sufficiently distracted until after our match with Slytherin.”

And so it was decided.

Another week passed before Professor McGonagall informed Harry that the headmaster was delighted by the idea of reforming the D.A. and wanted him to discuss logistics of running the club with her as their sponsor.

“Really?” said Hermione eagerly from Harry’s left as Ron shared an excited grin with Neville on his right just after their Transfiguration class had ended. “He agreed?”

“Indeed he did, Miss Granger,” said McGonagall with a faint trace of a smile. “My area of expertise may be Transfiguration, but that does not mean I cannot offer assistance in other areas of academics at this school.”

Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Luna had discussed at length how a public version of the D.A. might work, Hermione jotting down notes as they had reviewed the previous year and gone over pros and cons of how the group could work when it was open to everyone. She handed the notes over to McGonagall, who set up a time for two days later where they could all sit down to figure things out over Sunday tea.

“We’ll be able to do so much good for other students,” said Neville excitedly. “I’m so glad you’re doing this, Harry!”

“I just hope it goes well when we do start,” said Harry.

“‘Course it will!” said Ron cheerfully. “We’re not breaking any school rules or educational decrees, Dumbledore approves, we’ve got a teacher to support us, no one thinks Harry’s a nutter anymore… what could even go wrong at this point?”

Harry received the answer to that question at the end of their next D.A.D.A. lesson that very afternoon. “Potter, you will remain behind,” Snape called out as the class packed up their things. Ron, Hermione, and Neville all shot Harry worried looks, but he muttered it was fine and headed up to Snape’s desk at the front of the room. Snape had set a chair before it. “Sit,” he said.

Harry sat.

“Explain yourself, Potter,” said Snape when the room finally cleared.

“Sir?” frowned Harry.

Snape stared at him, expression tense and dark. Harry shifted uneasily, not quite meeting the older man’s dark gaze.

“Last night I met with the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall,” said Snape. “They presented an idea for an open study group of sorts, one that would focus primarily on the practical applications of my subject.”

“Oh,” said Harry. “That.”

“Yes,” said Snape. “That. You wish to take your illicit little group out into the open with a teacher sponsoring it who is not teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

“Training up the children as though you’re a war general? Such a brave little fool you are…”

“Potter!”

Harry snapped back to himself and stared at Snape for a moment before looking away. “Sorry, sir,” he mumbled. “It’s – I never know –”

“– where the next land mine is hidden,” finished Snape. Harry felt himself flush and nodded, staring at his knees.

There was a moment of silence.

“I would like you to explain why you sought out Professor McGonagall as your sponsor.” The words were stated neutrally, the malice and anger from before suddenly nonexistent.

“Muggles have done studies showing that students can learn material they previously struggled with from a new teacher,” said Harry at length. “The same content from a different teacher, meaning it’s explained a bit differently. Students are more likely to understand that material from a different teacher than they would be if continually exposed to the same explanation or teaching style over and over again.” He forced himself to look up at Snape now, though he couldn’t bring himself to meet his black eyes. “That’s what happened with Neville. He never grasped the practical side of Defense Against the Dark Arts before I taught him last year. The way I teach makes sense to him. The way I structured the D.A. worked for him.”

“So your choice of a sponsor…?”

Harry looked directly into Snape’s eyes now. “If students aren’t earning good grades in your classes, sir, it could be that they just don’t respond to your methods. Let them work with someone else. A different environment, a different teacher… sometimes that’s all it takes.” Harry waited for Snape’s reaction.

“You intend to remain in charge of this group, Potter?”

Harry nodded.

“And you believe more students will be able to learn from you?”

“Over half of my class with you attended the D.A. last year,” said Harry firmly. “You didn’t accept anything below Exceeds Expectations, but I’m well-aware that my class is much larger than the seventh year group. The D.A., sir, it started with Hermione’s idea, but every lesson, the entire structure of the group…” He took a steadying breath and forced himself to finish: “That was me. They all worked together, helped each other, but I was in charge.”

Snape eyed Harry for a moment, then nodded curtly. “You are dismissed,” he said, and Harry quickly left the classroom, feeling as though he had passed some kind of unspoken test.



There was nothing that felt as freeing as flying, Ginny thought as she soared over the Quidditch stadium at practice a few days later. Harry was working with Jimmy and Ritchie on strategies with the bludgers, knees gripping his broom tightly as he waved his hands through the air, demonstrating whatever it was he was talking about. Ginny didn’t really listen to what he was saying, instead zooming about freely and letting his voice wash over her as the wind whipped through her hair.

This was a side to Harry she hadn’t seen since the D.A. last year. He knew what he wanted and what he was doing, and his enthusiasm and determination were infectious. It was difficult to resist the desire to just knock him off his broom and snog him senseless because he was just so damn attractive when he was taking charge like this.

“Right,” called out Harry abruptly. “Ginny, Demelza, Katie, have you been doing anything the last few minutes?”

“We were,” called Katie brightly, gesturing to herself and Demelza. “Ginny zoned out.”

Harry looked over at her.

“Sorry,” she called back, “it’s hard to concentrate on anything but your leadership skills and enthusiasm sometimes.”

“Is that some new slang you’re trying to slip past me?” shouted out Ron from the goalposts. “You just want to snog him right now, don’t think I can’t tell from here!”

The rest of the team burst out laughing, Ginny grinning unrepentently at Harry as his face flushed a brilliant red.

“Later,” he finally said, running a hand through his windswept hair and clearly trying to suppress just how embarrassed and interested he was. “We’ve still got about twenty minutes of practice left, and I want to make sure you’ve got that new formation down.”

“Is that a promise, Captian?” said Ginny as she flew closer to Harry. “A good snog for a job well done?”

Harry swallowed hard and Ginny felt her grin grow wider. “I look forward to it,” she told him in her most seductive voice before zooming over to the other girls, leaving Harry gaping after her.

“Think he’ll end practice early, Ginny?” whispered Demelza as she reached her and Katie. “He’s got that look, you know.”

Ginny smirked. “He’s too stubborn to give in that easily,” she replied quietly.

“Okay then,” said Harry, voice suddenly cracking a bit. Ginny fought back her laughter as he set them back to work.

Ron managed to block all but two of their attempts to score during the last part of practice, and he practically glowed as Harry showered him with praise. Finally, practice was over and they headed for the changing room.

The others chatted as they pulled off their Quidditch robes for their school robes, but Ron left in a bit of a hurry. “Where you going?” Ginny called after him.

“Away from what’s coming next!” were Ron’s parting words.

Jimmy and Ritchie snorted as Katie and Demelza burst into giggles. “He knows me so well,” sighed Ginny. Katie and Demelza laughed some more, bade her good night, and set off with the remaining boys.

Now it was just her and Harry.

“Are you trying to sabotague practice, Weasley?” said Harry after a moment.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. “Not hard enough, it would seem, Potter,” she snarked with a wicked grin. “I’ll have to put in more effort next time.”

She left her school robes hanging next to her Quidditch things and strode towards Harry, pushing him against the nearest wall. “You are just too damn attractive when you’re in charge.”

Harry grinned at her. “How do you think I feel seeing you fly the way you do?”

Ginny decided not to answer and instead crashed her mouth into Harry’s, determined to show him just how worked up she really was. It was pleasing to her when Harry instantly responded, arms wrapping around her and pulling her even closer to him. His kisses made her dizzy with want, and she seized him by the front of his jumper, pulling him away from the wall and over the small couch her twin brothers had apparently found, well, somewhere. They’d never been quite clear on where it was they found most the random things they had dragged into existence over the years before leaving Hogwarts and the Burrow.

Grinning, Ginny pushed Harry onto the couch, and he landed on his back with a soft ‘oomph’ before Ginny was on top of him, kissing him once more. She quickly rucked up his jumper so she could feel the bare skin of his chest, and he moaned into her mouth, which made her grin again in response.

Harry’s hands soon found their way under the back of her top and smoothed along her bare skin, lightly brushing over the back of her bra as he pressed her closer. Ginny pulled away and sat up, urging Harry to do the same, and then she pulled off her top and put his hands right where she really wanted them to be.

It was worth taking a moment to drink in Harry’s wide eyes before they were kissing again, Harry’s hands trapped between them. Ginny loved the feel of Harry’s hands on her, roaming, touching, caressing. It thrilled her as nothing had ever done with Michael Corner. Not that they had really gone this far, of course, but being with Harry like this made everything that came before worth it.

“I love you,” Harry whispered when she broke away from his lips to kiss her way down his neck. He moaned again as Ginny grinded herself against him, and she finally shoved away all other thoughts in favor of just being there in that moment with the boy she loved, whispering words of love right back to him.

There was nowhere she would rather be.



For all of Sirius’s talk about easily being able to dose Mr. Borgin with Veritaserum, he hadn’t counted on the fact that Snape had none of the powerful truth serum to lend Sirius (“Thanks, Umbitch,” he had muttered to himself upon discovering this). Additionally, given his new role as D.A.D.A. teacher, Snape lacked the time to make the potion.

Sirius knew Slughorn had brewed some up for Harry’s first N.E.W.T. class, but he didn’t dare jeopardize Harry’s rapport with the man by having him ask for some, let alone try to steal it. It couldn’t be purchased from any places of repute either without being tracked. Given Sirius’s new status as a free man, he wasn’t sure that buying Veritaserum off the black market was a good idea.

Instead, Sirius had asked Harry to look up the potion in his textbook and hold it up carefully to the mirror so he could write it all down and make it himself. If the instructions and additional comments had aided Harry in making potions that far surpassed what Hermione was doing, it would surely work for him.

Of course, the issue remained that Veritaserum took a month to brew. It wouldn’t be until mid-October that he would finally have what he needed to be able to interrogate Borgin. Just over two weeks left to go at this point.

This was fine. There wasn’t too much pressure to try and figure things out.

A pattern was beginning to emerge with Malfoy, however. It seemed he started to completely disappear off the map once or twice each week, though never on the same days of the week. Sometimes his cronies Crabbe and Goyle disappeared, as well. Most of the time, however, they were down in the Slytherin common room, or standing around on the seventh floor.

“Are you sure the map shows everything in Hogwarts?” Harry asked through the mirror.

“Everything we ever discovered,” said Sirius.

“Wait,” said Ginny, leaning into sight. “Everything you lot discovered, you said?”

“Yes.”

“You never discovered the Chamber of Secrets. Is it on the map, Harry?”

The mirror shifted as Ginny grapsed it, and Harry quickly dug the map out of his bag, activated it, and started looking at it hard.

“No sign of the secret passage hidden in the girls bathroom,” he said a few moments later. “Not like any of you would’ve discovered it since you have to be a Parselmouth to get in at all.”

“Or be possessed by one,” Ginny muttered darkly.

Sirius watched as Harry gently rubbed Ginny’s shoulder, and felt a pang at the realization of how deeply both had been touched by Voldemort, Ginny having been possessed by a soul fragment and Harry by the owner of the soul piece himself.

“So maybe he’s still in Hogwarts, but in some place that you never discovered when you were here,” said Harry speculatively. “How do we figure that out?”

“Without directly tailing him, I don’t know,” sighed Ginny.

Harry sat up straight. “Do you think Dobby would be willing to do it? Malfoy would never notice a house-elf tailing him, would he?”

Sirius considered this. “You’d obviously have to see if he’s willing, but I don’t see why that wouldn’t work.”

Harry smiled and called out, “Dobby!”

There was a loud crack! followed by a squeaky voice saying, “Harry Potter has called for Dobby! What can Dobby do for Harry Potter, sir?”

“Hey Dobby, how are you?” asked Harry politely.

“Harry Potter asks Dobby how he is doing, Harry Potter is so kind and thoughtful!”

Sirius grinned at the blush staining his godson’s cheeks.

“Dobby is doing very well, sir, Dobby thanks Harry Potter for thinking of him, sir!”

“That’s great to hear, Dobby,” said Harry. “Listen, I was wondering if it was possible for you to help us with a problem we’ve got?”

“It could be dangerous, Dobby,” warned Ginny, face serious as she looked in the direction the house-elf was standing. “We’d never force you, but it could help us out a lot.”

“Tell Dobby what the problem is, and Dobby will see what he can do to help, Miss Wheezy,” was Dobby’s answer.

Harry and Ginny glanced at each other. “We received word that someone here at Hogwarts might be acting on secret orders from Lord Voldemort,” said Harry at last, lips twitching when Dobby let out a tiny ‘squeak’ at Voldemort’s name. “Another student. We’ve been trying to figure out if it’s true using this map my dad made with some friends when they were here, but the student has completely disappeared off the map a couple times each week for about three weeks now. We don’t want this student to know we suspect anything, so we can’t follow them ourselves.”

“But you could,” said Ginny carefully. “We know it’s possible for house-elves to track others without their knowledge, but we’d never make you do anything that could be risky, Dobby.”

“Dobby can do it, Miss Wheezy!” proclaimed Dobby. “Which student is Harry Potter and his Miss Wheezy wanting to have Dobby follow?”

Harry and Ginny looked at each other again. “Draco Malfoy,” said Harry at last.

“The son of Dobby’s former master?”

Ginny nodded.

“We completely understand if it’s too much to ask,” said Harry quickly. “Honestly, it probably is too much to ask.”

If Sirius hadn’t known that Harry was being genuinely sincere, he would have applauded him for the excellent manipulation.

“Dobby will do it, Harry Potter!”

“Are you sure?” said Ginny, looking worried. “It’s a lot to ask, you know.”

“If Harry Potter and his Miss Wheezy are worried that Draco Malfoy is up to no good, then Dobby wants to do his part to help!” said the elf in a determined voice.

Harry sucked in a breath, then exhaled. “Okay, then, Dobby, here’s what we need…”

Sirius listened as Harry and Ginny laid out what they specifically wanted from Dobby, and had to admire their teamwork and support of each other. In just a few short months, Ginny had become integral to the way Harry operated and functioned in general, and he had to marvel at the strength of their bond after so short a time had passed.

James and Lily would be so proud of them both, he was certain about that, if nothing else.

Talk after Dobby left turned to Harry’s second (and hopefully final) meeting with Snape.

“I’m actually sleeping a bit better now,” Harry admitted. “And I’m feeling a lot calmer all around. Snape says meditating can help with lots of things, not just potentially closing my mind to Voldemort if he ever tries to break in again.”

“I think the flashbacks are occurring less frequently now,” added Ginny, glancing at Harry in the mirror. “I brought up an obvious trigger yesterday and Harry didn’t react for once.”

“It was still there,” said Harry, “but it was almost… muted, I suppose. It didn’t feel overwhelming the way it has in the past.”

This was excellent progress. Sirius never would have expected any source of healing to come from the greasy git, but then life was usually riddled with odd surprises like that.

Shortly after wrapping things up with Harry and Ginny, Sirius headed downstairs to the kitchen to prepare for that evening’s Order meeting. His upcoming plan was one he had been working on for some time now, but he wasn’t keen to propose it because of the backlash it could cause. Still, it had to be done. Sirius had to think ahead and do everything he could to ensure Harry’s safety. This was one piece that had to be dealt with. He had done his research, and had no excuses left. Tonight was the night.

Molly arrived first, as usual, giving Sirius a brief hug as she entered the kitchen. “How are you?” she asked him. “It’s been a few days since I spoke with you last.”

“I’m fine,” said Sirius, hoping he was being truthful. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt in that moment. “Harry and Ginny say ‘hello’, by the way.”

“Oh, you spoke with them earlier?” asked Molly, brightening at once.

“Harry checks in with the mirror almost daily,” said Sirius, smiling a genuine smile. “Ginny’s usually with him. Seems pretty difficult to separate them outside of classes.”

Molly chuckled a bit as she made her way over the supper spread Kreacher had been busy making and started setting everything out on the table. Kreacher took offense at her offers to cook these days, but he and Sirius had learned Molly fretted less when she was able to help out somehow, and so the elf had relented with allowing her to set up the kitchen for Order meetings.

It wasn’t long before everyone had gathered together around the kitchen table. Albus ran through the agenda as he usually did, members standing up in turns to share progress updates regarding the various missions they had, Sirius chiming in about his efforts to have Umbitch’s legislation reviewed, particularly in regards to her anti-werewolf laws.

Remus and Tonks both shot him an encouraging smile as he explained his efforts.

“Not exactly the most risky of work, Black,” Snape commented.

Sirius just resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “The name of Black somehow still manages to command a certain respect,” he said, “more so these days because no one at the Ministry wants to be on the bad side of a man who was wrongfully convicted of a crime he never actually committed.

“Besides,” he added with a grin, “why would I want risky when I’ve got my hands full with the biggest risk-taker of them all?”

There were appreciative smiles and laughter at the words, and a “here, here!” from a smirking Fred and George.

The meeting continued, Sirius growing quieter the closer they got to the end. Remus shot him a concerned look once or twice from the seat next to him, but he ignored his friend, thinking only of what had to be done.

Finally, it was time.

“I believe we have covered everything for this evening,” Albus began.

“Actually,” Sirius forced himself to speak up, “there’s one more item that needs to be addressed before we adjourn.”

Albus shot him a piercing look which he didn’t return as he rose to his feet.

“This is something that has been on my mind for sometime now,” he said carefully, “and I have reached the point where I can go no longer without saying something.” He took a deep breath, and then laid it out:

“I don’t think Albus should remain the Secret Keeper of my home.”

The uproar at these words was exactly as Sirius had expected. Alastor Moody began to protest his sanity the loudest, while McGonagall, Molly, and Arthur demanded a reason, Bill sitting back with Fleur and looking quietly concerned as the twins gaped at the other shouting adults. It was Snape’s sneering face, however, that goaded Sirius into action. He raised his wand and it emitted a loud bang, startling everyone into silence.

“Hear me out,” he said. “It’s the least I’m owed, seeing as how this is my house.”

“A house you’ve repeatedly admitted to despising,” said Alastor.

“But mine nonetheless,” Sirius responded firmly. “I had little to offer when the Order was reformed just over a year ago. An escaped prisoner convicted of a crime he didn’t commit can only contribute so much, but this place was something I could give.”

“We are grateful you did as such, Sirius,” said Arthur carefully.

“Thank you,” said Sirius with a nod of acknowledgment, “but things have changed. I am in the position to offer more now, to do more. My primary objective as of late has been Harry’s advocate while he remains underage. Everything we do should benefit Harry in the long run, not our own needs.”

“What does this have to do with your ludicrous idea regarding removing Albus as Secret Keeper?” demanded Alastor. “You know he’s the least likely of all of us to be –”

“Do you know what happens if a Secret Keeper dies?” interrupted Sirius.

Silence fell, thicker than before.

“Don’t think I’ve haven’t noticed your askance glances at the obvious issue,” he continued. “Everyone’s noticed, even if no one is brave enough to try and address it.” He turned to look at Albus, and then said, “You’re dying, Albus.”

A new tide of protesting erupted at these words.

Sirius noticed the anger burning in Snape’s eyes and felt a stab of spiteful glee. He knew neither Albus nor Snape had expected him to use his knowledge of the state of the headmaster’s shortened life expectancy in such a way. Sirius had rather stumbled into the innermost secrets the two men held between them, but there was no way they would be able to refute his claims by the time he had finished.

It had taken him as long as it had to bring up the matter because of the amount of research that had gone into the plan he had developed to demand a change of Secret Keeper. Visits to the Ministry, Gringotts, hidden buildings with ancient, crumbling libraries, and digging through his own family’s dark collection had enabled him to approach the situation in a way that wouldn’t betray the reality of what Dumbledore had been doing. Research alone would see him through this confrontation and nothing else, he was certain of it. Andy and her husband Ted, sitting on Sirius’s other side, said nothing, instead watching as everyone else talked over each other. Remus and Tonks kept quiet, as well, something Sirius found interesting as he hadn’t shared his plan with either of them.

Albus at last raised his good hand for silence, which fell almost at once. “I assure you I am still in excellent health,” he said firmly.

Sirius scoffed. “Let me lay it out for everyone, then,” he said, silently beckoning to Kreacher, who scurried over with his various notes he’d collected over the past four weeks.

“We all know that there are pieces on the board we don’t all know about,” he began as he set his notes on the kitchen table. “It’s important that we know as much as we can about each other’s movements, but there are things that we can’t all know about. For example, while we are all aware of the prophecy which led to Voldemort attacking Harry’s family, we don’t know the exact wording. It’s important to keep it that way so Voldemort doesn’t have a way to access that information.”

“But you know what it says, word for word,” spoke up Molly abruptly. “Ginny admitted as much to us when she came home for summer break, said that she and Harry told Ron and Hermione, as well.”

“Four underage students have critically sensitive information in their unprotected minds?” said Snape, sounding irritated at the concept.

Sirius grinned. “I repeat,” he said, sidestepping Snape’s comment, “not everyone gets to know everything. There are degrees of sensitive information that have to be carefully monitored so it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands. As our leader, Albus obviously knows everything, but I maintain my stance from before.” He looked at Albus directly now. “You’re dying, and I have proof.”

“What proof?” asked Alastor suspiciously.

“I’m glad you asked,” said Sirius with a small smile. He took in the quiet group for a moment before continuing. “My primary piece of evidence regarding the health of our leader is his right hand.” He pointed at the dead and blackened fingers.

“You can all see that he’s been hurt,” he said clearly, “and you can all see that it has not improved one bit since said injury was sustained at the beginning of July.”

“I have already given evidence that that curse was stopped and poses no further threat,” said Snape tightly.

Sirius snorted. “Who in here was brought up specifically in a house filled with knowledge of the Dark Arts and the worst they have to offer? I already know your history thanks to Lily, so allow me to put everyone’s mind in the clear on this: I may have turned my back on my family’s legacy, but that doesn’t mean I learnt nothing in the years before I ran away from home.” He reached for the notes Kreacher had brought him.

“The library in this house, much like other long-established lines of Dark families, contains knowledge of Dark magic that cannot be found at Hogwarts or most other places,” he said. “I searched many other locations for the information I sought, including the Ministry and the Libraries of Avalon, but the final answer came from the library here, just as I was certain it would.” He lifted his notes and looked for the critical piece of information. “The Necrosis Curse was developed by Dark wizards who discovered a highly venomous snake in Mexico as well as Central and South America shortly after the Spanish first arrived in the area. This particular pit viper’s venom causes necrotizing of the flesh surrounding where the bite occurred, and it is the considered by Muggles to be amongst the most dangerous of snakes.” He stared around at the witches and wizards in the room. “The Necrosis Curse acts similarly to that of the viper’s venom, but has no cure and cannot be halted forever. It will cause death, within minutes if not stopped, or within a year if treated appropriately.”

No one said anything for a long moment. Even Snape seemed to have been struck speechless by Sirius’s research.

“This is the kind of information that would only be found in the libraries of families like my own,” said Sirius at last. “Access to this knowledge is kept within our families and only shared with those deemed the most trustworthy.” He looked around the room again. “Not many would have immediate knowledge of a curse that causes irreparable damage and pain as this one does unless they had the desire to delve deep into the Dark Arts. I can only think of one wizard on the Dark side who would’ve done just that.” He paused, then said, “Lord Voldemort.”

The predictable shudders ran around the room, but no vocal protests were made. Everyone had learned that Sirius was among a few of their number who had no qualms with speaking the name at any given moment, and that he would not be deterred from using it.

“So here’s what I believe really happened,” Sirius went on, pleased at the lack of resistance. “We don’t know how to defeat Voldemort. None of us knows much of anything about his past, but I’m certain that out of those of us in this room, Albus knows the most. I think he’s trying to figure out how to stop Voldemort once and for all and came across something he used the Necrosis Curse on. I believe he was injured as a result of that curse, and I also believe that Snape’s expertise on the Dark Arts meant he was able to contain the effects of said Curse – for now. Like I said, however, the Necrosis Curse has no cure and cannot be halted forever. Therefore, Albus is dying, which puts the security of my house at risk.” He shot a glare around the room despite the continued silence. “I will not have a Secret Keeper of one of the only places that can keep Harry safe remain so when there is an obvious limit to said Keeper’s lifespan.”

Sirius turned to face Albus at last. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he all but dared the older man. “Tell me you’re going to live long enough to see Harry through the terms of the prophecy.”

Albus said nothing, and Sirius felt his anger rise.

“You don’t get to endanger us like this,” he said, jaw clenched. “You don’t get to endanger Harry like this. I demand a new Secret Keeper.”

Tonks, who had remained exceptionally quiet through the entire thing, suddenly spoke. “I put forward the motion for a vote to have a new Secret Keeper,” she said clearly.

“Seconded,” said Remus, taking her hand. “We will put it to a vote now. Those in favor of a new Secret Keeper?”

Sirius silently counted.

“Those opposed?”

Snape raised his hand, but was among a very small number.

“Motion passed,” said Remus. “Who would you propose as the new Secret Keeper, Sirius?”

Sirius grinned. He’d thought long and hard about this should he win the vote, and he knew the uproar he’d cause with his proposal, but nothing else made sense to him: “Harry.”

“He’s underage!” protested Andy at once.

“He has a direct link to You-Know-Who’s mind!” added Alastor angrily.

“Voldemort’s obviously been using Occlumency to keep Harry out of his mind,” Sirius countered him, “because he’s not had a single vision since that day in June.”

“Which is to say nothing of the current state of his mind,” said Snape with narrowed eyes. “We all know the damage he suffered whilst at the Dark Lord’s mercy that same night.”

“But the information a Secret Keeper contains cannot be forced out, not even through Legilimency,” snapped Sirius. “It has to be given willingly, and despite all he’s been through, Harry would never allow that to happen.”

“You think a sixteen-year-old can truly grasp the – the seriousness of what you’d be asking him to do?” asked Kingsley carefully. “You know the Fidelius Charm is immensely complex –”

“Yes, I do,” Sirius cut him off. “He learnt all about it the first time he snuck into Hogsmeade his third year.”

“The first time?” asked Snape icily.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Can’t punish him for something that happened three years ago, Snape,” he said. “McGonagall, Flitwick, Hagrid, and Fudge shared the juicy details of what they thought had happened to Harry’s parents with Madam Rosmerta during the second Hogsmeade visit of the year, and Harry heard the whole thing along with Ron and Hermione.”

McGonagall was pale. “They were sitting right by us that day?” she breathed in disbelief.

Sirius nodded. “Harry knows the risks. He knows what can happen if the Secret Keeper talks because that reality has shaped his entire life into what it is. I trust him.”

“But his age –” countered Molly.

“He has already been tasked with a burden beyond what most men are capable of handling, Molly,” Sirius interrupted her. “How many times has he taken on challenges most of us couldn’t dream of dealing with and come out the other side alive when others would be lost or dead? He can handle it, and I’ll prove it right now. Kreacher!”

“Yes, Master Sirius?”

“Please go and fetch Harry from Hogwarts. If any of his friends are with him and demand to come along, you may bring them, as well.”

“Hold on, Sirius, those are my children you’re talking about!” said Molly angrily. “And Hermione –”

“Is of age and able to make such a decision for herself,” said Sirius calmly. “Besides, if the change of Secret Keeper happens tonight, you know they would want to be here to support him.” He looked back at the house elf. “Please do as I’ve said, Kreacher.”

Kreacher bowed and vanished with a loud crack!

“I think you’re nutters, choosing the boy,” said Mundungus Fletcher as he glared blearily up at Sirius.

“This is a lot to ask of him,” said Kingsley.

“I know,” said Sirius. “Doesn’t change a thing I’ve already said.”

A new crack! announced the return of Kreacher, and Sirius was unsurprised to see he had brought Ron, Hermione, and Ginny along with Harry.

“What’s going on, Sirius?” asked Hermione at once. “Kreacher said you needed to see Harry right away and that we could come –” She broke off, brown eyes widening as she took in the scene before them. “Oh.”

Harry was looking around, clearly recognizing that they had landed right in the middle of an Order meeting. “Sirius?” he asked quietly.

“Good to see you, kiddo,” said Sirius, quickly pulling Harry into a hug, which he easily returned, though he looked rather confused and anxious.

“Why are we here, exactly?” asked Ginny, taking Harry’s hand the moment his hug with Sirius ended. “And how did you get Mum and Dad to approve it?”

“I don’t approve of this, Sirius,” said Molly, cheeks pink and eyes narrowed. “It’s bad enough to vote as we have done, but to ask Harry to do this –”

“To do what?” asked Harry quickly. “You know I’m more than willing to help however I can.”

Snape scoffed, but didn’t get a word in before Sirius spoke. “I’ve made it clear that Professor Dumbledore’s health precludes him from remaining the Secret Keeper of my house,” he told the four teenagers. “The vote was in favor of changing to someone new, and I elected you, Harry.”

Harry blinked, mouth falling open in surprise.

“Wait,” spoke up Hermione, “how did you prove that Professor Dumbledore’s health is failing?”

Sirius snagged his notes from the table and handed them to Hermione. She scanned through them quickly, paling as she did so. “You figured out what the curse is,” she said quietly. “That’s what you’ve been up to, what you couldn’t tell us about. You were putting up a front to divert the reporters from realizing why you were out in public?”

Sirius nodded. “I didn’t want to keep it from you, but I couldn’t think of what else to do.”

Hermione nodded, and Sirius knew she had already forgiven him. “This is…” She trailed off, shaking her head, and passed the notes over to Ginny and Harry, who bent over the parchment as Ron asked Hermione to explain to him. Sirius watched as she whispered in his ear, his freckled face turning white, his expression sickened.

“That sounds like the sort of thing You-Know-Who would use on stuff he doesn’t want others to touch,” he said darkly.

“It does,” agreed Ginny, looking up from the notes. “I can’t believe you actually managed to figure it out.”

“Wait,” said Molly loudly, “you four knew the headmaster’s health was failing?”

“Yeah,” said Ron with an easy shrug. “Sirius told us as soon as he knew.”

“Sirius,” said Molly, looking angrier than he’d seen her in some time, “I thought we were on the same page regarding the fact that –”

“As soon as I tell Harry something, he’s just going to go and tell the others,” Sirius cut her off.

“He doesn’t need to know everything we’re doing to try and win this war, Sirius,” said Arthur quietly.

“The past year would have been very different if you lot had listened to me about trusting Harry with the truth,” snapped Sirius, finally ready to stop dancing around that particular topic as he’d done since the events at the Ministry in June. “It’s become more and more obvious as time has gone on just how little you all understand my godson. Only those who actually know the kind of person Harry is are the ones who stand by his side through thick and thin.”

He pointed at Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. “These three understand what you all fail to see about him, and that is why they have his trust. That is why I have his trust, because I know better than to act as though he isn’t capable of handling hard truths and secrets that are – that are key to his survival!” He stared around the room. “This war cannot be won without Harry, do you not understand this? So yes, I tell him hard things, dark things – secret things he needs to know so he can make decisions and contribute to the war effort in a way that only he can do. And I tell Ron, Hermione, and Ginny the same things because they are his support system. We need Harry, and Harry? He needs them.” Sirius glared around the room. “Seemed pointless not to tell them when I could save Harry a step in the process.”

“Smart man you are, Sirius,” said Fred.

“Smartest in the room right now, I’d reckon,” agreed George.

“We’re with you on this,” said Fred as George nodded.

“Why pick me for Secret Keeper, though?” asked Harry. “I know the secret can only be divulged willingly, but –”

“He’s too young!” snapped Snape.

“Harry’s already proven his ability to keep his silence,” said Sirius tightly to the whole room. “Or do I need to remind everyone of the lengths to which Umbitch went to break that silence four months ago?”

He spotted Ginny’s grip on Harry’s left hand, and the hold Ron had on Harry’s right wrist. What really caught his attention, however, was that Harry didn’t seem to be trying to fight against their hold on him. His gaze was clear and focused, taking in the abashed faces of several of the adults in the room. He looked back at Sirius, who was struck for the first time by how tall his godson had become, standing nearly as tall as James had once stood.

“I’ll do it,” said Harry at last with a calm surity that belied his young age. “I’ll be the Secret Keeper.”

Later, Sirius would think back on how Dumbledore acquiesced to the change with quiet dignity; how the other members of the Order looked at Harry as though seeing him for the first time as he truly was; how Ron, Hermione, and Ginny stayed by Harry’s side as the charm was cast; how Harry clearly stated where they were to those in the room so they could all remember where they even were; how a tearful Molly had wrapped all four teenagers in tight hugs and begged them to be safe before Kreacher returned them to Hogwarts; how Minerva McGonagall told Sirius how proud she was of the work he was doing and the responsibilities he had taken on; how Snape had shaken his head bitterly and left the meeting as soon as he could.

Sirius recognized that night for what it was: a change in the dynamics of how the Order worked. What was more, he had been the catalyst for that change.

It was about time, too.

Back to index


Chapter 30: The Defense Association

Author's Notes: I've been in a bit of a slump the last few weeks, lost all desire to keep writing this story, let alone post any more chapters. I couldn't figure out how to finish the chapter I was working on, let alone where to go next. It was as though all my creative juices had been sucked dry where this story is concerned. I was reading fanfic of HP pairings I don't normally like, indulging in some really dark fics on AO3, dealing with personal crap that I wasn't handling well... and when I did write, it was for other story ideas that I want to tell when this story is over (I'm not the kind of author who can post several multi-chaptered fics at the same time). This past weekend, I finally forced myself back on track.

This story is planned to have 51 chapters in total. I finally know where it's going, and how it ends. I've been flying by the seat of my pants from the day I first conceived of the prequel, so it's nice to really know where I'm going now. Anyway, enough from me. Enjoy the new chapter!


Chapter Thirty: The Defense Association



Harry was pacing up and down the length of the Room of Requirement (not an easy task; the room was nearly three times larger than it had been during their meetings last year). Ginny watched him stalk past their friends and Professor McGonagall, trying not to let her amusement show on her face.

“Harry, it’s going to be all right,” said Hermione, sounding exasperated. “We’ve discussed everything, we’ve planned things out, we’ve got the support of the headmaster and Professor McGonagall… there’s nothing to worry about!”

“Miss Granger is quite right,” agreed Professor McGonagall, looking unruffled, but her eyes sparkling with what Ginny couldn’t but think was laughter. “I daresay you are more prepared for this first meeting than you were the first meeting you held last year.”

“No, I know that,” said Harry, sounding agitated as he continued to pace. “That’s not what’s worrying me. It’s –”

“ – the expectations of the students who come tonight,” finished Ginny, trying not to roll her eyes. “We’ve been over this already, Harry, the students who weren’t a part of the D.A. last year are going to show up with ridiculous preconceived notions of the kind of person you are. There’s not much of anything we can do about that.”

“They’re going to learn better than that quick enough, I expect,” said Ron. “We’ve got a lot of students on our side already who’ve seen Harry teach before – been hearing them sharing glowing reviews over the past few days and everything!”

“D’you suppose anyone from Slytherin will show up?” pondered Neville.

“Probably,” said Ginny. “I’ve overheard a couple of Slytherins in my year discussing whether or not they should come tonight.”

“I think they will,” piped up Luna vaguely from behind the latest edition of the Quibbler. “Many are probably feeling a bit ostracized from the rest of the school thanks to those whose parents have been ousted as Death Eaters.”

“Indeed,” said Professor McGonagall. “It is important to remember that making generalizations about the students of one house based on the actions of a few serves only to further divide our number.”

Just then, the door to the large room opened, and students began to enter at a steady pace. Ginny was pleased to see everyone who had been in the D.A. last year and hadn’t graduated (or flown off) had returned (well, except for Cho Chang and her friend Marietta, but that was hardly a loss at this point); Colin and his brother Dennis were looking particularly excited (and thankfully, camera-free). Harry stopped pacing and grabbed for Ginny’s hand as many others entered, ranging from third to seventh year, from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and –

Draco Malfoy swaggered in with the rest of the Slytherin sixth years, a few seventh years following behind them with some fifth years bringing up the rear. Ginny wondered how many of them wanted to come to learn, and how many would attempt to sabotague the meeting.

Ginny hoped it wouldn’t be many (or really any) of them.

When it seemed everyone had arrived, Professor McGonagall called for the group’s attention. “It is my pleasure to be here as sponsor for the first meeting of the Defense Association, an open group designed to serve as review and expansion of practical applications of topics covered in Professor Snape’s Defense Against the Dark Arts classes.” She looked around the room, taking in every eager, curious, and worried expression on the faces of the students. “This class is run by students for students. My purpose in being here is to offer support as needed only. I will turn the time over to the students in charge of this class, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, and Miss Weasley.” She nodded her head at their group and stepped aside.

“Hello!” called out Hermione brightly. “I’m Hermione Granger for those who don’t know me. The concept of this group was originally mine last year, but Harry, Ron, and Ginny were instrumental in the formation of last year’s group –”

“Wasn’t that group illegal last year?” called out Theodore Nott.

“Yeah,” said Ron quickly, “but as you can see, we’ve obviously gone through the proper channels this year.”

“Many of us felt we weren’t learning the needed course material,” Ginny spoke up, squeezing Harry’s hand. “Fifth and seventh year students were especially worried because of the impact those lessons could have on their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. We all know those exams include theory and practical portions, and we weren’t getting the practical application that we all needed.”

“The idea, as I said, was mine,” said Hermione, “but the lessons we were taught, the progress we made last year, all of it came from Harry.”

“And what makes Potter so qualified to teach?” said Malfoy loudly.

Ginny knew someone was bound to ask that question, and she waited to see if Harry would answer as they had discussed in days previous should it arise.

Harry took a deep breath and looked directly at Malfoy. “I received an Outstanding on my O.W.L. for Defense Against the Dark Arts,” he said, gripping Ginny’s hand more tightly as whispers and wide eyes covered every inch of the room.

“As it so happens,” cut in Professor McGonagall, “Potter is the only student to have received an Outstanding on the Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. exam in seven years, the last student being an Auror named Nymphadora Tonks.”

Ginny blinked, surprised by this statement. Even Malfoy seemed taken aback by the information McGonagall had shared.

“Right,” said Harry awkwardly, “so the er, the format of this group is something we’ve all discussed” – he gestured to himself, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna (who were standing a bit off to the side) – “and given the range of years in here, we’ve decided that it’ll be in two parts: one will be a group session where everyone works on important defense spells that we all ought to know, and the other part will be breaking into groups to tackle specific content to what you’re learning in Professor Snape’s class.

“Hermione, Ginny, Ron, Luna, Neville, and I will be working with these groups to identify experts to help each other,” Harry continued. “This group is meant to be a sort of blend between a class and a study group.”

“How do you two expect to identify experts in seventh year?” asked a tall Slytherin boy Ginny didn’t know, but knew to be a prefect. “You’re all fifth and sixth year students, you haven’t accessed seventh year content.”

Harry actually smiled. “Let’s talk about a charm that’s a seventh-year N.E.W.T. level, shall we?” he said. “Raise your hand if you’ve ever heard of the Patronus Charm.”

Several hands went up, especially amongst the upper year students.

“Keep your hand raised if you’ve ever attempted the Patronus Charm.”

About six hands lowered at this.

Harry glanced around the room. “Keep your hand raised if you’ve managed to produce the silvery mist of a noncorporeal Patronus.”

Ginny saw Susan Bones grin as she kept her hand up, but a few others dropped.

“Keep your hand raised if you can produce a corporeal Patronus.”

Only eight hands remained raised, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny among them. The others were Luna, Michael Corner, Ernie MacMillan, and Seamus Finnegan.

Harry looked at those hands and then turned to face the seventh year Slytherin. “Everyone with a raised hand was taught that charm by me last year. And I’ve been doing it since Professor Lupin taught me my third year.” Harry took a deep breath, spoke the incantation, and then watched as the large stag erupted from his wand and cantered across the room. Taking his lead, Ginny went next, calling forth her horse Patronus, which was followed by Hermione’s otter, Ron’s Jack Russell Terrier, Seamus’s fox, Luna’s hare, Ernie’s boar, and Michael’s squirrel. There were gasps and murmurs of appreciation as the animals scattered around the room for several seconds before dissolving into silver mist.

“Ginny and Luna are taking their O.W.L.s this year,” said Harry, “and they can already do a seventh-year N.E.W.T. level charm. I’m confident in my ability to understand and identify experts of seventh-year material.”

“That doesn’t mean you could hold yourself in a real fight,” said Pansy Parkinson snidely.

Ginny had been secretly hoping someone would say something like this. “It sounds like a demonstration is in order!” she called out brightly.

They had discussed this eventuality, as well, and Ginny had made it perfectly clear how such a demonstration would function. Harry had argued against this, that damned noble streak of his coming out, but Ginny hadn’t been swayed from her original stance, and so he had been forced to relent.

Ginny shot a grin at Hermione, who smiled back as she watched Harry and Ginny separate from each other. “Harry against Ginny,” she announced. “Disarm only, of course.”

“You call this a fair fight?” called out Zacharias Smith.

Ginny watched as Harry actually laughed. “I’ll have you know that size is no guarantee of power, or have you forgotten being hexed on the train already?”

There were titters of laughter at this as Smith flushed a deep red.

“But you’re together,” piped up Lavendar Brown. “You’re not going to show us the best you’ve got going up against your girlfriend, Harry!”

“I assure you,” said Ginny in a loud voice, “that Harry knows better than to go easy on me.” She grinned at Harry, and he scowled a bit, but nodded.

They bowed, raised their wands, and waited for Hermione to signal them to begin.

“On the count of three,” said Hermione clearly. “One, two, three!”

Ginny struck first. “Confringo!” she shouted right away.

It seemed Harry anticipated that Ginny would launch an attack, though. “Protego!” he said before Ginny had even finished her own spell.

His Shield Charm blocked Ginny’s Blasting Curse, and then he immediately cast the Conjunctivitus Curse, which Ginny was forced to dodge. She had to cast a shield charm a moment later to block a Full-Body Bind before she was able to send off a Leg-Locker Curse.

Harry’s Shield Charm protected him again, and Ginny was pleased to see a small grin on his face and a competitive light in his eyes. Still, she wasn’t going to give in without a solid fight.

They volleyed spells at each other in turn, Ginny finding herself dodging more often than not because of the speed of Harry’s spell casting. She sent off a Bat-Bogey Hex, and Harry blocked her again.

Silently. His Shield Charm had been cast nonverbally.

Ginny knew that Harry had been struggling a bit with nonverbal magic thus far this school year (she’d been attempting to practice with him in hopes of getting a head-start for the next year), but this had happened naturally.

Of course it did, she thought wryly. Harry was better in the moment than he was in a controlled classroom environment. Everyone needed to see that.

Hence, the duel at hand.

Harry had taught Ginny well the previous year in the D.A. meetings, and it was clear he was in his element. He stopped calling out spells as much, which only served to increase his speed. Ginny was blocking and dodging more than she was able to cast offensive spells.

Then Harry flicked his wand just a fraction, and a flash of light later, Ginny yelped as she suddenly found herself hanging upside down. Next second, her wand flew from her hand, ending the duel.

Ginny shoved her hair from her face as Harry easily caught her wand, breathing as hard as she, but looking exhilarated. “Care to let me down?” she griped, crossing her arms and feeling thankful she’d put on trousers for this meeting instead of a skirt. “Where’d you learn that one, anyway?”

“Sirius taught me,” said Harry, grinning. He Levitated some unused pillows from a corner of the room so they were settled beneath her, then flicked his wand again. Another flash of light, and Ginny fell to the cushions with an “oomph!”

“Both your father and godfather were rather fond of that spell in their school days,” said Professor McGonagall, sounding amused. “I’m not surprised Mr. Black saw fit to teach it to you, as well.”

Harry approached Ginny and offered a hand. She took it, if a bit grudgingly, and then turned to face the crowd. “Any more doubts about Harry’s skills?” she called out as she smoothed her clothes and hair.

There was no answer.

“That was brilliant!” stated Seamus with a large grin. “I didn’t know you could duel like that, Harry!”

Harry’s face pinked up like it always did when he was given a well-deserved compliment as mumurs of appreciation rose among the group, but he smiled. “Thanks,” he mumbled before speaking in a louder voice. “This kind of duel was done in an environment that’s safe. Going up against an enemy is going to be different because the intent on their part is harm, and survival on yours.”

“And you’ve actually been in that situation, haven’t you, Harry?” called out Dean. “That interview you gave for the Quibbler last year, you said you dueled You-Know-Who himself!”

Ginny looked over at Harry and felt a stab of panic at the glassy expression on his face. She quickly grabbed his hand and said, “Let’s get one thing straight to start with, yeah? If we’re going to talk about any of the things Harry’s done, then you lot will have to get used to the fact that Harry, Hermione, and myself will be calling him by his name: Lord Voldemort.”

The predictable shrieks and shudders filled the room. Ginny carefully eyed Malfoy as she swept her gaze across the crowd and saw his right hand twitch towards his left arm. Git, she thought to herself as Harry squeezed her hand, signaling that he was present with her again.

“Why aren’t you scared of the name?” demanded Michael Corner.

“Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself,” said Harry with a small smile. “Wise words shared with me by Professor Dumbledore at the end of my first year.”

“You mean you aren’t scared of him?” said Demelza Robins in disbelief.

“I never said that,” Harry replied quickly. “There’s a difference between being scared of the idea of Voldemort versus the man himself.” He looked around the room for a moment. “Our aim last year was more than just passing our end of year exams,” he told the group. “We wanted to prepare ourselves for the dark times we knew were coming.”

“He’s right,” spoke up Hermione. “The reality is that none of us is completely safe. We lost some of the students of this school to death this past summer. Other students didn’t return because of the fears of their parents. Still more of us have lost people we care about.”

“Everyone at Hogwarts has been affected by Voldemort in one way or another,” said Harry, nodding to Hermione, “and it’s foolish to think you’re safe just because you’re underage or attending this school. Defense Against the Dark Arts isn’t just a class anymore,” he added seriously. “It’s about survival. The things you will learn from Professor Snape and in this group could make all the difference between life and death.”

A heavy silence followed Harry’s words. “We aren’t here to scare you,” said Ron without warning. “We already get enough of that with every edition of the Daily Prophet. But… you’ve got to be realistic. A dementor isn’t going to care if you’re underage, and chances are, Death Eaters won’t care much, either.”

“Exactly,” said Ginny, smiling at her brother. “We hope everyone who attends our meetings will take this seriously, because defending yourself isn’t a laughing matter, especially when you’re the direct target.”

“And you’d know, wouldn’t you?” called out Cormac McLaggen. “You told the Slug Club members you and Potter were at the Ministry together that night in June when everyone learned You-Know-Who was really back.”

Ginny held McLaggen’s gaze. “I was,” she admitted for everyone to hear. “Which is why I can stand here and say how important learning to defend yourself is. I’ve done it.”

Thankfully, Hermione noted at this point that they had used about half of their allotted hour, so they proceded to group students by year. Neville took the third years, Luna the fourth years, Ginny her own year, Ron the sixth years, and Hermione the seventh years while Harry and Professor McGonagall roamed the room, checking in with each group to make sure that everyone was engaged in discussing course material they were struggling with. The goal, Ginny reminded her own group, was to figure out areas of need and identify experts who could help with those weaknesses.

“You and Colin were in the D.A. last year, right?” said Emily McGann at one point. “So you’ve already covered a huge bulk of the fifth year curriculum.”

“Yeah,” said Colin with surprising seriousness. “That’s true. Class hasn’t been too hard so far this year for me, but you never know. There could be things we learn that Ginny and I might struggle with.”

“The experts don’t have to be the same people every time,” said Ginny firmly. “We’ve all got different strengths and weaknesses. I’m stronger with offensive spells than I am defensive. You all saw how frequently I had to resort to dodging Harry’s spells.”

“You move fast,” said Flora Carrow, a fifth year Slytherin in a neutral voice. Her twin sister Hestia nodded. “Do you duel Potter often?”

Ginny smiled. “Not really,” she said, “but I’m not one to step away from a challenge.”

“A typical Gryffindor trait,” sneered Hestia. “Bravery in the face of the impossible is sheer idiocy.”

“But useful at times,” returned Ginny easily. “It’s about doing what’s right rather than what’s easy.” A thought occurring to her, she signaled for Harry’s attention.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asked as he joined her group.

“How would you describe bravery?” Ginny asked him.

Harry blinked at the question. “It’s… doing what needs to be done because it’s right,” he said. “That doesn’t mean you aren’t scared. The night Voldemort returned, I don’t know that I’ve ever been more scared in my life… but fear didn’t stop me from facing what I thought for sure was death with everything that I had.”

Hestia and Flora looked at the other two Slytherins in Ginny’s group with thoughtful frowns. “I don’t know that I’ve ever considered bravery from that viewpoint,” said Flora slowly. “We value self-preservation quite highly in Slytherin house.”

“Nobody wants to just up and die,” said Ginny with a shrug. “We do value self-preservation, but at the same time, how are you going to know your true limits if you don’t put yourself to the test for what you believe in?”

“And what do you think we believe in?” called Malfoy from Ron’s group. Ginny and Harry turned to look at him as silence quickly fell across the room.

“Everyone has their own set of morals,” said Hermione from the seventh year group. “It comes from what our parents teach us, but also from what we choose to care about for ourselves.”

“Slytherin house has always presented a united front,” said Harry. “To a certain extent, you have to. Everyone here knows that Voldemort as well as an overwhelming number of Death Eaters came from Slytherin house, and… whether their children agree with their choices or not, it casts a certain reputation upon all of you.” Ginny watched him swallow and knew he was carefully considering his next words. “But… notice that our signs said this group was open to all students third year and above. We had no one from Slytherin in the D.A. last year because it seemed clear to us all that the house as a whole supported Umbridge, and as our goal was to learn the content she wouldn’t teach us…”

“She was a rubbish teacher,” said Blaise Zabini. “We taught ourselves in our common room last year.” Malfoy shot Zabini a look, which he ignored.

Ginny looked at Harry to see him smile. “So we agree on something, then,” he said in amusement. “Professor Dumbledore and the Sorting Hat have talked about house unity before,” he continued in a louder voice. “I don’t want to believe that such a thing is impossible, but whether or not this group works depends on every student here setting aside their differences and focusing on what matters the most. Malfoy would not have been able to be here if I didn’t mean it when I said all students were allowed. It’s no secret that we’ve got a certain… animosity between us.”

A few students chuckled at this, and Malfoy’s eyes narrowed contemplatively. “That could be a foolish Gryffindor sentiment, though,” he said at last. “Allowing someone you hate into a group that’s supposed to be safe.”

“So don’t prove Harry wrong,” said Ron tersely. “You’ve been reasonable thus far, it’d be a shame to bollocks it – I mean,” he said with a contriteful look at McGonagall, “mess it up now.”

Malfoy looked over at the Slytherin seventh years as though waiting for a final judgement call to be made. “It’s in our best interests to set aside our differences,” said the tall seventh year from before slowly, his prefect badge gleaming on his chest. “Not everyone in Slytherin wishes to follow in the footsteps of their parents, after all.”

Harry nodded. “I accept that,” he said. “Now, we’ve only got about ten minutes left, so I need every group to start wrapping things up. Make sure you’ve got your notes in order for my team to review for next week’s meeting.” He smiled at Ginny and then walked away towards Professor McGonagall, who wasn’t smiling, per say, but still looked incredibly pleased. Ginny watched her lean close to Harry and murmur words that had him blushing and nodding.

“I can see why you love him,” said Hestia abruptly.

Ginny startled and looked at the other girl. “Sorry?”

“It’s no secret to anyone that you’re in love with Potter,” said Flora. “Tonight, I think my sister and I finally understand why.” She glanced in Harry’s direction. “He’s not what I expected.”

“He rarely is,” agreed Ginny as she shuffled the notes she’d been taking. They finished discussing their current struggles in Snape’s class, and then Harry dismissed everyone for the night. Ginny watched the students leave, the Slytherin students in a tight knot, clearly discussing the meeting in low voices as they left, though Flora and Hestia paused in the doorway to nod respectfully at Ginny.

Finally, it was just their small group and McGonagall. “That went really well,” said Hermione.

“It did,” agreed Luna serenely, “but I told you it would.”

“I am proud of the way you handled some of the difficult questions thrown your way tonight,” said McGonagall. “I sometimes think we encourage the competition between our houses to the point where it can become an unhealthy division, but the way each of you set aside your preconceived notions to address every student fairly was beyond anything I think I’ve seen from students at this school in a great many years.” She actually smiled. “Ten points to each of you for your actions and words this evening.”

They all thanked Professor McGonagall and wrapped up their post-meeting, deciding to meet that weekend after reviewing their own group’s notes to start planning for the next meeting.

“D’you think Malfoy will try to cause problems in the future?” asked Neville after they bid the professor and Luna goodnight and started heaing for Gryffindor tower.

“You know,” said Hermione slowly, “I don’t think so. There seemed to be a sort of hierarchy at play with all the Slytherin students. The way Malfoy looked over at that seventh year prefect, Adrian Rowle… I think he’s the one keeping them in line. If we can form some kind of… working relationship with him, I expect he’ll continue to make sure others like Malfoy and Pansy don’t do anything stupid that could ruin things for everyone. He was quite polite towards me when I was discussing seventh-year content with his group.”

“Good,” said Ron. “Malfoy and Pansy didn’t say much, but they weren’t outright antagonistic towards me, either. It helped that I had your outline to follow so I didn’t get sidetracked,” he added to Hermione, who smiled warmly at him.

“I’m glad it helped,” she said softly to him, and something in the way they looked at each other… Ginny wondered, not for the first time, what had changed between the two. Hermione hadn’t told her anything, but she and Ron hadn’t reached their usual levels of being completely irritating when they bickered these days. Ginny had tried asking Harry about it, but he had only shrugged and said he wasn’t sure what had changed, either. The two clearly weren’t together like she and Harry were, but the dynamics between them were not as they had usually been, either.

They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, and she swung open at the password with a knowing smile on her face.

“There they are!” shouted Seamus, and Ginny gaped as the common room exploded with cheers. They all stumbled through the portrait hole, and Ginny found herself being accosted with handshakes and hugs, barely maintaining her grip on Harry’s hand.

“You lot were brilliant tonight!” shouted a seventh year named Carl Hopkins. “The way you took on those Slytherin questions!”

“You’re giving all of us a chance to learn how to survive this war!” called out Jack Sloper.

“I can’t wait for next week’s meeting,” Katie Bell told Ginny eagerly.

More and more students pushed their way forward to express appreciation and excitement for the D.A. this year. Harry was clearly embarrassed, but Ron was preening at the attention, something that didn’t surprise Ginny one bit.

It took some time to get through the common room and collapse by the fire. Neville was very pink in the face; Ginny knew he wasn’t complimented all that often, and it was good to see others recognizing that he had so much to offer.

“I’m completely knackered,” said Ron with a yawn. “Who’d’ve thought running a group like this could take so much out of a person?”

“It’s worth it, though,” said Neville. “Knowing this stuff, preparing ourselves, it increases our chances of coming out of this alive.”

Harry was staring into the fire. “Not always,” he murmured, and Ginny knew he was thinking of Cedric Diggory. She reached out and caught one of his hands in her own.

“Often enough,” she told him, squeezing his hand comfortingly. “We’re alive because of what we know, Harry. Either of us could’ve died that night, but we didn’t. Not everyone lives, but the more we know, the more of us that will live. I know it.”

Harry met her eyes and smiled. “You always know just what to say,” he said softly.

Ginny smiled back. “Someone has to know how best to break up one of your moody moments,” she teased.

The small group quietly chatted amongst themselves for a few minutes more before parting ways for the night, Ginny’s mood hopeful for the future.

Back to index


Chapter 31: The Date

Author's Notes: First trip to Hogsmeade time! I did use a bit of HBP chapter 12 "Silver and Opals" for this one, but it doesn't exactly go the way it did in the book. Plus, Ron and Hermione's first date!!! I know you've all been waiting for this to happen. Enjoy!


Chapter Thirty-One: The Date



He must not have heard things right. Had he?

“Wait,” said Harry, staring at his best friend. “You asked Hermione on a date to Hogsmeade on her birthday and you’re only just now telling me?”

“I – sorry,” said Ron, blushing darkly as he grabbed his coat from his trunk. “I just…”

There had been some uncertainty regarding whether or not visits to Hogsmeade would even be allowed this year, but the first date in mid-October had been approved. Harry was looking forward to getting out of the castle for a few hours with Ginny, but this new bit of news from Ron had completely blindsided him.

He thought he could understand why Ron hadn’t said anything, though. This was something new for Ron, and Harry couldn’t help but think that Ron had half-expected to be turned down by Hermione when he’d asked her.

“Well,” said Harry slowly, “I’d avoid Madam Puddifoot’s. Bit dodgy, that place.”

Ron snorted before sobering again. “But what do I do, Harry?” he said. “I’ve never gone on a date before.” Harry shot Ron a look. “Padma doesn’t count,” he added quickly.

“Seeing as how things with Cho were nothing short of a disaster,” said Harry, deciding to let that last comment pass, “I don’t know that I’m the best person to ask. Have you asked her if there’s a certain place she wants to visit?”

Ron shook his head, looking paler and sicker with every passing moment. Harry wasn’t sure what to say that could help at this point. He viewed Hermione very much like a sister and didn’t fancy the idea of thinking about her involving herself romantically with his best friend, no matter that he’d noticed the tension between the two for so long now.

“What’s this I’m hearing about a date for Ron?” It was Seamus. Harry thought everyone else in their dormitory had already headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast, but he’d clearly been mistaken. “Who’s the lucky bird?”

Ron went red in the ears and mumbled something Harry couldn’t make out. Seamus shot him a quizzical look, but Harry shrugged, uncertain what to say. Frowning, Seamus grabbed his coat and left.

“Thanks for not saying anything,” said Ron quietly as Seamus’s footsteps faded away.

“Wasn’t sure I should,” Harry admitted. “Look, you’ve known Hermione for years now, right? And you’ve read that book that tells you how to charm girls, haven’t you?”

“Actually doing it is something else entirely,” mumbled Ron, hands clenching around his jacket convulsively.

Harry sighed. “I know you care about her, and I get the feeling she cares about you.”

“You think so?”

“Would she have said ‘yes’ if she didn’t?” returned Harry with raised eyebrows.

“Good point,” said Ron, blushing again.

“Maybe, I dunno, don’t think so much about the charming her part,” said Harry. “Just be open with her. She likes honesty.”

“Yeah,” said Ron, “yeah, you’re right. I er… let’s go, then, shall we?”

They left their dormitory and headed downstairs to the common room. Harry immediately spotted Ginny sitting with Hermione in two armchairs by the fire, and she looked up, shooting him a brilliant smile that never failed to make him feel a bit weak in the knees.

Harry grinned back at her as she rose and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him firmly. “Morning,” she said when she pulled away. “Took you two long enough.”

“My fault,” said Harry quickly. “I slept in on accident.”

Ron shot Harry a grateful look. “Are we ready to go?” he asked.

“I think so,” said Hermione, giving Ron a nervous, but pleased smile.

Ginny stared at the two, then shot Harry a confused look. “Later,” he mouthed to her, taking her hand and heading for the portrait hole.

Life had passed in a strange kind of haze since Sirius had insisted on Harry becoming Secret Keeper for the location of the Order of the Phoenix. Snape ignored Harry in their classes, and he hadn’t brought up the meetings of the Defense Association, either. Harry wasn’t quite sure what to make of the man anymore. Being around him was still a source of great discomfort for Harry, but the way Snape all but ignored him in class was almost relieving in a way.

Harry had enough worries of his own to deal with, after all.

Ginny was chatting away about a potions essay she was struggling with. “I don’t suppose the Prince’s book has anything to say about doxy eggs, does it?” she sighed as they entered the Great Hall.

“Actually, it does,” said Harry, recalling the passage he had been looking at in his last lesson with Slughorn. “You’ve got to add a bit of fluxwings, a one to eight ratio, to counteract the acidity of the eggs.”

Hermione, as per usual, went stiff at the mention of Harry’s potions book. “I don’t see why you keep using that book,” she sniffed angrily. “I know that spell you used on Ginny back at the first D.A. meeting came from that book, not from Sirius.”

“He told me what it did, though,” said Harry. “And you heard McGonagall that night, she’d probably seen him and my dad use it before!” He tried not to think about Snape’s memory, knowing that must have been the same spell used that awful day.

“You’re lucky Sirius recognized that spell,” replied Hermione tensely. “I know there’s other spells written in there, and I sincerely hope you don’t just go using them whenever you feel like it!”

“Your point being?” asked Harry as they sat down at the Gryffindor table.

“You don’t know what the others spells in there could do, and the fact that they’re handwritten… Harry, it could mean that they aren’t Ministry approved!”

“I’m not about to just try them on others without testing them somewhere safe first,” said Harry, taken aback by Hermione’s ire.

“What about that jinx you used on Filch three times last week?” said Hermione sharply. “You’re telling me you tested it out somewhere safe, first?”

“A practice dummy in the Room of Requirement,” snapped Ginny, clearly annoyed with Hermione’s persistence about the book. “Same with the toenails hex he used on Goyle two weeks ago. The Prince came up with some clever spells, Hermione, and we’re trying what he wrote in safe conditions first.”

“I wish you’d both stop talking about ‘the Prince’ as if it’s his title,” said Hermione waspishly right over what Ginny had said, “I bet it’s just a stupid nickname, and it doesn’t seem as though he was a very nice person to me!”

“I don’t see where you get that from,” said Harry heatedly. “If he’d been a budding Death Eater he wouldn’t have been boasting about being ‘half-blood,’ would he?”

“The Death Eaters can’t all be pure-blood, there aren’t enough pure-blood wizards left,” said Hermione stubbornly. “I expect most of them are half-bloods pretending to be pure. It’s only Muggle-borns they hate, they’d be quite happy to let you, Ron and Ginny join up!”

“There is no way they’d let me or Ginny be Death Eaters!” said Ron indignantly, a bit of sausage flying off the fork he was now brandishing at Hermione and hitting Ernie Macmillan on the head. “Our whole family are blood traitors!”

“That’s pretty much just as bad as being Muggle-born to Death Eaters,” agreed Ginny before reaching for her cup to take a sip of pumpkin juice.

“And they’d love to have me,” said Harry sarcastically. “We’d be best pals if they didn’t keep trying to do me in!”

Ginny sprayed pumpkin juice all over Colin Creevy as she burst out laughing, Ron joining in merrily a moment later. Even Hermione sighed around a grudging smile.

“Sorry!” Ginny choked to Colin, handing him a spare napkin.

“It’s fine,” sighed Colin as he wiped pumpkin juice off his camera. “I always knew Harry’s sarcasm was dangerous to be around.”

Harry grinned sheepishly at Colin as Ron and Ginny started laughing again.

“Hey, Harry!” It was Emily McGann. “I was asked to give you this,” she said, holding out a scroll of parchment with Harry’s name written upon it in familiar thin, slanted writing.

“Thanks, Emily… It’s Dumbledore’s next lesson!” he told Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, pulling open the parchment and quickly reading its contents. “Monday evening!”

“It’s about time,” said Ginny as Emily took pity on Colin and helped him clean up. “It’s been over a month since that first one.”

After suffering through Filch’s latest round with the Secrecy Sensor (Ron got a couple extra jabs for being cheeky with the caretaker), they were able to make the trek to Hogsmeade, though it wasn’t particularly pleasant; the wind and sleet left any exposed skin feeling both raw and numb. Ginny stayed pressed close to Harry’s side, the pair of them drawing warmth from the other’s body. Ron and Hermione kept looking at each other in turn, each seeming as though they were wanting to do the same, but weren’t comfortable asking.

When they reached the small village, it was to see the road filled with students bent double against the bitter wind.

“Zonko’s is closed!” Ginny shouted over the wind.

“Honeyduke’s isn’t!” called out Ron, pointing at the sweet shop. It was clearly crowded, but it was better than the wind and sleet, so they all staggered their way over and forced their way inside.

“This is not how I pictured our first date,” Harry heard Ron said quietly to Hermione as they were all enveloped by warm, toffee-scented air. Ginny had clearly heard this, too, because she turned to Harry with a surprised expression on her face.

“It’s all right,” said Hermione. “Can’t control the weather, after all.”

“Harry, m’boy!” said a booming voice from behind the four of them. “And Miss Weasley!”

“Oh no,” Harry moaned to Ginny. She winced at him before they turned to see Professor Slughorn, who was wearing and enormous furry hat and an overcoat with matching fur collar, clutching a large bag of crystalized pineapple, and occupying at least a quarter of the shop.

“That’s three of my little suppers you two have missed now!” said Slughorn, eyeing Harry and Ginny in a rather genial way. “It won’t do, it simply will not do! I’m determined to have the pair of you. Miss Granger loves them, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Hermione helplessly, “they’re really –”

“So why don’t you two come along?” demanded Slughorn.

“Quidditch practice,” said Ginny promptly. “We’ve got our first match against Slytherin in three weeks, you know, and Harry’s a devoted captain.”

“Well, I certainly expect you to win your first match after all this hard work!” said Slughorn. “But a little recreation never hurt anybody. Now, how about Monday night, you can’t possibly want to practice in this weather…”

“I can’t, Professor,” said Harry quickly, “I’ve got – er – an appointment with Professor Dumbledore that evening.”

“Unlucky again!” cried Slughorn dramatically. “But you’ll be there, Miss Weasley? I’ve invited Gwenog Jones, she’s quite interested to meet a fellow female Quidditch player, you see…”

Harry didn’t have to look at Ginny’s face to know that Slughorn had her. Jones was pracitally her role model as far as Quidditch players were concerned.

“Really?” she asked, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. “She – she wants to meet me?”

“Indeed she does!” boomed Slughorn. “I was hoping she’d also offer Harry here some tips about playing professionally, but if you’re there, she’ll be plenty satisified, I’m certain!” Slughorn smiled at Harry. “I hope the meeting after next, yes? You can’t evade me forever, Harry!”

“You have already evaded me three times, boy, but your luck won’t hold out forever…”

Harry blinked away the flashback as Slughorn waddled out of the shop. Technically, you’ve evaded him four times now, he reminded himself. You’re still here.

“It’s getting exhausting, covering for you like this, Harry,” sighed Hermione, catching his attention. “McLaggen and Zabini and are simply awful to put up with alone.”

“Has Neville not been going?” asked Harry.

Hermione shook her head. “Just that first one Ginny and I went to. After that, he didn’t make the cut,” she said.

“The way he just judges people,” said Ron darkly. “It’s a bit disgusting, isn’t it?”

“You know I don’t want anything to do with him, Ron,” sighed Harry.

“I know,” said Ron stiffly. “Still doesn’t mean I like the way he treats anyone he thinks isn’t worth his time.”

“I don’t like it, either,” said Hermione carefully, reaching out to take Ron’s hand. “I hope you know that.”

Ron nodded stiffly, and Hermione directed him towards a display of Deluxe Sugar Quills.

She didn’t get go of his hand, either.

“Date?” Ginny breathed in Harry’s ear. “When did this happen?”

“Hermione’s birthday, apparently,” Harry whispered back. “Before they came down for breakfast.”

Ginny frowned, eyeing the two. “I never thought I’d live to see this,” she remarked quietly. “Did you?”

“I thought Ron would crash his way into this sooner, honestly,” returned Harry. “Let’s leave them to it, yeah?”

He met Ron’s eye and mouthed “see you later?” to him. Ron smiled a bit and nodded before turning back to listen to Hermione. Bundling up, Harry and Ginny headed back out into the cold, leaving the other two behind to have a bit of privacy.



Ron stared at the Deluxe Sugar Quills as Hermione chatted idly about them, still holding his hand. He knew what she was doing. “It’s okay, you know,” he cut her off abruptly. “That Slughorn ignores me.”

“It most certainly is not!” Hermione said sharply. She turned to face Ron with an earnest expression on her face, made more endearing by the persistant pink of her cheeks and nose from the bitter wind and sleet outside. “People say that Slughorn’s got an eye for people who will go far in life, but it’s obvious to me that he’s got a rather narrow definition of ‘far.’”

Ron shrugged. “I’m not good at much of anything, though,” he said. “I’m barely scraping by in his class, let alone the others subjects I’m taking –”

Hermione released Ron’s hand put her hand over his lips to stop him saying anything else. “Mrs. Weasley told me he didn’t think much of your father, but look at him! He’s got a steady job, he has a loving wife and kids, and he’s a part of the Order.” She lowered her hand from his mouth. “He takes a stand because it’s right, and I think that matters more in the long run than what a person scores on their O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s.”

Ron blinked. “You don’t always act that way,” he pointed out. A moment later, he worried he’d gone too far.

Hermione, however, sighed and turned away. “Do you remember what my mum said back during your visit in the summer?”

Ron frowned, thinking back to that day. He mostly recalled Ginny telling him that Hermione had snogged Krum their fourth year, but he was pretty certain that wasn’t what Hermione was referring to if it involved her mother. Then he remembered.

“She said she tried helping you fix up your hair so you wouldn’t be bullied at school,” he said. Hermione nodded.

“I was bullied every single day,” she said quietly enough that Ron had to bend closer to hear her over the chattering students surrounding them. “I wasn’t pretty, I didn’t like a lot of the things other girls did, so I just… I focused on my studies, instead.” She looked around at Ron now, and he saw her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I couldn’t please other students, but I could please my teachers, and it had to be enough.”

Ron had no idea what to say to this. For all that Hermione had fretted over Harry’s childhood, she’d never really spoken much about her own.

It seemed Hermione didn’t need him to say anything, however, because she went on. “When Professor McGonagall gave me my letter and explained how I was a witch, I thought for sure Hogwarts would be different, that I would be around others who cared more about learning than looks. That I could just be… myself, and it would be all right.”

Ron raised his eyebrows. “That’s not how you came off that first train ride,” he said. “Learnt all our set books off by heart, remember that?”

Hermione huffed out a quiet laugh. “I was a bit… overager, I suppose,” she admitted to him.

Ron laughed. “Intimidating, more like,” he told her. “Honestly, you reminded me a lot of Percy, and the way he turned out…” He trailed off as Hermione’s face shuttered.

“You’re nothing like him!” he quickly reassured her. “Never could be, especially with me and Harry for friends. We bring out the best in you, admit it!”

Hermione laughed, and it was genuine. Ron couldn’t help but be entranced by the way her eyes sparkled above her flushed cheeks.

“I never would have broken rules before you two!” Hermione told him, still smiling. “The pair of you corrupted me.”

“Nah,” said Ron, grinning back at her. “We just helped you realize it’s worth breaking rules to do the right thing.”

Hermione chuckled at this and shook her head. “I am a happier person than I was before Hogwarts,” she said, “and I have you to thank for that.” She poked him in the chest as she said this.

“Really?”

Hermione nodded. “I spend a lot of time worrying about my studies,” she told him, “and a lot of time worrying about Harry. But when it’s just you…” She shrugged. “I feel a bit… calmer, I suppose.”

“Bit hard to tell,” said Ron without thinking.

Hermione only rolled her eyes. “You’re going to have to pay closer attention next time.”

Ron swallowed. “I already am,” he said.

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide and mouth slightly open in surprise. They stared at each other, and Ron started to feel so strongly that maybe he ought to –

“Oi, don’t hog those Deluxe Sugar Quills, Ron!” Seamus cut in, practically elbowing Ron aside to get to the display of Deluxe Sugar Quills he and Hermione were still standing in front of. “Some of us have got money to spend, you know!”

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Ron shifted out of the way when Seamus’s eyes darted between him and Hermione. “Hang on,” he said, and Ron felt his face start to flush at once. “Hermione’s the girl you asked on a date?”

Ron cleared his throat. “Yeah, she is,” he said. “And?”

Seamus immediately backed off. “Nothing, just curious. Well er, enjoy your…” He smiled sheepishly and vanished into the crowd of students without another word.

“You haven’t been bragging about going on a date with me in your dormitory, I take it?” said Hermione quietly, an unreadable expression on her face.

Ron swallowed harder this time. “It’s not that I didn’t want to,” he tried to reassure her, “but I – Merlin’s beard, Hermione, I’ve never gone on a proper date before! I completely bungled things with Padma at the Yule Ball because I couldn’t stop staring at you, and I was so mixed up for a long time after that.” He felt his ears positively burning at this point. Hermione continued to gaze evenly at him. “I didn’t even expect that you’d say yes when I asked you to Hogsmeade because – well, I mean –”

“I was wrong, before,” said Hermione abruptly.

“Sorry?”

“When I said you had the emotional range of a teaspoon.”

Ron felt a grin on his face despite himself. “I told Harry our first night back I was pretty sure I’d managed to grow to at least a tablespoon’s worth.”

Hermione’s face split into a smile so beautiful Ron forgot how to breathe for a few moments. “At least that much, yes,” she agreed. “And – I’m really happy you asked me to Hogsmeade, Ron.”

Joy filled Ron so that he was fit to burst. “Fancy a butterbeer?” he asked. “I’m not particularly interested in anything here, today.”

“All right,” said Hermione, and they bundled up to head over to the Three Broomsticks. As they stepped out into the frigid wind and sleet, Ron thought he caught a glimpse of Harry and Ginny heading back towards Hogwarts, but ignored their departure in favor of just being with Hermione the way he’d wanted to for far too long.

It was pleasant inside the pub, and Ron quickly fetched two bottles of butterbeer from Madam Rosmerta. He couldn’t help but notice that her barman was shooting her dirty looks, and that her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, but put it from his mind in favor of being where he wanted. “Here we go,” he said, handing Hermione her bottle and settling down next to her.

“Thanks,” said Hermione quietly. They both drank from their bottles in silence for a few minutes.

“Why didn’t you think I’d say yes?” ventured Hermione at length.

Ron sucked in a breath, uncertain if he could answer this next difficult question in a way that made sense. “I just – I didn’t think you had ever really seen me like – like that,” he managed.

“Ron,” said Hermione softly, and he looked up at her. The look on her face was incredibly tender. “I started to fancy you back in third year, but I thought you’d never seen me as more than your know-it-all friend.”

“That’s why I was so upset at the Yule Ball,” said Ron quickly. “I realized I did see you differently, but I’d obviously lost my chance, especially compared to Krum.”

“Krum was a perfect gentleman,” said Hermione. “And – well, I liked him, and I liked the way he made me feel like I was actually pretty for the first time in my life, but… I wouldn’t be here with you if this wasn’t where I’d wanted to be for the last three years.”

“Really?”

“Really,” said Hermione firmly. She reached out hesitantly and took his hand in hers again.

They drank their butterbeers in comfortable silence, watching students pass by with scarves wrapped around their heads to protect them from the bitter wind outside.

It was several minutes later when their peaceful silence was broken by the arrival of Tonks, who came bursting into the pub and looked around with an intent expression on her face, her hair its usual bubblegum pink.

“Tonks!” called out Hermione. “Are you all right?”

Tonks stalked over to her and Ron, still looking around in a suspicious way. “Has anything in here seemed strange or out of the ordinary?” she asked without warning.

Ron blinked and looked over at Hermione, who looked as bewildered as he felt. “No,” he said. “Nothing unusual here.”

“Why?” asked Hermione. “Has something happened?”

Tonks nodded. “Received word from the school that a student was placed under the Imperius Curse here in this pub,” she told Ron and Hermione quietly.

“What?” gasped Hermione.

“Who was Imperiused?” asked Ron.

“Girl named Katie Bell,” answered Tonks.

Katie was one of Gryffindor’s Chasers. “Is she all right?” asked Ron.

“Yes, but she had a package,” said Tonks. “Something dangerous, don’t know what just yet.” She stared around the pub again. “You’re sure nothing is out of the ordinary in here?”

“Positive,” said Ron. “It’s been the same old pub, I swear.”

Tonks nodded and headed for the bathrooms, still looking every inch an Auror on duty rather than the clumsy young woman Ron had come to know over the past year. Ron and Hermione sat at their table, waiting for Tonks to return in worried silence.

“She was Imperiused when she went to the bathroom,” said Tonks when she returned a few minutes later. “I can’t find any signs of who it could’ve been, no traces left behind, and I can’t just demand everyone in here hands over their wand without good reason.”

“Katie doesn’t know who it was?” asked Hermione.

“Don’t think so, no,” said Tonks. “Fat lot of good we Aurors are, missing something huge like this.” She grimaced. “I’ll have to get Dawlish in here, the useless git.” She sighed. “Did either of you see Katie Bell when you came in here?”

“No,” said Hermione quickly. “Whoever did it could be long gone by now, we’ve been in here at least fifteen minutes.”

Tonks nodded. “Who figured out she’d been cursed?” asked Ron curiously.

Tonks snorted unexpectedly. “Who else? Harry and Ginny.” She thanked them for their help and left the pub.

“I saw them when we came this way,” said Hermione. “Do you think they were behind Katie and noticed something was wrong with her?”

“Probably,” said Ron. “Harry’s been under the Imperius Curse more than either of us thanks to the fake Moody fourth year, so he’d probably know best what to look for.”

They mutually decided to head back to the castle to see what had happened. Ron chanced a last quick look around the Three Broomsticks before they left, wondering if the person responsible was still there or not. Unfortunately, there was no way to know for sure.

Stepping out into the wind, they passed Tonks with another two Aurors Ron didn’t know and headed back for the castle. “I hope Katie’s all right,” said Hermione before the wind became too fierce to hear her.

Ron hoped so, too.



Harry and Ginny, after standing outside Honeydukes for a moment, made their way to the Three Broomsticks, grateful to slip inside to warm pub and find a private corner to sit in. Harry fetched them both butterbeers from the bar tender, who seemed irritated that the barmaid, Madam Rosmerta, had been gone for a few minutes too long.

Shrugging away the barman’s irritation, Hary returned to his table and handed Ginny her drink.

“You realize,” said Ginny after a moment of drinking in silence, “that we’ve not had a proper date before?”

Harry frowned, lowering his butterbeer. Now that he thought about it, Ginny was right. “Is that was this is, then?” he asked. “A proper date?”

Ginny grinned. “I suppose so,” she said. “And probably a better one than your last, I’m sure.”

Harry grimaced at the thought of Cho and Valentine’s Day. “I’d rather forget that entire day ever existed,” he admitted to Ginny, squeezing her free hand. “I wasted a whole minute wondering if I could even hold her hand at that stupid little tea shop.”

“Madam Puddifoots?” grinned Ginny. “Dreadful place. Too many frills for my tastes.”

Harry laughed. “I think it was the confetti in my tea that put me off it more than anything else,” he said.

Ginny made a disgusted sound and took another sip of her butterbeer. “What did you mean when you said you thought Ron would’ve rushed into things sooner with Hermione?” she asked abruptly.

“Oh,” said Harry. “Well, er, Bill gave him this book back in July – he’s been studying it since then.”

“What’s it called?”

Harry shrugged. “Don’t remember,” he lied quickly, uncertain that Ginny or Hermione by extension would be pleased with the book’s title. “I only saw him with it the one time. I think he mostly read it when everyone else was sleeping so he wouldn’t get teased or anything like that.”

“I wouldn’t have teased him!” said Ginny indignantly. Harry raised his eyebrows. “Oh all right, maybe I would have a bit, but since I’ve been trying to prove to Hermione for months that he fancies her, the knowledge could’ve only pushed him to act sooner, wouldn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Harry allowed, glancing around the pub and watching as Katie Bell emerged from the bathroom, carrying a package. She went to the table she was sharing with a friend and set the package down only long enough to pull on her things. It looked like she was arguing a bit with the other girl. Harry frowned.

“Harry? What is it?”

The friend was pulling on her own cloak and scarf, and was still arguing with Katie. “Something’s off,” he muttered to Ginny before draining the last bit of his drink. “C’mon.”

He and Ginny quickly pulled their scarves and gloves back on and hurried out behind Katie and the friend as they trudged up the High Street, the two girls still arguing with one another.

“That’s Leanne,” Ginny told Harry. “She and Katie never argue like this.”

Harry nodded, unable to shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. He grabbed Ginny’s hand and moved closer. “Katie!” he called out.

Katie turned to face him on the outskirts of the village, her expression vaguely confused and irritated.

“Harry!” shouted Leanne, sounding relieved. “Katie keeps saying she’s got to take this package up the castle, but she’s refusing to tell me who she’s taking it to!”

“It’s nothing to do with any of you!” snapped Katie angrily. “I’ve got to get this to the castle!”

“Who gave it to you, Katie?” Harry asked her urgently. That feeling that something was off was growing stronger with every moment.

“It doesn’t matter!” shouted Katie. “It’s nothing to do with you, Harry!” She turned to continue the trek back to the castle, and Leanne gazed helplessly at Harry and Ginny.

“Then let’s help you get it where it needs to go,” said Ginny as she approached Katie. “It’s obviously very important, isn’t it?”

Katie nodded, suddenly appearing relieved that someone understood. Shooting a worried look at Harry, Ginny started walking with Katie, trying to chat with her about Quidditch plays. Leanne hung back with Harry as they headed for the castle.

“What if she’s got something Dark?” Leanne asked him in a worried voice that he could just hear over the howling wind.

“It’s possible,” Harry said to her. “I’m worried she’s been Imperiused, she never acts like this.”

Had Malfoy gotten to her, somehow? What did this have to do with his plan to assassinate Dumbledore?

“So what do we do?” asked Leanne.

“We get expert help,” said Harry firmly. “Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape… one of them has got to be up at the castle to sort this out.”

They passed Hagrid on their way and Harry waved, but said nothing, continuing to follow Ginny and Katie as they approached the castle gates. Would they be able to manage this situation without someone getting hurt by whatever Katie was carrying?

Thankfully, when they stepped into the Entrance Hall, Professor McGonagall was walking by.

“Professor!” Harry called out at once as Filch spotted them and started to approach with his Secrecy Sensor, an awfully eager expression on his face. “I think Katie’s been Imperiused!”

Katie reacted instantly, whirling to face Harry. “I haven’t!” she shouted. “I just need to get this package delivered, it’s important!”

“Out of my way, Mr. Filch,” snapped McGonagall, quickly making her way over. Harry had never been more grateful to the professor than he was at that moment for taking him seriously. “Who are you delivering the package to, Miss Bell?”

“It’s none of your concern,” Katie insisted, clutching the package to her chest. “Let me be, Professor, I know what I’m doing.”

“If it’s as important as you say, then I need to know who the recipient is,” said McGonagall firmly. Katie’s eyes darted wildly around the hall at Harry, Ginny, Leanne, Filch, then back to McGonagall.

“Katie,” Harry tried, keeping his voice as level as possible. “This isn’t like you. Whatever you’re carrying, whoever it’s meant for, this is not something that you do. I need to you think, Katie, remember your own voice, your own thoughts, not the thoughts in your head.”

Katie looked at Harry for a long moment, and her dark eyes flickered. A moment later, she dropped the package and backed away, eyes wide and scared as she gasped for breath. “I don’t – I didn’t mean to – Harry, I don’t know who did it or why, but it’s meant for Dumbledore!”

Filch was not to be held at bay a moment longer. He swung the Secrecy Sensor over the package, and it emitted a high-pitched squealing sound that had everyone clapping their hands over their ears. “Fetch Professor Snape at once, Mr. Filch,” demanded McGonagall, and Filch hurried off. “You four, remain here. Miss Bell, explain.”

“I went to use the bathroom,” said Katie, chest heaving as though she had just run miles without a break. “At the Three Broomsticks. I remember opening the door, but then everything went hazy. I just knew I needed to give the headmaster the package and nothing was supposed to stop me.” She turned her anguished face to Harry. “You knew exactly what to say to get me out of it,” she said. “Thank you, Harry.”

Having been under the Imperius Curse before, Harry had intimate knowledge of what Katie had been experiencing. “If you can question the voice that isn’t yours,” he said, “then you can get yourself to stop listening and break free.” He shook his head, then added, “I’m just glad it worked, Katie.”

Professor Snape arrived shortly after, Filch following behind and wheezing as he tried to keep pace with the younger adult. They watched as Snape waved his wand at the package, causing the wrapping to come apart. Harry gaped as he saw what was inside.

“It’s a cursed necklace,” he said immediately. “I saw that a few years ago in Borgin and Burke’s.”

Snape raised his eyebrows. “Your unfortunate first trip through the Floo Network, Potter?”

Harry nodded. He met Ginny’s eyes. Malfoy had been there that same day, had read the card just as Harry had done.

“You say it was meant for the headmaster?” Snape questioned Katie.

She nodded. “That’s the one thing I can remember,” she said in a quavering voice. “I don’t know who cursed me, Professor, but I remember it was important to make sure Professor Dumbledore received it.”

Snape looked at Harry and Ginny. “I think Miss Bell and her friend could do with a visit to the hospital wing, Professor McGonagall,” he said at length. “Potter, Weasley, with me.” He waved his wand again, and the necklace rose into the air. “Careful not to touch,” he cautioned them as they followed him to his office, Ginny catching Harry’s hand in her own and holding it tightly.

Once inside the office, Snape directed Ginny to a cabinet where a box just large enough to store the necklace in was sitting on a shelf. She placed it on his desk and Snape lowered the necklace into it before she placed the lid on top.

“Sit,” Snape said, and Harry and Ginny both sat down before Snape’s desk. “Tell me what happened today.”

Harry quickly launched into the tale, aided by Ginny, and described Katie’s strange behavior in the Three Broomsticks and the walk back to the castle. “Keeping her moving was a wise move,” said Snape almost grudgingly when they finished, “especially given the contents of the parcel she carried. Had she touched it at all, death could easily have been the instant consequence.”

“Thank you, sir,” murmured Ginny. She glanced at Harry, an unasked question in her eyes, and he nodded to her, already knowing what she wanted to ask. “Sir, is it possible that Malfoy was behind this, especially given that the necklace was supposed to be delivered to Professor Dumbledore?”

Snape seemed to consider this question for several moments before answering. “Mr. Malfoy was in detention with Professor McGonagall until approximately five minutes before you entered the castle with Miss Bell.”

“There wouldn’t have been time to do anything, she stepped out of the bathroom with the package over twenty minutes ago,” said Harry quietly. “Could he be working with someone else, then? He doesn’t always have Crabbe or Goyle with him when he –” He broke off, not sure if he was actually willing to discuss the map in front of Snape.

Snape eyed him and Ginny speculatively now. “Black asked you to track his movements, I believe?”

Harry glanced at Ginny before nodding. “Just to watch – figure out what his plan is.”

“Which – if this was his doing somehow, well…” Ginny bit her lip for a moment. “It’s not the most well-thought plan, is it?”

Snape considered her for a moment. “No,” he finally answered, “that it is not.”

“That could mean whatever he’s actually planning isn’t going so well,” suggested Harry.

“Tell me, how exactly are you able to track Mr. Malfoy’s movements without his notice?”

Harry hesitated and looked at Ginny again. She sent him a hopeless sort of look in return. Sighing, Harry pulled out the Marauder’s Map from his bag.

Snape said nothing for several moments. “I take it this is more than just a parchment that insults the user, Mr. Potter?”

Harry nodded, pulled out his wand, and touched it to the worn parchment. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he said quietly.

The map quickly spread into existence over the parchment, and Harry waited for Snape’s reaction.

“This is the source of your rule-breaking ways, Potter?”

“Since third year,” answered Harry uncomfortably. “Fred and George nicked it from Filch’s office their first year and gave it to me because I couldn’t go to Hogsmeade. They… well, they claimed they didn’t need it, anymore.”

Ginny snorted. “The twins definitely could’ve kept using it,” she said. “It’s too useful for them to just give it up like that. I think they liked you enough to want to cheer you up in the only way they knew how. If that isn’t a sign of respect from them, I don’t know what is.”

“Indeed,” said Snape levelly. Harry grinned despite himself.

“The thing is,” he told Snape, “Malfoy disappears off the map, and we can’t figure out if it’s because he’s managing to actually leave the castle, or if he’s found somewhere to work on his plan that the creaters of the map didn’t know about.”

“The former is impossible,” said Snape easily. “Aurors spent the summer carefully combing the castle to uncover every possible passageway out of the school. I have no doubts they were as thorough as the… creators of your map, Mr. Potter.”

“So the latter, then,” said Ginny as Harry shifted uncomfortably at the reminder that the map had been created by his father and his best friends. “The problem is having the map activated at the right time to see where he is when he disappears. If we could manage that, then we could try and figure out what the creators missed.”

“They obviously missed the Chamber of Secrets,” said Harry, pointing to the girl’s toilets on the first floor where Moaning Myrtle’s dot was currently located. “We haven’t had time to try and figure out what else might have been missed.”

“See to it that you make time,” said Snape firmly before dismissing them.

“We’ve got to put more effort into figuring it out,” said Ginny quietly as they headed for the Gryffindor common room.

Harry agreed quietly. “It would help if Dobby had anything to share yet.”

“He said he wanted a solid three weeks to track him before reporting back to us,” Ginny reminded him. “It’s only been two weeks.”

“Still, the Veritaserum Sirius has been making should be ready any day now,” said Harry. “Once Kreacher figures out the best time to dose Borgin, we could have all the answers we need.”

“I hope so,” said Ginny softly. “If anyone else gets hurt by Malfoy before we figure things out, though… I don’t know that I could forgive myself.”

“Me neither,” Harry agreed, and they continued away from Snape’s office in pensive silence. Harry could only hope that they would soon have the answers they needed.

Back to index


Chapter 32: The Boy on the Bed

Author's Notes: This chapter borrows some content from HBP Chapter Thirteen, "The Secret Riddle." Enjoy!


Chapter Thirty-Two: The Boy on the Bed



“You’re still averaging around six hours of sleep each night, Mr. Potter,” sighed Madam Pomfrey Monday evening. “You seem to have plateaued a bit.”

Harry shrugged uncomfortably from his seat on the hospital bed. Ginny and Hermione had already headed off to Slughorn’s party, Ginny having tried very hard not to show how eager she was to meet Gwenog Jones. Hermione had rolled her eyes at Harry before they’d left for it, leaving Ron to wait outside the hospital wing for Harry to finish his weekly check-in before walking him to Dumbledore’s office.

None of them expected Malfoy to try anything again, but Ginny had also made it clear that they weren’t going to be taking any chances.

“I don’t know,” he said at last to Madam Pomfrey. “I mean, I feel more rested, and I’m trying not to stay up too late, but…” He trailed off, uncertain of what to say.

“The house-elf reports that the meditation you started doing at Professor Snape’s behest allows you to drift off quickly, but you awaken anywhere from two to five times each night,” said Madam Pomfrey. “Clearly there is something troubling you that is not being addressed.”

Harry said nothing. Truth was, there was plenty on Harry’s mind.

The D.A. lessons were going really well. Harry was still struggling in his own classes, but not as much now that he seemed to have unblocked whatever it was that had made nonverbal spells so difficult before. He still wasn’t as quick at it as Hermione, but he was doing better than before. This bled into the D.A. meetings, where it was starting to seem more and more clear that Harry’s own increasing confidence affected the others. Malfoy and the other sixth year students still seemed wary, but they hadn’t ceased coming, either. Harry noticed that Daphne Greengrass and Millicent Bulstrode had become the least wary of their group, and willingly spoke to those from other houses in the sixth year group.

There was a strange sort of neutrality between Harry and Malfoy during the D.A. meetings, possibly because Harry had established it first. It could also be that Malfoy wasn’t about to try anything so close to Ron and the others, let alone right where Professor McGonagall could see him. In any case, the usual tension between them was still there, but muted.

Quidditch practices were decent enough, although Ron’s performance varied wildly based on the kind of day he’d had. Days where he’d bickered more with Hermione tended to have him flailing more than properly blocking, but days where he was the one catching Harry’s flashbacks and pulling him out of it strangely seemed to boost his confidence.

Harry wished his friend played more consistently.

The flashbacks were becoming easier to fend off as the days passed, but despite the meditation before bed, Harry continued to suffer from nightmares.

Or rather, the same specific nightmare night after night.

Harry thought he’d put to rest his worries about Obscurials, but the dreams had recently resurfaced with a vengeance. What made them different from the summertime was a little piece of dialogue that Harry hadn’t recalled before.

“I was merely passing through some years earlier,” Voldemort commented idly as the villagers tormented to the little girl in Albania, “but as I’d never seen any Obscurials before, I decided to stay, to see what became of her. It took less than a year before she died.

“It delayed my own mission by nearly eight months, of course, to see an Obscurus in the flesh, but one musn’t rush such things, Harry. If certain artifacts have been lost to modern memory, the risk of others finding and collecting them as trophies is all but nonexistent, after all.” The laughter which followed this suggested some kind of… inside joke, perhaps, or a clue?

Harry had been dwelling on this. Certain artifacts? Trophies? What could any of it possibly mean? Harry found himself reticent to discuss this remembered bit of memory with anyone despite Hermione’s Rule. Instead he found himself dwelling on the words and what Voldemort could possibly have been referring to.

Why had Voldemort been after artifacts? What kind of artifacts would someone like him even want to collect as a trophy?

This, more than anything, was affecting Harry’s sleep.

“It’s… I’ll… there is something,” he finally told Madam Pomfrey. “I’ll talk to Sirius about it tonight.”

“See that you do,” said Madam Pomfrey firmly. She dismissed him a couple minutes later, and Harry stepped out to see Ron sitting outside the door, his nose buried in his Charms textbook.

“Not what I was expecting to see,” Harry commented lightly, and Ron startled, shutting his book with a snap!

“Well, you never know how long it’s going to take,” he said defensively as he straightened, shoving his book back into his bag.

They set off towards Dumbledore’s office.

“You never said how things went Saturday,” Harry said after a few moments.

“Oh,” said Ron, face going red. “It – it was good. We haven’t really talked about it with everything else that happened.”

Ron and Hermione had caught up with Harry and Ginny outside Gryffindor Tower Saturday afternoon, and they had discussed what had happened to Katie as well as Harry and Ginny’s discussion with Snape about Malfoy. Between that and homework, they hadn’t spoken of much else in the two days since.

“You’d better talk about it sooner rather than later,” said Harry. “I think Hermione rather likes knowing where she stands with you.”

Ron nodded but said nothing for the remainder of their walk to Dumbledore’s office.

Leaving Ron upon reaching the stone gargoyle, Harry headed up the spiral staircase to the office, knocked on the door, and stepped inside. Even though Harry had discussed the events of Saturday with Sirius using the mirror, Sirius’s greeting hug was a bit tighter than usual.

“I’m fine, Sirius,” he said fondly. “Katie’s still shaken up, though.”

“I had a meeting with her earlier this evening with two Aurors to try and see if the identity of the person responsible could be caught from her memory of the incident,” said Dumbledore as he settled the Pensieve on his desk. “Unfortunately, beyond a female voice, we were unable to identify the caster of the Imperius Curse.”

“Someone female?” said Harry in surprise. “So what about the necklace? It came from Borgin and Burkes, I’ve seen it before.”

“Mr. Borgin claims to have been robbed,”said Dumbledore gravely. “He says he does not know who took it, and his records show no purchases of any necklaces for the last three months.”

“Another dead end, then,” said Sirius before Harry could say anything else. He glanced at his godfather and received a warning look. “Still, the necklace harmed no one, and you didn’t lose a Chaser, so no need to fret too much about it at this point, Harry.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, wondering how Sirius could’ve known that he was about to ask about the Veritaserum and Kreacher’s task of tracking Borgin so as to question him. The fact that Sirius didn’t seem to want him to say anything told Harry that Dumbledore didn’t know what Sirius was up to. Harry briefly wondered why Sirius would want to keep it quiet, but Dumbledore had now turned the topic of conversation to Harry’s reason for being there: his next lesson.

They briefly reviewed the first memory, and then Dumbledore explained what he had learned of Merope’s movements in moving to London after Riddle had left her. “She sold the locket to Borgin and Burke’s for very little.” Dumbledore swilled the contents of the Pensieve, and the figure of a little old man rose from the swirling, silvery mass.

“Yes, we acquired it in curious circumstances. It was brought in by a young witch just before Christmas, oh, many years ago now. She said she needed the gold badly, well, that much was obvious. Overed in rags and pretty far along… Going to have a baby, see. She said the locket had been Slytherin’s. Well, we hear that sort of story all the time, ‘Oh, this was Merlin’s, this was, his favorite teapot,’ but when I looked at it, it had his mark all right, and a few simple spells were enough to tell me the truth. Of course, that made it near enough priceless. She didn’t seem to have any idea how much it was worth. Happy to get ten Galleons for it. Best bargain we ever made!”

Dumbledore gave the Pensieve and extra-vigorous shake and Caractacus Burke descended back into the swirling mass of memory from whence he had come.

“He only gave her ten Galleons?” asked Harry indignantly.

“Burke wasn’t known for his generosity,” said Sirius grimly.

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore. “So we know that, near the end of her pregnancy, Merope was alone in London and in desperate need of gold, desperate enough to sell her one and only valuable possession, the locket that was one of Marvolo’s treasured family heirlooms.”

“Wasn’t there any way her magic could’ve helped?” Harry couldn’t help but ask.

“I think she was greatly weakened, being alone, possibly heartbroken,” said Sirius quietly. “That kind of emotional upheaval and greatly affect a person’s magic. Some people… they give up.”

“So she didn’t even want to stay alive for her own son?” asked Harry in disbelief.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “Could you possibly be feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort?”

“No,” said Harry quickly. “It’s just…” He trailed off, unsure how to word how he was feeling. “Parents… they shouldn’t leave their kids unless – unless they’ve got to.” He blinked several times and looked away.

There was a long moment of silence.

“Depression,” said Sirius at last, “deprives a person of the ability to think rationally.”

“Adding to that,” said Dumbledore gently, “I do not think Merope ever had your mother’s courage. The life of suffering she had led greatly weakened her, Harry. And now, if you will stand…”

“Where are we going?” Harry forced himself to ask as Dumbledore joined him and Sirius at the front of the desk.

“This time,” said Dumbledore, “we are going to enter my memory. I think you will find it both rich in detail and satisfyingly accurate. After you, Harry, Sirius…”

When Harry found his feet again, it was in the midst of a bustling, old-fashioned London street.

“There I am,” said Dumbledore brightly, pointing ahead of them to a tall figure crossing the road in front of a horse-drawn milk cart.

This younger Albus Dmbledore’s long hair and beard were auburn. Having reached their side of the street, he strode off along the pavement, drawing many curious glances due to the flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet that he was wearing.

“Nice suit, sir,” said Harry, before he could stop himself, but both Dumbledore and Sirius merely chuckled as they followed his younger self a short distance, finally passing through a set of iron gates into a bare courtyard that fronted a rather grim, square building surrounded by high railings. He mounted the few steps leading to the front door and knocked once. After a moment or two, the door was opened by a scruffy girl wearing an apron.

“Good afternoon. I have an appointment with a Mrs. Cole, who, I believe, is the matron here?”

“Oh,” said the bewildered-looking girl, taking in Dumbledore’s eccentric appearance. “Um… just a mo’… MRS. COLE!” she bellowed over her shoulder.

Harry heard a distant voice shouting something in response. The girl turned back to Dumbledore. “Come in, she’s on ‘er way.”

They all stepped into a hallway tiled in black and white; the whole place was shabby but spotlessly clean. Soon enough, the younger Dumbledore was engaged in conversation with the matron regarding Tom Riddle’s placement at Hogwarts. Harry was unsurprised to watch the headmaster carefully maneuver the conversation, providing the matron, Mrs. Cole, with a blank sheet of paper that apparently appeased her sharp mind, as well as a bottle of gin and two glasses.

The more Mrs. Cole imbibed, the more she revealed about the young Tom Riddle. He had hardly ever cried as an infant, but more than that… “He scares the older children.”

“You mean he is a bully?” asked the younger Dumbledore.

“I think he must be,” said Mrs. Cole, frowning slightly, “but it’s very hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents… Nasty things…”

Dumbledore did not press her, though Harry could tell that he was interested. She took yet another gulp of gin and her rosy cheeks grew rosier still. Soon she was talking about a rabbit which had somehow hung itself from the rafters, and two children who hadn’t been the same since a trip to the sea.

“Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop were never quite right afterwards, and all we ever got out of them was that they’d gone into a cave with Tom Riddle. He swore they’d just gone exploring, but something happened in there, I’m sure of it.”

Shortly after this, she took Dumbledore up to Tom Riddle’s bedroom. “Tom? You’ve got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton – sorry, Dunderbore. He’s come to tell you – well, I’ll let him do it.”

And so Harry got his first look at the boy on the bed.

The face bore no resemblance to the Gaunt family, as he’d known it would. Having seen what his father looked like, Harry now knew his appearance to be purely Riddle: tall for eleven years old, dark-haired, and pale, Tom Riddle did not yet look as he did when he had appeared as a memory to Harry four years ago, but it was clear this was the same boy who would one day open the Chamber of Secrets.

Riddle’s eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Dumbledore’s eccentric appearance. There was a moment’s silence before Dumbledore introduced himself. Harry quickly realized that Riddle was incredibly wary of strangers, seeming to think Dumbledore was there because everyone thought he was mad.

“I don’t believe you,” said Riddle fiercely when Dumbledore denied his accusations. “She wants me looked at, doesn’t she? Tell the truth!”

He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was almost shocking. It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. When Dumbledore didn’t respond and continued to smile pleasantly, Riddle looked only warier.

“Who are you?”

“I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school – your new school, if you would like to come.”

Riddle did not believe this, now accusing Dumbledore of actually coming from an asylum, that he wanted to lock him up when he’d never done anything wrong to the others in the orphanedge, leaping off his bed in his rush of anger and distrust. His wariness and defensiveness were strange to observe.

Well, until the younger Dumbledore said: “Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic.”

There was silence. Riddle had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore’s as though trying to catch one of them lying.

“Magic?” he repeated in a whisper.

“That’s right,” said Dumbledore.

“It’s… it’s magic, what I can do?”

“What is it that you can do?”

“All sorts,” breathed Riddle. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. “I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to.”

His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as though in prayer.

“I knew I was different,” he whispered to his own quivering fingers. “I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something.”

“Well, you were quite right,” said Dumbledore, who was no longer smiling, but watching Riddle intently. “You are a wizard.”

Riddle lifted his head. His face was transfigured: There was a wild happiness on it, yet for some reason it did not make him better looking; on the contrary, his finely carved features seemed somehow rougher, his expression almost bestial.

“Are you a wizard too?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Prove it,” said Riddle at once, in the same commanding tone he had used when demanding the truth.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts –”

“Of course I am!”

“Then you will address me as ‘Professor’ or ‘sir’.”

Riddle’s expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an unrecognizably polite voice, “I’m sorry, sir. I meant – please, Professor, could you show me –?”

To Harry’s surprise, Dumbledore pulled out his wand and flicked it at the wardrobe, which immediately burst into flames. Riddle yelled out in shock and rage, but the flames were gone moments later, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged. However, there was something rattling inside which Dumbledore commanded Riddle to take out. It was a cardboard box, and inside was a mess of everyday objects: a yo-yo, a silver thimble, and a tarnished mouth organ among them. Once free of the box, they stopped quivering and lay quite still on the bed where Riddle had placed them.

“You will return them to their owners with your apologies,” said Dumebldore calmly, putting his wand back into his jacket (the action bringing a frown to Sirius’s face for some reason). “I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts.”

Riddle did not look remotely abashed; he was staring coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore. At last he said in an emotionless voice, “Yes, sir.”

Dumbledore explained more about the use of magic as well as training, clearly warning Riddle that he needed to follow the rules regarding the use of his magic. Riddle seemed to accept this, but it was impossible to tell what he was thinking; his face remained quite blank as he put the little cache of stolen objects back into the cardboard box. When he had finished, he turned to Dumbledore and said baldly, “I haven’t got any money.”

Dumbledore easily explained about a fund at Hogwarts for those who required assistance. He was clearly offering to help Tom procure everything he needed, but Tom refused. “I’m used to doing things for myself, I go round London on my own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley – sir?”

Interestingly enough, Dumbledore accepted Riddle’s desire for independence and explained how to get to Diagon Alley by way of the Leaky Cauldron, handing over Riddle’s envelope with the list of his needed school supplies. “You will be able to see it, although Muggles around you – non-magical people, that is – wil not. Ask for Tom the barman – easy enough to remember, as he shares your name –”

Riddle gave an irritable twitch, as though trying to displac an irksome fly.

“You dislike the name ‘Tom’?”

“There are a lot of Toms,” muttered Riddle. He went on to ask if his father had been a wizard, but Dumbledore confessed to not knowing.

“My mother can’t have been magic, or she wouldn’t have died. It must’ve been him. So – when I’ve got all my stuff – when do I come to this Hogwarts?”

“All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope,” said Dumbldore. “You will leave from King’s Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there too.”

Riddle nodded. Dumbledore got to his feet and held out his hand again. Taking it, Riddle said, “I can speak to snakes. I found out when we’ve been to the country on trips – they find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?”

Harry could tell that he had withheld mention of this strangest power until that moment, determined to impress.

“It is unusual,” said Dumbledore, after a moment’s hesitation, “but not unheard of.”

His tone was casual but his eyes moved curiously over Riddle’s face. They stood for a moment, man and boy, staring at each other. Then the handshake was broken; Dumbledore was at the door.

“Good-bye Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts.”

“I think that will do,” said the white-haired Dumbledore at Harry’s side, and seconds later, they were soaring weightlessly through the darkness once more, before landing squarely in the present-day office.

Harry sat down next to Sirius as Dumbledore went around his desk to take his own seat once more.

“He believed it much quicker than I did – I mean, when you told him he was a wizard,” said Harry. “I didn’t believe Hagrid at first, when he told me.”

“Yes, Riddle was perfectly ready to believe that he was – to use his word – ‘special,’” said Dumbledore.

“Did you know – then?” asked Harry.

“Did I know that I had just met the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time?” said Dumbledore. “No, I had no idea that he was to grow up to be what he is. However, I was certainly intrigued by him. I returned to Hogwarts intending to keep an eye upon him, something I hould have done in any case, given that he was alone and friendless, but which, already I felt I ought to do for the others’ sake as much as his.

“His powers, as you heard, were surprisingly well-developed for such a young wizard and – most interestingly and ominously of all – he had already discovered that he had some measure of control over them, and begun to use them consciously.”

“Even amongst those who grow up in our world,” interjected Sirius, “this is unusual. There’s a certain measure of control I had, but it was more in the sense of knowing that something was about to happen, though not necessarily what it would be.”

“You could – sense it?” asked Harry, quite curious. “Things would just – happen, and I never had any idea how.”

“You didn’t know what it was, though,” said Sirius. “That’s how it usually goes for Muggle-borns.”

“Which made Riddle’s use of his magic that much more interesting and ominous,” said Dumbledore. “He was already using his magic against other people, to frighten, to punish, to control. The little stories of the strangled rabbit and the young boy and girl he lured into a cave were most suggestive… ‘I can make them hurt if I want to…’ This troubled me far more than than the fact that he was a Parselmouth. Speaking to serpents in the face of his obvious instincts for cruelty, secrecy, and domination, well…”

Dumbldeore shook his head. “Before we part for the evening, there are a few certain features of the scene we have just witnessed that I would like to draw your attention to, Harry, as they have a great bearing on the matters we shall be discussing in future meetings.

“Firstly, I hope you noticed Riddle’s reaction when I mentioned that another shared his first name, ‘Tom’?”

Harry nodded.

“There he showed his contempt for anything that tied him to other people, anything that made him ordinary. Even then, he wished to be different, separate, notorious.”

“The memory I spoke to from the diary,” Harry interjected, “he said he didn’t want to keep his father’s name because he was a Muggle, so he decided to – to ‘fashion’ himself a new name he thought others would come to fear.”

“A mask, but an effective one,” said Sirius quietly.

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore. “Now, I trust that you also noticed that Tom Riddle was already highly self-sufficient, secretive, and, apparently, friendless?” Harry nodded again. “He did not want help or companionship on his trip to Diagon Alley. He preferred to operate alone. The adult Voldemort is the same. You will hear many of his Death Eaters claiming that they are in his confidence, that they alone are close to him, even understand him. They are deluded. Lord Voldemort has never had a friend, nor do I believe that he has ever wanted one.

“And lastly, the young Tom Riddle liked to collect trophies. You saw the box of stolen articles he had hidden in his room. These were taken from victims of his bullying behavior, souvenirs, if you will, of particularly unpleasant bits of magic. Bare in mind this magpie-like tendency, for this, particularly, will be important later.”

Harry frowned. Something about the words “collect trophies” struck a chord within him that he couldn’t quite explain, and yet…

“If certain artifacts have been lost to modern memory, the risk of others finding and collecting them as trophies is all but nonexistent, after all.”

“Artifacts,” he murmured to himself.

“What was that?” said Sirius sharply.

“Sorry,” said Harry, “it’s just that – well, I’ve been having the same dream for the last couple of weeks, about the – the girl. The Obscurus. Voldemort said something else that I didn’t remember back in the summer – it, well, it’s been making it hard to go back to sleep after I wake up.”

“What was it he said?” asked Dumbledore quickly.

“He was – he said he lost about eight months of his time watching what happened to the girl,” said Harry. “But that – well, if ‘certain artifacts’ were lost to er, ‘modern memory, the risk of others finding and collecting them as trophies is all but nonexistent,’ or something like that. So I guess he was looking for something that no one alive knew about?”

Harry watched as Dumbledore and Sirius exchanged a rather significant look. “It – that means something to you, doesn’t it?”

Sirius nodded. “It does,” he said. “That – later, I promise I’ll explain when the time comes – but it gives us something to go on that we didn’t have before.”

This didn’t make a lot of sense, but Harry knew that Sirius wasn’t purposefully keeping him in the dark without a good reason. “All right,” he said. “That’s… good, I suppose?”

Sirius nodded again. “I’ll walk you back to Gryffindor tower,” he said, and bidding the headmaster goodnight, they left his office.

“What are these lessons leading to, Sirius?” Harry couldn’t help but ask when they stepped off the spiral staircase. “Not that I’m not interested in learning more about Voldemort’s past, but –”

“It’s what he did to become so hard to kill,” said Sirius quietly. “The what, the why, and the how – but you’ve got to understand his way of thinking in order to make sense of things, and you’ve got to know what he did in order to defeat him once and for all.”

Harry nodded, still slightly confused, and they set off for the Gryffindor common room in silence. Harry gave the Fat Lady the password as she stared at Sirius with a mixture of awe and anger – Sirius had ripped her portrait when she refused him entrance to the common room three years earlier – and she opened to reveal Ginny sitting right by the portrait hole.

“I know you were going to tell us everything in the morning,” she said, jumping up, “but I was too wound up to sleep.”

“Was meeting Gwenog Jones that exciting?” asked Harry with a grin.

“Well – I mean, she’s amazing – she said she’ll come to our first match, Harry! She didn’t care that I’m only in fifth year, she wants to see me play!”

Harry clambered thorugh the portrait hole to pull Ginny into a hug. “That’s brilliant!” he told her earnestly. “She’ll see that you’re the perfect choice for her team once you’ve finished school, I know it.”

“It sounds like you had an excellent evening,” said Sirius, grinning from the other side of the portrait hole.

“Oh, come in already,” said Ginny, “you both may as well tell me about this latest lesson.”

“He’s not attending this school anymore!” shouted the Fat Lady.

“Come off it,” Ginny told her, “you’re still just angry about him taking a knife to your painting three years ago.”

“I am sorry about that, by the way,” said Sirius, stepping back enough to look around at the front of the portrait. “Unstable, upset… I really wasn’t thinking clearly that night.”

The Fat Lady let out a ‘hmph’ and didn’t answer. Rolling her eyes, Ginny beckoned Sirius into the common room, the portrait closing behind him.

They settled down in armchairs near the fire, and Sirius and Harry told Ginny about the latest memory. Ginny listened with wide eyes, flinching a little when they described Riddle’s use of his magic as a child.

“Can you imagine,” said Ginny when they finished, “having absolutely no money, no… inheritance, nothing like that.” She shook her head. “He – the Riddle in the diary – didn’t think much of my family, pure-bloods with no real fortune to our name…” She shook her head again. “I wonder what that must’ve been like for him, surrounded by all these pure-bloods with their old family vaults? D’you ever think he was – jealous of all that wealth they still had? I mean, the inner circle of his Death Eaters are all older families, and their vaults are supposed to be on the bottommost level of Gringotts with the highest levels of protection.”

“Yeah,” said Sirius, “the protections down there are something else, incredibly difficult to get past unless you –” He broke off, staring at the fire with a blank expression.

“Sirius?” said Harry in concern.

“Of course he would,” said Sirius softly. “How many times he must’ve walked past it growing up… and after learning his heritage… it’s perfect, no one would suspect…”

“Sirius?” said Ginny. “What – what are you talking about?”

“I have to go see Dumbledore,” said Sirius quickly, rising from his armchair. Harry and Ginny straightened, as well. “It’s – what we’re working on – and how I didn’t think of it before… Merlin’s pants, you two are something else, I ought to pick your brains more often!”

Harry blinked at Ginny, who stared at him in just as much confusion as he felt. Sirius quickly hugged them both, bad them goodnight, and strode from the common room without another word.

“Odd,” commented Ginny after the portrait hole shut behind Sirius.

“Yeah,” said Harry, frowning. “I can’t wait for the explanation behind that. Whenever that’ll be.”

Ginny snorted, then looked around. “So, empty common room,” she commented lightly.

Harry glanced around and knew what Ginny was thinking about. “We’ve got classes in the morning,” he said.

“And?”

Harry had it on the tip of his tongue that he was supposed to be working on getting more sleep, that it was already late enough as it was, but Ginny was giving him that blazing look that he hadn’t figured out how to ignore in favor of logic.

But really, he thought as they quickly found themselves snogging by the fire, Ginny frequently had the best ideas, and he’d be a fool not to recognize that. He shuddered as her hands found their way under his shirt and he quickly returned the favor. The feel of her skin against his always affected him, reminded him he was alive and had so much to live for, had her.

They shouldn’t go too far, he thought, considering they were somewhere open where anyone could see them, but it was all too easy to lose his train of rational thought when Ginny pushed him onto his back and did that swivel of her hips that drove everything but her from his mind.

Loving Ginny was easily the best part of living, and Harry would do anything to keep it that way.

*

“I thought you had already left for the night,” Albus commented when Sirius reentered the headmaster’s office.

“Gringotts,” he gasped out, having run most of the way to the office and still a bit out of breath. “He – Voldemort hid a – a Horcrux at Gringotts.”

The amusement on Albus’s face vanished at once. “Explain,” he said.

“He never had a vault like I do,” said Sirius, sinking into the chair he’d occupied earlier. “Family fortune was squandered generations before he was born, wasn’t it? But Ginny pointed out that he’s got these followers with vaults in the lowest levels of Gringotts behind all those ridiculous protections – the dragon, the Theives’ Downfall, the curses we tend to place on our vaults to ensure nothing gets stolen by those who aren’t authorized – it’s the perfect place to ensure something that important doesn’t get discovered.”

“That is highly plausible,” said Albus after a moment. “But the question remains – which vault?”

“My money’s on the Lestrange’s,” said Sirius. “They were amongst his most devoted followers before, and – they kept looking for him after he vanished, so they’ve done the most to prove their loyalty. It would be a fitting way to reward them, to entrust them with something their leader treasures, bolster how important they think they are and all that.”

“How do we access such a vault?” asked Albus. “The rules of goblins are different than our own for convicts.”

“Bella’s my cousin,” said Sirius, already having thought ahead during his sprint. “As the rightful heir and current holder of the Black fortune, I have a right to the vaults of convicts related to me. I can get into their vault because of our relation.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I’ll go to Gringotts tomorrow, put forward my official claim. Narcissa won’t be able to refute it since she’s completely given herself over to the Malfoy line, nor would my dear Aunt Druella – she can’t overrule the male heir to the family name, and there aren’t any Lestranges around who could stop me, either. I can be in there by the end of the week.”

“Do it,” said Albus. “It is imperitave that we are able to confirm your theory as soon as possible.”

Sirius nodded. If he was right, he owed Ginny a terrific thank you gift. And he was certain he was right. Nothing else made sense given everything he knew about Voldemort.

One step closer to ensuring that Voldemort was defeated once and for all. We’re going to win, he thought with fierce determination as he left the castle for Grimmauld Place. I know it!

Back to index


Chapter 33: Dobby's Report

Author's Notes: Another chapter so soon?!

I'm leaving tomorrow to go on a camping trip until 5 August, which for me means sitting in the shade and either reading good books or writing like a mad woman while my kids play in the sun and cease to bother me quite as much. Anyway, I really enjoyed writing this chapter. Segments come from HBP chapter 14 "Felix Felicis" as well as chapter 19 "Elf Tails." Also, the final scene contains... suggestive content, but nothing explicit, just so you're aware. Enjoy!


Chapter Thirty-Three: Dobby’s Report



The next morning, Harry told Ron and Hermione about his lesson the previous night as they walked across the grounds to their Herbology lesson through the dementor-infused mist (Hermione had been utterly disgusted to learn the source) that permeated the grounds now that the storm from the weekend had finally cleared. As Harry shared his tale, Hermione listened intently, both fascinated and repulsed by everything Harry told the two of them. The description of that boy who would one day become Voldemort reminded her of descriptions she had read of those with antisocial personality disorder, many of whom had similar demeanors as youth in terms of their treatment of others, harm they caused to people and animals alike…

It was disturbing, to say the least.

“Sirius swears you need to know this stuff, right?” said Ron quietly, as they took their places around one of the gnarled Snargaluff stumps that formed this term’s project, and began pulling on their protective gloves.

“He says the only way to understand what Voldemort did to survive the night he tried to kill me is understand how he thinks,” answered Harry before inserting a gum shield.

“It makes absolute sense to know as much about Voldemort as possible,” said Hermione. “How else will you find out his weaknesses?” She grabbed for her protective goggles. “I just wish Sirius had been more forthcoming about your dream and whatever occurred to him based on Ginny’s comments about money and Gringotts.”

“Me, too,” said Harry. “Anyway, how was Slughorn’s party last night? Ginny says Gwenog Jones is planning to come to our match against Slytherin next month.”

“Personally,” said Hermione as she recalled the previous evening, “I thought she was a bit full of herself, but –”

“Hold on,” Ron interrupted, his eyes widening under his own goggles. “The Captain of the Holyhead Harpies is coming to our match? Our match?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “She wants to see Ginny play.”

“It was a bit ridiculous, the way he tried to play up Ginny’s talent,” said Hermione with a scowl as Ron gaped at Harry. “It’s not like he’s seen her in action or anything.”

“But she’s brilliant,” said Harry shortly. “The Harpies are her Quidditch team, she’d like nothing better than to play for them after finishing here –”

“Quite enough chat over here!” said Professor Sprout briskly, bustling over and looking stern. “You’re lagging behind, everybody else has started, and Neville’s already got his first pod!”

They looked around; sure enough, there sat Neville with a bloodied lip and several nasty-looking scratches along the side of his face, but clutching the pulsating green pod that could only be found from within the Snargaluff stump.

“Okay, Professor, we’re starting now!” said Ron as Hermione approached the gnarled stump.

“Come on,” she said as bravely as she could, “we’d better get going…”

She looked up at Ron and Harry apprehensively; they all took deep breaths and then dived at the stump between them.

It sprang to life at once; long, prickly, branblelike vines flew out of the top and whipped through the air. One tangled itself in Hermione’s hair, but Ron quickly beat it back with a pair of secateurs.

Hermione shot Ron a grateful look as Harry succeeded in trapping a couple of vines and knotting them together. The hole Hermione had been looking for opened in the middle of all the tentaclelike branches. She plunged her arm into the hole to snag a pod, unsurprised but tense when the hole closed like a trap around her elbow. She kept her grip on the pod she’d nabbed while she waited for Harry and Ron to force the Snarglaluff plant to open the hole again; when they managed that, she snatched her arm free, clutching the pod in her hand. At once, the prickly vines shot back inside, and the gnarled stump sat there, looking like an innocent, dead lump of wood once more.

“You know, I don’t think I’ll be having any of these in my garden when I’ve got my own place,” said Ron, pushing his goggles up onto his forehead and wiping sweat from his face.

“Pass me a bowl,” said Hermione to Harry as she held the pulsating pod at arm’s length. As soon as Harry handed it over she dropped the pod into it, disgusted.

“Don’t be squeamish, squeeze it out, they’re best when they’re fresh!” called Professor Sprout.

As lovely as that sounded, Hermione still needed to discuss Slughorn’s party with Harry. “Anyway, Slughorn’s going to have a Christmas party, Harry, and there’s no way you’ll be able to wriggle out of this one because he actually asked me to check your free evenings, so he could be sure to have it on a night you can come.” She sighed. “I’m starting to wonder if he realizes that you’ve been avoiding him on purpose.”

Harry scowled at this. “I was planning to ease up on Quidditch practice after our match against Slytherin,” he said. “Ginny and I already discussed it.”

“She doesn’t like the dinner parties much,” said Hermione. “Slughorn drones on about famous ex-pupils a bit, and he absolutely fawns on McLaggen because he’s so well-connected. If Gwenog Jones hadn’t absorbed her attention last night, she would’ve left the moment she could get away with it and still be seen as polite.”

“Sounds like Ginny,” said Ron, but he spoke rather stiffly as he attempted to squash the Snargaluff pod by putting both hands on it and pressing with everything he had. “So – this Christmas party ­– it’s another one for his favorites?”

“Just for the Slug Club, yes,” said Hermione, “but we’re allowed to bring guests.”

The pod flew out from under Ron’s fingers and hit the greenhouse glass, rebounding onto the back of Professor Sprout’s head and knocking off her old, patched hat. Harry quickly headed after the pod.

“Guests?” asked Ron quietly.

“Yes,” said Hermione firmly. “And I – well, I hoped you’d come with me.”

Ron stared at her. “Me?” he said in that same quiet voice.

“Yes, you,” said Hermione, smiling at him. “I know last Saturday wasn’t completely ideal, what with the weather and Katie and everything, but… I had a good time being there with just you.”

“You did?” said Ron, a hopeful look on his face.

“I did,” Hermione told him earnestly. “I don’t like the name of this club or much of anything about it, really, but a party where I can bring anyone I want to, well…” She trailed off and shrugged.

“Yeah,” said Ron as Harry slowly approached with the pod in his hands. “Yeah, I’d – I’d really like that, Hermione.”

Hermione couldn’t help but beam up at Ron. “Good,” she said. “That settles it, then.” She turned to Harry to see him staring blankly down at the pod, which he had placed back in the bowl. “Harry?”

He startled and looked over at her. “Huh? Oh, er… how do we squeeze this stuff out, exactly?” he asked, still looking unsettled.

“The book says we’re supposed to puncture it with something sharp,” answered Hermione. “Harry, are you okay?”

“Fine,” said Harry a bit too quickly for Hermione’s liking. “You go on,” he added, pushing the bowl towards Hermione. “Ron and I will get the next pod, yeah?”

“Sounds good, mate,” said Ron, shooting Hermione a puzzled look when Harry turned away to snap on his protective goggles again. She shrugged back at him, and he got his goggles back on before diving at the Snargaluff pod with Harry to retrieve the next pod. Hermione turned back to the pod they had and punctured it with the tip of the secateurs, grimacing at the revolting smell that emanated from it as she proceeded to squeeze out the tubers inside, which wriggled in the bowl like pale green worms.

Harry remained very quiet through the rest of Herbology, fending off Hermione’s questions if he really was all right by keeping his head down and focusing on his work. Hermione was baffled by the sudden change in Harry’s demeanor, and exchanged multiple looks of confusion with Ron. He must have hit a landmine, but Hermione hadn’t seen him speak to or be spoken to by any of the others in the greenhouse, so what was going on?



It had come out of nowhere.

When the pod flew out from under Ron’s fingers and Harry set off after it, everything was fine. He could tell that Hermione was about to ask Ron to go with her to Slughorn’s Christmas party, so he figured that he would take his time to give them a bit of privacy. It was when he stooped down to retrieve the pod that it happened.

“They’re going to leave you.”

Ron steps forward on the giant chessboard and the white Queen strikes him across the face, knocking him out… Hermione is walking away through the purple flames of the potions chamber to get back to Ron… Ginny jumps from her seat and flees the Great Hall at Percy’s interruption… Sirius mounts Buckbeak and takes off into the night, taking the promise of a better home with him… Ron doesn’t believe that Harry didn’t enter his name into the Triwizard Tournament and draws the covers of his fourposter… Hermione is on the bed in the hospital wing, Petrified… Ginny lies in the Chamber of Secrets, slowly dying as the memory in the diary sucks away her life…

And now he hears his dad shouting. “Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off –”

“He had no wand on him,” laughs Voldemort. “How he expected to last more than a moment when he was so utterly defenseless… but he left you. Your mother left you.
Everyone leaves you in the end.”

Stop it…

Dumbledore strides out of the trial, not having looked Harry in the eyes once…

“You cannot rely on others,” whispers Voldemort. “Friendship and caring make you
weak, boy, and the people you depend on will always let you down. It is better to have no need or wanting of such pitiful things…”

Harry came back to himself with a sharp intake a breath, hand hovering just above the pod.

They left you…

The thought hit him much harder than he’d expected. He grasped the pod and slowly headed back to the table he and his friends were using, lost in thought.

Riddle had been abandoned before birth by his father, left alone by a mother too broken to stay alive… Harry’s father had died trying to spare his mother any time he could, and she had refused to step aside…

But it came down to the same ending: parents gone, and left alone. How many times had Harry ended up on his own, left to defend himself against bullies and even Voldemort himself?

“Harry?”

Startling, Harry looked around and realized he’d already returned to the table and placed the pod back into the bowl. “Huh? Oh, er… how do we squeeze this stuff out, exactly?” he asked, trying to focus on what they were supposed to be doing.

“The book says we’re supposed to puncture it with something sharp,” answered Hermione. She suddenly frowned up at him. “Harry, are you okay?”

“Fine,” said Harry quickly, not the least bit interested in sharing the dark turn his thoughts had unexpectedly taken in such a short time. “You go on,” he added, pushing the bowl towards Hermione. “Ron and I will get the next pod, yeah?”

“Sounds good, mate,” said Ron and Harry turned away to put the protective goggles back on over his glasses so he could make another dive at the Snargaluff stump. However, it seemed Hermione was not to be put off, because she asked him a few more times during Herbology if he really was all right. Despite his attempts to fend her off, Harry couldn’t shake the overwhelming sense that despite his attempts to build a support system, he had still always been and might always be very much alone.

He wished he could understand why that particular flashback had affected him as it had, but he could at least recognize some level of truth in the words. In one way or another, he had always been alone, separate from everyone else. Was that how it would always be?

A part of Harry could tell that he was getting lost in his head and not seeing things clearly, but it was hard to know for sure what was actually real this time. There had been too much truth to Voldemort’s words as he had prised apart every memory in his determination to see Harry completely broken.

These dark and turbulent thoughts continued to plague Harry’s mind as they left Herbology for morning break, Harry vaguely aware of the concerned looks Ron and Hermione kept shooting him as well as to each other as they reached the entrance hall and headed for Gryffindor tower to quickly shower and change thanks to the exhausting and sweaty experience that made up Herbology.

Harry continued through their Charms class after break in a kind of haze, unable to escape the downward spiral his thoughts had taken him on and barely aware of the homework Professor Flitwick set. When he entered the Great Hall for lunch, Ginny took one look at him and promptly dragged him to the first empty classroom she could find, Ron and Hermione following with worried expressions.

“Sit,” she commanded, pushing him onto a nearby desk as Ron shut the classroom door and cast Muffliato. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” said Harry automatically.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. “Hermione’s Rule,” she responded.

“I’m fine,” Harry returned more aggressively than he’d meant to.

“No, you’re not,” said Ginny, tone brooking no argument.

“Something happened in Herbology,” said Hermione. “You were alright before you went to grab that Snargaluff pod Ron accidentally sent flying across the greenhouse. When you got back, something was obviously wrong.”

Harry shrugged, reticent to discuss the thoughts swirling in his mind.

“You had a flashback, if I had to guess,” said Ginny, still staring intently at him. “Something about it got to you in a way that the other flashbacks usually don’t.”

“He’s always lying, whatever he says,” said Hermione quietly. “You know that, Harry.”

Harry looked away, unable to bring himself to respond.

“You don’t think he was lying this time,” said Ron flatly. “Harry, that’s all he does, he lies to everyone… That memory of Dumbledore’s you told us about all but proves it!”

“What did he say, Harry?” asked Ginny softly, reaching out and clasping his hands in hers.

This, more than anything, calmed Harry. He realized that Ginny would listen, would help him sort it all out, he was certain of it. So he painstakingly forced himself to share the flashback and the spiraling thoughts that had accompanied it.

“You are not alone, Harry,” said Ginny earnestly, shaking his hands a little as she continued to clutch them in her own. “Your dad chose to take a stand even though he was defenseless. Your mum refused to step aside because she loved you that much!”

“We’re not going anywhere,” said Hermione. “All those moments you remembered, those were extenuating circumstances, Harry.”

“You weren’t alone in June,” added Ron. “Ginny didn’t leave your side once. We wouldn’t have either, if we’d been there.”

“I know,” said Harry wearily. “It’s just – looking at Riddle like that… the number of times it came down to just me… how do I know he doesn’t have a point?”

“You would not have made it to the Philosopher’s Stone on your own,” said Hermione seriously. “It took all three of us, remember?”

“We wouldn’t have put everything together about the Chamber of Secrets without the research Hermione did before she was Petrified,” added Ron.

“It was the Time Turner I had that gave us the chance to save Sirius,” said Hermione.

“All those spells we found together got you out of that graveyard alive,” Ron told Harry firmly.

“Everything we did with the D.A. kept the both of us alive in June,” said Ginny quietly. “Hermione’s idea, but your expertise.” She shook his hands again. “Your talent, your natural instincts, you are the key piece that makes all these incredible things happen, but… without the support of the people who care about you, who love you, you only get so far.

“Voldemort uses people to serve his own ends,” she continued in a hard voice. “His memory used me to open the Chamber. He used your blood to get his body back. He used your kind heart to try and get to the Stone, and he did his best to use your own pain against you four months ago.” She stared at him with a determined expression. “Love is a strength, not a weakness, and it’s served you well since you started coming here. The magic behind it kept you alive against impossible odds as a baby, and it – it’s helped heal your suffering so much since that horrible night.”

“Please don’t believe him,” said Hermione. “We’ll work together, same as always, to figure this out.”

“He was lying,” added Ron. “Anything to make you think you’re weak, but mate… that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“You are so strong, Harry,” said Ginny, nodding at her brother before looking at Harry again. “But part of that comes from love and trust. You don’t have to do everything alone, you’ve not had to be that way from the day Ron sat down in your train compartment, and I don’t want you to think you have to be that way ever again.”

Harry couldn’t argue in the face of the blatant love and support and looked down, blinking several times to clear his stinging eyes.

“Promise me you won’t believe his lies again,” whispered Ginny, one hand cupping his jaw and tilting his head so she could look at him.

Harry nodded, throat too tight with emotion to speak, but that was enough for Ginny. She immediately leaned forward and kissed him, and he couldn’t help but respond almost desperately, one hand at her waist and the other tangling in her sweet-smelling hair.

Ginny was here, and she wasn’t going anywhere. He believed that with every fiber of his being.

When Ginny pulled away from the kiss, he saw her smile at him before she leaned close and kissed him directly on his scar. He felt her press her forehead to his. “I love you,” she told him softly.

“I love you, too,” he whispered back, closing his eyes and just holding Ginny close to him for a few moments.

“So,” said Ron awkwardly, “it’s still lunchtime. Can – can we go eat now?”

Harry chuckled as Hermione sighed in an aggrieved manner and Ginny rolled her eyes. “Yes,” she said firmly. “Let’s do that now.”

They’d lost nearly half their lunch period by this point, so they all quickly returned to the Great Hall and scarfed down what they could before parting ways for the afternoon. Harry watched Ginny head off for double Herbology with her friends and felt lighter than he had for a while. Despite his destiny being what it was, the reality was that he had people who loved him and wouldn’t abandon him without reason.

He wasn’t alone.



Thursday evening marked three weeks from when Dobby had agreed to follow Malfoy. Tonight, he would finally be making his report on his findings. Ginny had been on tenterhooks the entire day, unable to stop herself from wondering what Dobby would reveal to them. She could see that Harry was feeling the same way every time she saw him that day, between classes, at break, and at lunch.

Finally, she met up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione in an empty classroom, Harry casting Muffliato and Hermione adding an Impeturbable Charm to the door. They didn’t wait more than a few seconds before a sharp crack! announced Dobby’s arrival.

“Harry Potter and his friends, it is an honor for Dobby to serve you!” he said in his usual high-pitched tone of adoration as he dropped into a low bow.

“Hey, Dobby,” said Harry, smiling uncomfortably. “You been taking care of yourself?”

Ginny pressed her lips together to keep from laughing as Dobby gave his usual “Harry Potter is too kind” spiel; Dobby was a walking lesson in the effect kindness could have on someone who hadn’t known any such thing before.

Hermione stepped in before Dobby could get too far into it. “Dobby, I know Harry and Ginny asked for your help,” she said. “Can you explain to me and Ron what you’ve been doing before you tell us what Malfoy’s been up to?”

“Yes, Miss Granger,” said Dobby, and he explained that he had followed Malfoy’s movements throughout the day and especially the evenings. “The Malfoy boy is breaking no rules that Dobby can discover, but he is still keen to avoid detection. He has been making regular visits to the seventh floor with a variety of other students, who keep watch for him while he enters the Room of Requirement.”

Ginny gaped at Dobby for a moment before turning to look at Harry. “Is that – is it on the map?”

Harry scrambled for his bag and pulled the parchment free from it, activating it and scanning it quickly. “It’s not on here,” he said. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I ever saw it on here, not even after the D.A. meetings last year.”

“You were checking the surrounding hallways to make sure it was safe, not the people within the room itself, though,” said Hermione. “That could explain why we never realized this before now.”

“Maybe the Marauders never knew the room was there,” said Ron. “I don’t remember Sirius saying anything about it.”

“We’ll ask him later,” said Hermione. “But I think it’ll be part of the magic of the room. If you need it to be Unplottable, it will be.”

“Were you able to get in and have a look at what Malfoy’s doing?” Harry asked Dobby.

“No, Harry Potter, that is impossible,” said Dobby.

“No it’s not,” said Harry at once. “Malfoy got into our headquarters there last year –”

“But that was only because Marietta explained exactly how we were using the room,” Hermione cut him off quickly. “Malfoy needed the room to become the headquarters of the D.A., so it did. But you don’t know what the room becomes when Malfoy goes in there, so you don’t know what to ask it to transform into.”

“Surely there’s a way around that,” mused Ginny. “It can’t hurt to try, if nothing else, at least until Sirius manages to interrogate Mr. Borgin and find out what Malfoy wanted from his shop.”

“Thanks for your help, Dobby, you did brilliantly,” said Harry.

“Thank you, Harry Potter, sir!” squeaked Dobby happily, and he vanished.

“How good’s this?” said Harry enthusiastically. “We know where Malfoy’s going!”

“But what’s all this about him going up there with a ‘variety of students’?” said Hermione. “How many people are in on it? You wouldn’t think he’d trust lots of them to know what he’s doing…”

“True,” said Ginny thoughtfully. “He usually only relies on Crabbe and Goyle, doesn’t he?”

“What about Polyjuice Potion?” suggested Ron. “Professor Slughorn had a whole cauldron sitting in our first class with him.”

Harry looked at Ron, expression stunned. “That’s it,” he said. “That’s exactly it. He must’ve nicked it after that first class, we already know how difficult some of the ingredients are to procure.”

“But how do we figure out what he’s doing in there?” said Hermione. “Without knowing exactly what he’s wanting when he calls on the room, I don’t see how we can feasibly get in.”

“We won’t know unless we try,” Ginny reminded her. “I still say we give it go, see what we can sort out on our own until Sirius gets to Borgin.”

“But he said the man’s highly paranoid,” said Hermione, “remember our conversation with him the other night? I doubt we’ll hear anything before your first match against Slytherin.”

This was true. Sirius had finished brewing the Veritaserum potion several days earlier, but thus far, Kreacher had little to report in the way of when it would be best to dose the man.

“Plenty of time to do our own investigation,” said Harry with a shrug. “I don’t want to just sit around and wait for Sirius to hand us the next piece of the puzzle if we’re able to do it ourselves.”

Hermione sighed. “What are you thinking, Harry?”

“We try to get in while he’s in there,” said Harry. “If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to see if it’s possible to watch him head in or come out.”

“The kind of door that appears could be a clue,” said Ginny. “Or we might catch a glimpse of what’s inside. We’ll definitely need the Invisibility Cloak for this.”

Hermione nodded and looked at her watch. “Ron, we’ve got Prefect duty in about five minutes,” she said. “We’d better go.”

Ron sighed and nodded. “You’ll both speak with Sirius about this?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” said Ginny. “Don’t get too bored looking for troublemakers out there.”

Ron snorted and followed Hermione from the room. Harry pulled out the mirror; he and Ginny spent the new few minutes explaining to Sirius what Dobby had uncovered.

“Where’s it located, again?” he asked them.

“Across the hall from a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to train trolls for the ballet,” said Ginny.

“Oh, I remember that area,” said Sirius in surprise. “I think I found a roomy broom cupboard there once my sixth year.”

“Do I dare ask what you needed a broom cupboard for?” asked Ginny with a wide grin.

“The same reason you two might want to find one sometime,” shot back Sirius with a teasing smile, “if you haven’t, already.” A wicked grin lit his features. “Been utilizing the important knowledge I passed onto you, Harry?”

Harry’s face turned a brilliant shade of red and Ginny had to stop herself from laughing as she recalled Harry’s embarrassment the day following Sirius’s sex talk. “Of course he has,” she said with a smirk at Sirius. “And Harry was right, by the way: you were much more thorough than my mum ever was.”

Sirius let out a loud bark of laughter. “Stay safe,” he said, and Harry put the mirror back into his bag, face still red.

“He’s been so good for you, Harry,” Ginny told him fondly. Harry looked up at her.

“So have you,” he said softly, and Ginny shoved Harry’s bag to the floor, pulling Harry to her and kissing him with everything she had. Harry proved he was right with her the next moment, pushing Ginny’s robes off her shoulders and pulling her even closer against him as he returned her kisses with equal fervor.

This was much better, Ginny thought, yanking off Harry’s robes as best she could before flinging her arms around his neck. His hands traced up her back, under her top and against her bare skin, and it felt so incredible she couldn’t stop a moan from escaping. Harry grinned against her mouth.

It was time to get them on more even ground, then. Ginny’s hands went straight for the belt buckle on Harry’s trousers, and soon he was moaning, as well. It was like a series of escalating dares with the two of them, though, because Harry’s long fingers quickly found their way south, and she was unable to contain the shudder of pleasure that shot through her at his touch. Harry was remarkably good at this, and what was more, he knew it, even took pride in it.

And no one else knew this about him, knew that he was quite passionate about making Ginny feel as though stars were bursting behind her eyes, the way he thrived on bringing her over the edge, how he babbled about how perfect she was and how much he loved her when he was close to his own peak… All these little things she knew about him that no other girl or woman would ever get to experience or understand because he chose her, Ginny, to be the one person he wanted intimacy with, and she loved him so deeply for every facet of his passionate, stubborn nature that she couldn’t fathom how it was neither of them had yet to be overwhelmed by it.

Being with Harry when they were just snogging or going further, all of it was everything Ginny could ever fathom wanting from a partner. She happily surrendered to the sensation of Harry’s touch and every passionate kiss.

Homework, after all, could wait for another evening.

Back to index


Chapter 34: Steps Forward

Author's Notes: I go back to work this week to prepare for the school year. My district starts school 19 August, and I'm both shocked and terrified by how close that is now. This year is going to be incredibly difficult. I have one semester left of my degree to complete my certification as a special education teacher, but I also have to deal with rising rates of covid in my county and a complicated teaching schedule which will involve a hybrid of face-to-face and distance learning online. I still don't know what that's going to look like for my students, but I am worried about how it'll work. My oldest starts second grade this year, and my youngest starts kindergarten. The school district we live in has no hybrid plans. They are going back in 100% capacity, but with a shortened school day because those teachers are being asked to prepare materials for students selecting an online-only option. Twice the work, to be honest.

There are many uncertainties coming my way. I have no intentions to stop writing this story (looking at a total of 56 chapters at this point), but updates will undoubtedly slow a great deal as they have before, possibly more than before. I can only hope that the precautions put in place will work.

Anyway, enough depressing stuff from me. Enjoy the chapter!


Chapter Thirty-Four: Steps Forward



Having Luna as a friend was wonderful, but there were times where her beliefs could cause unexpected strife.

That evening’s D.A. meeting ended up serving as a prime example.

Luna tended to work with the fourth-year students, and for the most part, it worked out well. Harry knew that Luna was quite capable and smart, but that people were sometimes put off by her personality or beliefs.

He was walking over to the third-year group to check in on how Neville was doing when loud voices attracted his attention from Luna’s group, instead. Curious, he changed course and headed for the fourth-year group, instead.

“They don’t exist, Luna!” It was a Ravenclaw boy Harry thought was called Ryan. “I don’t understand how you can believe any of the rubbish the Quibbler publishes.”

“And how do you know blibbering – sorry, forgot what they’re called, Luna – what makes you so certain they don’t exist?” That was Demelza Robbins, and she sounded exasperated.

Ryan opened his mouth angrily, but Harry decided to intervene. “This does not sound like a discussion of jinxes,” he said loudly. “Can someone explain why we’re off-topic?”

“It’s Luna!” said Ryan hotly. “Comparing the Jelly-Legs jinx to the effects of whatever it is her dad’s rubbish magazine published most recently. It doesn’t exist!”

“Whoa, hold on,” said Harry, holding up a hand. “How many of you in this group are Muggleborn?”

About a third of the students raised their hands. “Did any of you believe in magic or unicorns or the like before learning you were a witch or wizard?”

“I believed in Father Christmas,” said one girl, “and the Tooth Fairy, but only until I was around nine or so. Learning magic was real was a bit of a shock.”

“Okay, so it stands to reason that at one time, you were certain that there were things in this world which didn’t exist,” he reasoned. “Then you learned differently.”

“But you knew about magic and the like, right?” said another girl curiously.

Harry laughed. “I had no idea. My relatives don’t like magic, so I didn’t have a clue until Hagrid told me. I didn’t believe him at first, so the number of things in this world which you might find to be commonplace were very strange to me.” The students gaped at him, and he pressed on: “Muggles are convinced that ancient people’s mistook the skulls of the extinct animal the mammoth for a cyclops, for example. Or that dinosaur bones were mistaken for dragons. We know differently in our world, but Muggles don’t.

“My point is,” he hurried on before Ryan could say anything, “you don’t really know for sure what’s real and what isn’t. Muggles still have many parts of the world they haven’t fully explored, and we of course have areas they will never see as they are –”

“Like Hogwarts looking like a ruin to Muggles,” said Demelza. “It’s in Hogwarts: A History.”

Harry grinned, thinking of Hermione telling him the same thing once. “Exactly. It’s more than possible that there are things out there which do exist, and we just haven’t found them yet.”

“But Muggles have magazines which post utter rubbish, too,” said one of the other girls. “Tabloids and the like.”

“I know,” said Harry, shrugging.

“I think what Harry’s trying to say,” Luna finally spoke up, “is that you cannot tell anyone with certainty whether their beliefs are right or wrong.”

“But there are things which do and don’t exist!” protested Ryan.

“Beliefs are different than that,” piped up another boy. “My family is Muslim. Are you going to tell me our beliefs are wrong?”

“I – well, no,” said Ryan, paling a bit, “but –”

“This group is designed to be open to all,” Harry cut in, starting to feel impatient, “but that doesn’t make it a space where we are critical of others in this way. Luna knows the material, and she is more than capable of helping you. Whether you agree with her beliefs or not, you leave that at the door.”

“Be tolerant of others opinions and beliefs,” said Luna, “but do not tolerate those who sow discord.”

Harry grinned. “Exactly.” He looked at Ryan. “Can you follow the guidelines I’ve set in place or not?”

Ryan flushed and looked down, nodding silently. “Then I’ll leave you in Luna’s capable hands,” said Harry lightly. Luna shot him her usual dreamy smile, and he knew she wasn’t truly bothered by Ryan’s comments, but he didn’t regret intervening. He patted Luna on the shoulder and headed off for Neville’s group.

It was true that he didn’t understand Luna’s beliefs, but that didn’t change anything about her knowledge or kindness. Others needed to see that.

McGonagall fell into step beside him. “Branching out into important life lessons, Mr. Potter?”

Harry felt his face warm as he shrugged. “Group work involves being tolerant,” he said quietly.

“Indeed,” said McGonagall with a small smile. “Five points to Gryffindor,” she added softly before moving away towards the seventh-year group. Harry watched her go, a warmth suffusing his entire being before he focused on Neville’s group for the remainder of the hour.



Trepidation filled Sirius as he stepped from the Gringotts cart Friday evening. It had been more than clear that the goblins had not wished to grant him access to the Lestrange vault, but he knew their laws, the regulations, everything needed to fulfill the requirements necessary to get him to this point thanks to his own upbringing as well as Bill’s insight.

If this worked, he owed Bill an expensive wedding gift. Maybe he’d pay for their honeymoon. Hadn’t Fleur wanted to visit the Carribean?

Sirius knew the goblins wished to remain neutral in the current civil war that wracked the nation, but he would not be denied, and so he stood, awaiting the goblin with him to pull out the Clankers.

“Follow me, Mr. Black,” said Griphook with a sneer in his direction. Sirius nodded and followed the goblin, hating the part that came next. If Hagrid knew what was down in the depths of the wizard bank, he’d be in here in a heartbeat to set the wrongs to rights.

Charlie would likely be right at his side.

The gigantic dragon was tethered to the ground before him, barring access to four or five of the deepest vaults in the place. Sirius sighed to himself as he took in the pale, flaky scales, the milkily pink eyes, and the heavy cuffs on its rear legs which were attached to chains that led to enormous pegs driven deep into the rocky floor. Its head turned in their direction, but Griphook was ready with the Clankers. Within moments, the dragon was letting out a hoarse roar and retreating out of their way.

Sirius did his best not to look at the dragon as they passed, and felt glad that he didn’t have Harry or any of his friends here to see this. He knew that Hermione especially would protest the treatment of the dragon.

Griphook placed his hand upon the door of the Lestrange vault, which melted away to reveal a cavelike opening crammed from floor to ceiling with golden coins and goblets, silver armor, the skins of a variety of fantastic beasts, potions in jeweled flasks, and a skull still wearing a crown. Sirius sighed, lit his wand, and stepped inside. He knew what Hufflepuff’s cup looked like, but if it was the other, unknown Horcrux in here, he might never find it without more research. Albus was heading out again soon to the forests of Albania to see if he could track down Voldemort’s movements in the area based on the little Harry recalled from his personal time with the so-called Dark Lord. While it was unlikely the Horcrux was still there, the fact that it might have been at one point needed to be thoroughly explored.

Stepping inside the vault, Sirius raised his wand and looked around as Griphook watched him from the entrance with a distasteful, yet curious expression on his face. Ignoring the goblin, Sirius focused on what he needed to do, raising his wand high as he slowly ventured further into the cavernous space, hoping against hope that he might find the cup and be one step closer to helping Harry defeat Voldemort once and for all.

The Black family vault was in a different part of the lowest levels of Gringotts, and Sirius wasn’t surprised to see that the Lestrange’s vault was similar in both size and the kinds of holdings it had. He stepped past gemstones and jewel-encrusted weapons, gaudy necklaces and piles of Galleons, still looking, still hoping –

There. It was right there.

Sirius stared up at a high shelf where a small cup sat in anonymity. He could just make out the Hufflepuff crest engraved upon it. Swallowing hard and steeling his nerve, Sirius mounted the piles of gold and treasure, wand at the ready, and reached out his left hand when he came close enough to touch.

The cold metal slid against his palm, but nothing else happened. Letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, Sirius pulled the cup close and descended down the piles of treasure back to the doorway of the vault. “I’ve seen enough,” he told Griphook, slipping the Horcrux into his robes. “Please take me back to the surface.”

Griphook eyed him for a long moment before nodding. The door to the vault reappeared, they made their way back past the dragon, and within ten minutes, Sirius was quickly striding out of the bank for the nearest Apparition point, his mind already set on his destination. With a whirl of his robes, he spun away to Hogsmeade and headed straight for the road to the castle gates. He sent a Patronus to Albus as he walked to alert him that he was on his way.

Less than a minute after he reached the gates, Sirius saw Albus approaching at a swift pace, his expression muted, yet his gait filled with an urgent air. He let Sirius in, and they headed towards the castle in mutual silence.

There were very few students in the hallways, most either in their common room or the library. This suited Sirius fine; he wasn’t prepared for Harry to know everything just yet, after all. A couple of students gazed at him curiously as he followed Albus to the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the headmaster’s office, but none approached him, clearly seeing he was there on business with Albus at his side.

It wasn’t until the door to the office had closed that Albus spoke. “Were there any issues?”

Sirius shook his head and pulled the cup from his robes. “Nothing,” he said. “Well, the goblins weren’t exactly happy with me, but they rarely are when wizards know their laws and regulations as well as they do.”

Albus nodded and stared at the cup. “I never would have guessed it lay hidden there,” he said quietly. “Amazing, how Miss Weasley picked up on something I should have seen.”

“She and Harry have had the most direct exposure to Voldemort’s mind,” sighed Sirius. “It makes sense that there might be things he said to the both of them that only make sense in the context of what we’re doing.”

“Indeed,” said Albus softly. Then, in a louder voice, he said, “I don’t suppose you wish to do the honors, Sirius?”

Sirius blinked as Albus suddenly strode towards the shelf upon which the sword of Gryffindor resided. “The honors?” he said blankly. “What –?”

“The sword of Gryffindor is goblin-made,” said Albus, deftly retrieving the sword, “and as such, imbibes only that which makes it stronger. The night Harry stabbed the diary with the basilisk fang, he also slayed the creature itself with the sword, and thusly impregnated it with basilisk venom. I used it when I destroyed the Horcrux inside the ring.”

“Centuries it’s been in our family, that’s how far back we go, and pure-blood all the way! Know how much I’ve been offered for this, with the Peverell coat of arms engraved on the stone?” Marvolo Gaunt’s words suddenly came to mind at the thought of the ring, and Sirius felt the same momentary flicker of confusion, because he knew, he knew he’d heard of the Peverell family before, but where –?

James opens his trunk with a flourish and reaches in, grinning. “You’re in for a real treat, you are,” he tells Sirius as he digs around. Sirius raises an eyebrow and waits for whatever it is his new best friend is eager to show him.

A moment later, he
is impressed, mouth falling open as James straightens with an Invisibility Cloak in his hands. “Where’d you get one of those?” he demands. “Those are bleedin’ expensive, those are!”

James laughs. “It’s different from other cloaks,” he says. “Been handed down for generations, father to son and all that. My dad says he believes it came from the Peverell family and passed into ours when a Peverell married a Potter a few generations back. It’s the best out there!”


Sirius blinked back into the present. “I’ve always been impressed by the metallurgical arts of the goblins,” he said, refocusing on the sword. “Basilisk venom would destroy the vessel beyond all repair.” He shook his head and took the proffered sword, handing over the cup, which Albus set on a small table. “So I – just stab it?”

Albus nodded. “It does not take much force, but yes.”

Sirius hefted the sword, marveling once again that his godson had pulled the thing out of the Sorting Hat at the mere age of twelve, and carefully raised it above the golden cup with both hands on the handle, swordtip pointed straight down at the Horcrux. He took a deep breath, steadied his grip, and then allowed gravity to do the rest.

The screeching sound the cup emitted the moment the sword impacted almost cost Sirius his grip, but he held on, forcing the swordtip into the interior of the cup’s chalice.

Several moments later, the screeching was gone, the chalice dented inside, the cup itself smoking ever so slightly. Sirius raised the sword carefully away and stared at the cup. “Is that it?” he asked carefully.

Albus put his face close to the cup for a moment before nodding. “Well done,” he said. “Three destroyed, and three more to go.”

Sirius recalled that the locket his brother had stolen from Voldemort was still intact, safely hidden away until Harry knew the truth and could open it using the Parselmouth ability he had been unwittingly given by Voldemort.

“… and he will have powers the Dark Lord knows not…”

Sirius frowned. Voldemort knew about Harry’s ability to speak to snakes, but without the full prophecy, he still didn’t realize just what he had done. But what had he done, exactly? How could it be possible to only transfer a portion of one’s abilities to an innocent child?

It remained baffling, to say the least. Sirius understood full well the process of making Horcruxes, the act of murder, the dark and horrific spell involved… but this was a mystery he still couldn’t make sense of.

“Three more,” he agreed. “When are you leaving for Albania?”

“Sunday evening,” said Dumbledore. “I expect this particular journey will take sometime, possibly until after Christmas, I should think.”

Sirius nodded. “Might I take Harry to Godric’s Hollow come Halloween?” he asked abruptly. “Harry’s never been to see where his parents are buried. Remus says he tries to go every year, actually.”

Albus hesitated, but then nodded. “If you and Remus both accompany him, I don’t see why that should be an issue,” he said. “You will make the necessary arrangements for Harry’s safety?”

“Of course,” said Sirius at once. “Thank you, Albus.” He looked back down at the cup. “Do you think Voldemort will find out where I was and what I did today?”

“Eventually,” said Albus. “Such truths and movements cannot be long hidden, but I am hopeful that we will have our answer regarding the unknown Horcrux before that happens.”

Albus collected the cup to store safely with the other destroyed Horcruxes, and Sirius took his leave, determined to arrange the visit to Godric’s Hollow the following Thursday. He hoped the visit would be good for the three of them, and he headed for Remus’s flat to discuss the matter with him and make the arrangements.



“What’s that?”

Hermione startled and immediately shoved the book in her hands under the table. She thought she had been alone in her little corner of the library. Harry was serving detention with Snape for an incredibly cheeky comment in the middle of class, Ron had finished his work and retired to the common room nearly twenty minutes ago, and Ginny was supposed to be with her study group.

‘Supposed’ being the operative word.

“Just some research,” said Hermione quickly as Ginny dropped into the seat next to hers with raised eyebrows.

“On memory modification?” said Ginny. “I didn’t know you were interested in that particular branch of magic.”

“Well I – I’ve been a bit curious about it, that’s all,” said Hermione evasively. “I’ve thought about it off and on since seeing Lockhart again, and I finally found some free time to look into it a bit more.”

Ginny nodded, and Hermione was certain she was going to accept this explanation.

“You’ve been carrying around a variety of books on that subject,” Ginny stated. “And not just the Obliviation charm.”

“There are many ways to modify someone’s memory,” snapped Hermione. “We’d be fools not to know more about them given the nature of our lives.”

Thankfully, Ginny conceded the point. They really had no idea what the future held in store for them, but knowing more about memory modification, it’s effects, how it worked, it was all important information they might need. It was because of the memory modification done to Bertha Jorkins that Voldemort had learned about Barty Crouch Jr being kept hidden away in his father’s home.

It was dangerous.

It was potentially useful, too.

Curiosity satisfied, Ginny instead started pestering Hermione about struggles with a couple of translations for her Ancient Runes class, and she easily set aside her research (only two months left) to help her friend out, instead.



“Ron, you prat!” yelled Ginny when Ron wildly landed a punch to Demelza’s mouth at Quidditch practice the following Tuesday. “Look at the state of her!”

Ron’s felt his face and ears go very hot as Harry zoomed over, wand in hand to stop the bleeding. “I said I’m sorry!” he exclaimed angrily.

Ginny opened her mouth, clearly ready to keep shouting, but Harry placed a calming hand on her arm and murmured something, and she sighed before shooting away with Demelza to go talk with Katie. Harry turned to look at Ron, expression a mixture of worry and hopelessness.

“I’m playing like a sack of dragon dung,” muttered Ron, staring down at his hands. He sensed Harry flying closer to him.

“You’re the best Keeper I tried out, Ron,” he said in a firm, quiet voice. “Have you forgotten that already?”

Ron rubbed at his neck. “I mean, I did all right –”

“You saved every penalty,” Harry cut him off. “No one else did that, and I seem to recall that you were extremely nervous before you flew up there and showed everyone you deserve this!” Ron looked up to see a determined look on Harry’s face now. “It’s like you’d rather see McLaggen on this team, the way you’re acting right now,” he added.

“McLaggen’s a pompous arse,” said Ron, scowling.

“You think that’s what I want on this team?” asked Harry. “A pompous arse? You’re good at this, Ron, you’re why the team got the Quidditch cup last year! Your only problem is nerves.”

Ron stared at his friend. “You mean that?”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “When exactly have I ever deliberately lied to you?” he returned shortly.

Ron seriously considered this. Harry certainly struggled to share how he was feeling at times, but outright lies about the things that really mattered? “Never,” he said.

Harry nodded. “Well, I’m certainly not about to start now,” he told Ron firmly. “You’re incredible when you’re on point, but I’m running out of ideas of how you keep you from letting your nerves get the best of you.”

Ron nodded. “I know I can do it,” he admitted, “but this close to the match… and after how our match against Slytherin went last year…”

“You’ve got this,” said Harry, slapping Ron’s shoulder. “You’ve done it before, you can do it again, I know it.”

“Are we going to finish this practice anytime soon?” called out Peakes before Ron could say anything. “I’ve got a nasty essay for Snape to finish up tonight!”

Ron snorted. “At your command, captain,” he told Harry with a grin. Harry returned it and soared away, getting everyone back on track. Ron reminded himself over and over that he was quite capable, and the last half of practice that day went much better than the first.

When it was over, he walked back up to the castle with Harry and Ginny, the three of them discussing what they knew about the Slytherin team. “It’s Vaisey I’m most worried about,” admitted Ron as they approached the steps to the castle doors. “He’s their best goal scorer, I don’t really fancy going up against him.”

“I’ll just target him, then,” said Ginny with a shrug. “Anytime he gets the Quaffle I’ll go after him. Peakes and Cootes won’t mind targeting him, either. Think Malfoy will try any of his usual tactics?”

“Normally I’d say yes,” said Harry, “but the way he’s been acting lately… I’ve no idea what to expect from him.”

“Any luck getting into the Room of Requirement when he’s there, yet?” asked Ron.

Ginny shook her head. “We tried yesterday, but no such luck.”

“It’s definitely Crabbe and Goyle he’s got standing guard for him, though,” added Harry. “Confirmed it with the map last night. They’re using Polyjuice to disguise themselves as female students from younger years.”

“Female students?” said Ron in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“The things those two will do for Malfoy,” agreed Ginny. “But I mean, you can use the potion to change into any human, male or female.”

“You’ve reached the limits of what I’m willing to do,” said Ron, stopping short of the steps to the castle doors. “I’m not the least bit interested in changing into a girl for any of the things we get up to. What if something happened to my bits?”

“Like you’ve even used your bits for anything worthwhile,” said Ginny, smirking in a challenging sort of way.

Ron glared at her. “And you have, have you?”

Harry’s face went scarlet and he suddenly began stuttering out an excuse about needing to check in with Sirius about Kreacher’s progress in tracking Borgin.

“I’ll come with you,” said Ginny at once with a bright smile, taking Harry’s hand and all but dragging him up the steps to the large oak doors. Ron watched them go, mind trying to make sense of what was going on.

“Wait!” he shouted. “Hold on Ginny, what exactly have your bits been up to?”

“See you later, Ron!” shouted Ginny before she opened the doors and dragged a beet-red Harry out of sight.

Ron gaped at the spot where they’d vanished for a long moment before his brain kicked into gear and he tore up the stone steps and into the castle.

Harry and Ginny had vanished. Ron cursed to himself, knowing they must have used the Invisibility Cloak to make an easy getaway. He had no way of tracking them now. “You two can’t evade me forever!” he shouted anyway before stomping his way up to Gryffindor Tower, ignoring the confused look the Grey Lady shot him as he went.

Hermione was buried in one of her many texts for Ancient Runes when Ron found her. He dropped into the seat next to hers and glared into the fireplace.

“Everything all right?” Hermioned asked after a few seconds. “Did something happen at practice?”

“Try after practice,” grumbled Ron. He looked up to see the curious and worried expression on Hermione’s face. Sighing, he forced himself to recount the conversation that had occurred after the practice. “And now they’re who knows where doing God knows what, and –” He broke off, shaking his head and utterly lost at how to explain himself.

Hermione carefully closed her book and shifted to better face Ron. “Did – well, I mean – when they first got together, you said you didn’t want to watch the two of them doing anything –”

“I don’t want to hear about it, either,” snapped Ron.

“But did they actually tell you anything?”

Ron considered this for a moment. “Well, no,” he said slowly, “but if they’ve been –”

“They didn’t say if they have or haven’t –”

“Ginny’s only fifteen, Hermione!”

“And she’s in love with your best friend who also happens to be in love with her, as well, Ron,” said Hermione gently, reaching out to place a hand on Ron’s arm. He stared down at it for a moment before meeting Hermione’s brown eyes. “We’ve talked about how much happier Harry is with her, and I think that just might mean they’ve got something that’s going to be long-lasting – their whole lives, perhaps.”

The words hit Ron hard. In the back of his mind he had long recognized this truth, but having it put out there… could he picture his sister with anyone else?

No, he could not.

And Harry was so much happier despite the rubbish hand he’d been dealt. The prophecy, You-Know-Who’s invasion into his mind and every ounce of trauma and pain that he had accrued along the way – despite all of that, Harry still smiled every day, still laughed, was even starting to joke much as he’d used to – and it would be a lie to say Ginny had nothing to do with it.

Ginny had everything to do with it. She was everything.

“You’re right,” he said to Hermione. “I don’t – it’s not something I think about much, but the idea of either of them doing anything with anyone else is revolting.” He sighed. “I suppose it caught me off guard, is all.”

Hermione smiled. “And I think you know that you could ask Harry about – well, him and Ginny – he’d tell you the truth.”

“You think?”

Hermione nodded. “Harry respects you and the friendship you’ve got.”

Ron considered this. “I don’t think I want to know, not really,” he admitted, then grinned. “‘Sides, anything they’ve been up to was probably initiated by Ginny, anyway.”

Hermione laughed. “I’ve no doubt of that,” she agreed, then sobered. “Ron,” she said, “I – well I –”

Ron blinked and waited for whatever Hermione was going to say now.

Next moment, he felt Hermione’s lips lightly touch his cheek. “You’re a really good friend to Harry, you know,” she whispered, and then she was hurriedly gathering up her things and heading for the girls’ staircase. “Good night,” she called over her shoulder. Ron watched her go, acutely aware of how pink her cheeks had been. His own cheek felt unseasonably warm, and he reached up to touch the spot where Hermione’s lips had been, heart pounding with a warm feeling he wasn’t able to name.

“G’night,” he whispered before forcing himself to rise and head up to his dormitory to ready himself for bed. He dropped onto his four-poster, still thinking about his conversation with Hermione, and ignoring the other boys as they entered the dormitory and settled down for the night. It was nearly an hour later when Harry finally entered, looking anxious when he met Ron’s eyes. Ron sighed and gestured to the foot of his bed.

He felt bad when Harry settled down almost gingerly, as though expecting to be pummeled or shouted at. Ron had to remind himself that he was seeing the effects of Harry’s childhood right now more than anything else. He slowly lifted his wand and cast Muffliato.

“Look, it’s really none of my business what you and Ginny get up to,” he said abruptly. “It doesn’t take more than two minutes to see how much you two are meant to be together, yeah? I just…” He scratched at at the back of his head, Harry quietly watching him. “My hope,” he finally stated, “is that neither of you pushes the other to something you’re not ready for.”

“I would never do anything Ginny doesn’t want,” said Harry at once.

“Does she push you?”

Harry’s expression was incredulous. “I know Ginny’s a force to be reckoned with,” he said, “but I’m not some pushover, Ron.”

“A-and you’re both… being safe?” Ron forced himself to ask.

Harry’s face reddened in the dark room. “Sirius’s lecture during the summer hols was very thorough,” he mumbled.

Ron nodded, feeling oddly satisfied. “Well, that’s my brotherly duties fulfilled,” he said. “Just remember me when you need someone to stand up as best man at your’s and Ginny’s wedding someday, yeah?”

Harry’s mouth fell open, face paling. “Harry?” said Ron, suddenly alarmed.

He watched as Harry looked away and started playing with the catch of his bag. “What did I say?” demanded Ron, feeling a bit panicked now.

Harry slowly looked up after several moments, and Ron was startled by the raw emotion on his friend’s face. “I can’t think that far ahead,” he whispered. “I – I don’t know how.”

“Harry –”

“I’m in love with your sister, but I can’t see past the prophecy,” said Harry, and Ron could just make out the anguish in his green eyes. “It’s me against someone who knows fifty times the magic I do, this – this maniac who should’ve died years ago but didn’t!” He looked as though he wanted to jump to his feet and start pacing, but settled for running his hands agitatedly through his hair. “I don’t know the point of Dumbledore’s lessons, I don’t know how to defeat someone who’s so much more powerful than I could ever be, I don’t – I don’t know if I’ll even survive whatever’s coming –”

“Whoa, whoa, Harry, stop,” said Ron, alarmed by the words and panicked expression on Harry’s face. He reached out and caught Harry’s shoulders, feeling completely out of his depth in the face of the torrent of emotions his best friend had been keeping hidden from him, hidden from all of them.

But had he, though? It occurred to Ron as he stared at Harry that of course this was how he truly felt. It was Ginny’s unwavering love and support that had kept him from panicking about the future unknown and focused on the present.

“Right,” he forced himself to say, “You-Know-Who’s powerful, I get that. We all know that, Harry, but at what point has any of us said you’re facing this completely alone? Cos you’re not,” he insisted firmly. “You’ve got me, Hermione, Ginny, Sirius, Remus, the whole Order, even Dumbledore!” He shook Harry’s shoulders a bit. “None of us is leaving you to it, yeah?”

Harry stared at Ron, mouth slightly agape, and it occurred to Ron that he’d never had this conversation with Harry, let alone considered that maybe Harry needed to hear this from him directly. “I thought you cottoned on a week ago after your brain dredged up all that rubbish about being alone, but clearly you need to hear it again: you are not alone. None of us knows the future, but we’re not leaving you to it. Sirius supports Dumbledore’s lessons, right? And you’re not just sitting around doing nothing, you’re learning about You-Know-Who’s past, you’re running the D.A. again… and like I said, the Order is around to help out, too.” He squeezed Harry’s shoulders hard. “I don’t care that some old bint said it comes down to the two of you, cos we’re not ever leaving you to it, have you got that?”

Harry nodded wordlessly, still looking rather stunned.

“So you take my jokes about being best man in stride,” said Ron, hoping his tone brooked no arguments. “It doesn’t matter if you think it can’t happen, because you don’t know that for certain.”

Harry swallowed and nodded again. “Thanks,” he whispered, and Ron patted his shoulders one more time before releasing him.

“Go to bed,” he sighed. “This was quite enough emotional… whatever for me for a whole week.”

Harry chuckled and ducked his head. “Still,” he said. “Thanks. I guess I need to…”

“Get smacked up the side of the head with the truth?” suggested Ron. Harry snorted and shoved him lightly.

“Thanks for not being too upset about me and Ginny,” he said quietly.

“You ought to thank Hermione for talking me through things before I saw you again,” said Ron honestly. “I don’t know what I’d do without her sometimes.”

“Continue to have the emotional range of a teaspoon?” asked Harry innocently.

Ron smacked Harry with his pillow and shoved him off to bed, still laughing to himself. Harry shot him a grin before he retreated to his fourposter for the night.

There was still so much that was difficult in their lives, but at that moment, all was well.

Back to index


Chapter 35: Window to the Past

Author's Notes: I LIIIIVE! Sort of. I haven't written much over the last month, and when I have, it's been for other ideas percolating in the back of my mind. Despite that, I figured I should try and get this chapter out. I have no idea when the next update will be. I teach full-time as you all know; I have 3 students who are "home study," meaning they do everything at home but I am still their teacher; there are 8 other students in my classroom to plan for and teach, up from the 6 I started the school year with as kids have moved into the school boundaries; 1 of my students has been in quarantine due to family members testing positive for covid, and will continue to be in quarantine for at least 21 more days; and I'm finishing up my last semester of college. Reality is, I'm swamped and struggling to figure out how to balance things while still prioritizing my family and passion for writing. It's been incredibly difficult, and my penchant for being a workaholic has been more and more apparent over the last month. I eat, sleep, and breathe work. My supervisors frequently yell at me to go home while I'm in my office up until the very last moment I'm allowed to be in the building, only to go home and do more work for at least another hour, if not until bedtime. I know it's not healthy, but shutting off that part of my brain feels impossible most of the time.

Despite all that, here is the next chapter. A bit of it comes from DH chapter 16, "Godric's Hollow." Hope you're all prepared for some angst, sap, and fluff! This chapter has some super important emotional development that I pray comes across well. Enjoy!


Chapter Thirty-Five: Window to the Past



Harry ignored the students lingering by the doors to the Great Hall as he approached Sirius and Remus, easily giving into the urge to hug the two men. “It’s good to see you both,” he said, grinning. “Now, are you going to tell me why I’m missing the Halloween feast?”

“Yeah,” said Sirius, “but not here. Say goodbye to your girlfriend, we’ve got a schedule to keep.”

Harry nodded and turned to Ginny, who had been following a bit behind him, and pulled her into his arms. “Don’t get too bored without me around,” he told her.

Ginny grinned. “I’ll do my best,” she said. “I hope you realize Hogwarts is downright dull without you getting into trouble.”

Harry snorted. “We’ve been over this,” he told her. “I don’t go looking for trouble –”

“It usually finds you, I know,” Ginny finished. “Don’t let it find you while you’re out with those two.”

“They’ll keep me safe,” said Harry before kissing her. He waved to Ron and Hermione and set off with Sirius and Remus through the oak front doors and down the steps towards the gates. “So where are we going?” he finally asked.

Sirius sighed, suddenly looking somber. “You know what happened today, fifteen years ago,” he said.

Harry nodded. The truth was that of course he knew, but it had never really impacted him the way that maybe it ought to. He hadn’t known the truth until his eleventh birthday, and as such, had lived through too many years where it was just another day he typically spent locked up in his cupboard. He’d never quite known how to even try to show this day the respect or maybe even grief it deserved because he had never known his parents outside of photographs, stories, and the scant recollections he carried of that awful night courtesy of the dementors three years ago.

“So we’re going to Godric’s Hollow, then?” he forced himself to ask.

Remus nodded. “Notwithstanding the year I spent teaching here, I have always gone to visit your parents’ graves each Halloween,” he said. “Sirius wanted to join me this year, and he thought you deserved a chance to be there, too.”

Harry glanced at Sirius. “I haven’t been, either,” he said. “Couldn’t bring myself to visit the place after I escaped Azkaban.”

Nodding, Harry quietly walked with the two men out of the gates. Remus had Harry take his arm, and then he twisted, Apparating them to Godric’s Hollow, Sirius appearing next to them a moment later with a soft ‘pop.’

They stood in a narrow lane with cottages on either side, the trees nearby golden-leaved in the throes of autumn, the occasional leaf floating down to the lane in the relative stillness of the late-evening air. He looked around as Remus set off in front down the lane, taking in each cottage, wondering which one might have been his childhood home, and he suddenly realized he had no idea what happened if the human subjects of a Fidelius Charm died.

“What happened to the… the house?” he forced himself to ask. “Hagrid told me that he fetched me out of the ruins…”

“It’s still there,” said Remus quietly. “The Ministry used a lot of enchantments to hide it from the Muggles that live in the village, but otherwise, it’s just as it was that night. We’ll go see it after we visit the graveyard.”

The little lane curved to the left and the heart of the village, a small square, was revealed to them.

There was what looked like a war memorial in the middle, surrounded by several shops, a post office, a pub, and a little church with a cemetery behind it.

Villagers were crisscrossing in front of them, their figures briefly illuminated in patches of streetlamps. They heard a snatch of laughter and pop music as the pub door opened and closed; small children ran across the square, giggling madly, dressed as goblins, zombies, and other scary things they believed to be only myth.

“It was a night just like this,” said Sirius unexpectedly. “Muggles running around in costumes for sweets… nothing out of the ordinary.”

It struck Harry hard in that moment the kind of childhood he might have had in this place. He might have run around like these small children in silly costumes for sweets… He could have invited friends to his house… He might even have had brothers and sisters… It would have been his mother who made his sixteenth birthday cake instead of Mrs. Weasley. The life he had lost had hardly ever seemed so real to him as at this moment, when he knew he was about to see the place where it had been taken from him.

Remus led them to the war memorial, and Harry was startled to see it transform as they approached. Instead of an obelisk covered in names, there was a statue of three people: a man with untidy hair and glasses, a woman with long hair and a kind, pretty face, and a baby boy sitting in his mother’s arms.

“They erected this on the one-year anniversary of their deaths,” said Remus quietly as Harry drew closer, gazing up into his parents’ faces. “I was there. Some of the witches and wizards who attended wanted a large celebration, but Dumbledore insisted on a somber ceremony.”

“Good,” said Sirius gruffly, one of his hands landing on Harry’s shoulder. Harry continued to gaze up at the statue. He had never imagined that something like this even existed… How strange it was to see himself represented in stone, a happy baby without a scar on his forehead…

“They’re buried in the church’s cemetery,” said Remus after a minute or so of silence. Harry nodded and allowed Remus to guide him across the road towards the church. There was a kissing gate at the entrance. Remus pushed it open and they stepped through, Remus and Sirius lighting their wands to better see their way through the rows of stone. Behind the church lay row upon row of tombstones. Harry glanced around and thought he saw surnames he recognized… Abbott, Dumbledore –

“Wait,” said Harry, turning to approach the tombstone which had caught his eye.

“Harry?”

Ignoring his godfather, Harry knelt before the tombstone that he had spotted and saw, upon the cold, lichen-spotted granite, the words KENDRA DUMBLEDORE and, a short way below her dates of birth and death, AND HER DAUGHTER ARIANA. There was also a quotation:

Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.


“Did Dumbledore’s family live here, too?” he asked, lightly touching the names.

“Yes, they did,” said Sirius. “Lily used to tell me all these stories in her letters that her neighbor would tell her, that author of A History of Magic, what’s her name –?”

“Bathilda Bagshot,” said Remus quietly, kneeling beside Harry, as well.

“Wish I could remember them better,” said Sirius with a frown, “but I think I’ve got all her letters boxed up in my room. I’ll look for them.”

“He had a sister?” said Harry, pointing to the name Ariana. “He’s mentioned a brother to me before, but never a sister.”

Remus frowned next to him. “I’m not sure,” he said. “Truth be told, Dumbledore’s not one to discuss his personal life. Anyway, it’s just two more rows past this, c’mon…”

It was a few seconds later when Sirius suddenly stepped away and headed for a crumbling, mossy stone, face set in a curious frown. “Sirius?” said Remus as Sirius knelt before the stone. He said nothing, reaching out to trace something on the marker.

Harry approached him and looked. The stone was so worn that it was hard to make out what was engraved there, but there was a triangular mark beneath the weathered name –

“I think I’ve seen that symbol before,” he said, reaching out to touch it.

“Where?”

“Er…” Harry thought hard, trying to place where he had seen it. “Oh, it was… er, Luna’s father, Xenophilius Lovegood. He had on a necklace that day the Aurors came to collect our statements about Umbridge with that symbol on it, and he kept playing with it.” He squinted at the name on the stone. “Ig – Ignotus, maybe?”

“Peverell,” breathed Sirius as he traced over the rest of the weathered name. “That… I knew I’d heard it before, your dad said…”

“What’d my dad say?”

Sirius glanced at Harry. “The first time he showed me the Cloak, he said it’d been passed from father to son for generations, possibly from the last of the Peverell line…” He frowned at the strange symbol again. “Xeno Lovegood, you said?”

Harry nodded.

“I might need to visit him, there’s just something about that name that bothers me.” He rose and pulled Harry up with him. “Sorry, Remus,” he added.

Remus smiled tightly. “It’s fine. Just right here.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Harry stepped forward. He suddenly felt as if something heavy were pressing on his chest, a sort of grief that had actually weighed on his heart and lungs. The headstone was made of white marble, and this made it easy to read in the light of Sirius and Remus’s wands. He couldn’t make himself look too closely at the words until he was standing directly before it.

JAMES POTTER LILY POTTER
BORN 27 MARCH 1960 BORN 30 JANUARY 1960
DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981 DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.


“What does that mean?” he asked as he took in the quote at the bottom. “‘The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.’ I don’t understand.”

“Dumbledore chose it,” said Remus quietly. “It means living beyond death, living after death.”

“But they’re not,” said Harry before he could stop himself, feeling the bitterness well up in him as never before. “They – they barely got to live at all. He took that from them.”

And tears came before he could stop him, boiling hot as they slid down his face, and what was the point of wiping them off or pretending? For once, he let them fall, his lips pressed hard together, staring down at the leaf-covered grass hiding from his eyes the place where the last of Lily and James lay, bones now, surely or dust, not knowing or caring that their living son stood so near, his heart still beating, alive because of their sacrifice…

“It’s not fair,” whispered Sirius roughly, and Harry found himself turning to his godfather and burying his face against his shoulder. Sirius’s arms wound tightly around him as he struggled not to give into the heartache he had never known what to do with before. Then he felt Remus wrapping his arms around them both a few moments later, and the sobs he wanted to contain suddenly welled up and spilled free into the evening air.

Harry had once had so much in his life, but had lost it all in one fell swoop, and he cried for the life he had once had, for the childhood that was so cruelly stolen from him, for all that might have been. The last of his father’s friends held him close until long after the sobs had quieted and the tears had dried up.

“Sorry,” muttered Harry into Sirius’s jacket.

“Don’t be,” said Sirius, voice rough with emotion. “You’ve never been allowed the chance to mourn.”

“How did I get this scar?” Harry asks his Aunt Petunia. She purses her lips at the question.

“In the car crash when your parents died,” she snaps. “And don’t ask questions.”


Harry forced himself to pull away from Sirius and Remus and took in the headstone again. “It was always just a fact when I was little,” he admitted. “They – they were dead, and I was the remaining burden my aunt and uncle had to deal with.” He rubbed at his face. “You’re right,” he added softly. “It isn’t fair.”

They stood in silence for some time before Remus knelt and conjured a bouquet of white lilies and red roses, carefully setting it on the graves of Harry’s parents. “Do you still want to see the house?” he asked as he straightened.

Harry took a steadying breath and nodded, Sirius wrapping an arm around his shoulders as they turned to leave the graveyard. Remus led them back through the kissing gates and down the darkening street leading out of the village in the opposite direction from which they had entered. Harry could make out the point where the cottages ended and the lane turned into open country again. They moved past more houses, avoiding small children as they continued to trick-or-treat without a care in the world.

“Just up here,” murmured Remus, “end of this row of houses.”

And so Harry got his first look at his parents’ house.

The hedge had grown wild in the fifteen years since Hagrid had taken Harry from the rubble that lay scattered amongst the waist-high grass. Most of the cottage was still standing, though entirely covered in dark ivy, but the right side of the top floor had been blown apart; that, Harry was sure, was where the curse had backfired. He stood at the gate with Sirius and Remus, gazing up at the wreck of what must once have been a cottage just like those that flanked it.

The three of them were quiet for some time before Sirius suddenly spoke.

“Hagrid had just stumbled out of the house with you when I arrived,” he said thickly. “I was in shock, I’m sure, not thinking straight, just… I asked Hagrid if they were dead, and he said they were and I… I broke down, completely. He did what he could to comfort me, and I couldn’t tell him, couldn’t admit to what I’d done, convincing your parents to put their trust in the wrong person –”

“You didn’t know Wormtail was the wrong person,” said Remus quietly.

“You know how I believed you to be the spy?” said Sirius. “Looking back, it was all things Wormtail would say that made me doubt… the Ministry cracking down on werewolf regulations, and I knew you hated what they were doing, and he made me doubt your allegiance to our side because Voldemort must be promising werewolves the freedoms they desired, that you probably desired, too…” He shook his head. “Thought myself a better person than that, giving back into the preconceptions and prejudices of my parents like I did.”

“I don’t blame you for it,” said Remus. “Wormtail made me worry about you, too. Could someone raised by a Dark family really reject their upbringing and do differently? Your brother clearly embraced Voldemort’s propaganda, after all. We both could have been better to each other, but that’s in the past. What matters is the here and now.”

Sirius sighed. “I wanted to take you,” he said, looking down at Harry, “I begged Hagrid to give you to me, but he wouldn’t budge, kept insisting that he needed to follow Dumbledore’s orders and take you to the Dursley’s. I was about ready to hex him, but then I looked at the house again and I realized everyone who knew about the Fidelius Charm thought I was the Secret Keeper when it was Wormtail, and I knew I had to find him and make him pay.” He shook his head bitterly. “I told Hagrid to take my flying motorbike because I didn’t think I’d need it anymore, and I set out to figure out where Wormtail had gone.” He stared at the house again and rested a hand on the thickly rusted gate.

Harry looked back at the house, but was sidetracked by a sign rising out of the ground in front of them, up through the tangles of nettles and weeds, like some bizarre, fast-growing flower, and in golden letters upon the wood it said:

On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981, Lily and James Potter lost their lives. Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard ever to have survived the Killing Curse. This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family.


And all around these neatly lettered words, scribbles had been added by other witches and wizards who had come to see the place where the Boy Who Lived had escaped. Some had merely signed their names in Everlasting Ink; others had carved their initials into the wood, still others had left positives messages.

Harry couldn’t help but smile as he looked at all the magical graffiti. “Thank you for bringing me here,” he said at length. “This is… I never realized how much I needed this, to be here and see this place.”

He looked back up at the house, and felt again the sadness over what he had lost, but it felt almost lighter, easier to bear than before.

“You took your first steps at nine months old,” said Sirius abruptly. “Just in the living room, there,” he added, pointing at a large window on the bottom floor. “Lily thought you were getting close to doing it, and I decided to try and help you along by transforming into my Animagus form and moving away from you if you tried crawling, and holding still if you tried walking.” He barked out a short laugh. “You were very cross with me whenever I did that, but it worked!”

“I was there that day,” said Remus, smiling. “You had that determined look you tend to get on your face whenever someone tries to stop you from doing something you’re dead-set on doing.”

Harry felt a grin crack his face as he ducked his head.

“I got you a toy broomstick for your first birthday,” Sirius told him. “Lily wrote to say you were a right menace, smashed a horrible vase her sister had sent her and scared the cat –”

“We owned a cat?” asked Harry.

“A mangy stray your mum wouldn’t let James throw out,” said Sirius. “Anyway, the broom wouldn’t rise more than what, two, three foot from the ground, but you took to it instantly.” He looked at Harry. “I hear it was much the same in your first flying lesson?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, “Malfoy had stolen a Remembrall from Neville, and I just followed him into the air to get it back without thinking about what I was doing and it – it felt almost instinctual.” He smirked at his godfather. “Malfoy was stunned.”

“McGonagall told me all about it the first time we spoke your third year,” said Remus. “She wanted to see if I planned on saying anything to you about having known your parents, and I wasn’t planning on it at the time, but I asked her what you were like, and she immediately told me about how you made the house team your first year.” He chuckled. “I doubt she’ll ever tell you herself, but she said you had every bit of Lily’s kindness and James’s brashness all rolled into a bundle of trouble, which she made clear by telling me about your exploits with the Philosopher’s Stone and the Chamber of Secrets.”

Harry’s face warmed. “It’s not like I deliberately sought out either of those issues to begin with,” he said.

“We know,” laughed Sirius. “Trouble usually finds you, not the other way around.”

Harry grinned at him and then looked back at the house. “Do you think they’d be proud of me?” he found himself asking.

“In a heartbeat,” said Remus at once.

“After Lily tore Petunia a new one, anyway,” added Sirius. “They would be so proud of everything you’ve done thus far.”

“Even the flying car?” said Harry skeptically.

“James would’ve thought that a riot,” said Sirius with another barking laugh.

“Lily would’ve sent a Howler, though,” said Remus.

“Ron’s mum did that,” said Harry, nodding and grinning wider.

“Molly fusses much more than Lily ever did,” said Remus, “but she was fierce and always prepared to take a stand for what she believed in. Much like you, Harry.”

Harry smiled and listened as the two men spoke more about those days of Harry’s life he would never remember, his first word, first laugh, first smile, first everything in a home that had clearly been filled with love such as what he had only known at the Burrow.

It was so little, and yet…

It was also everything to him.



The moment Ginny saw Harry step into the common room, she was out of her seat and in his arms. “Are you okay?” she asked him.

Harry didn’t answer, instead lifting her chin and leaning down to kiss her. Then he was tugging her towards the portrait hole, and Ginny followed willingly as they left and headed for an empty classroom. Harry shut and locked the door and cast Muffliato before turning to face her. Ginny was startled to see he was both teary-eyed and smiling.

“They loved me,” he said.

Ginny knew at once that he must mean his parents. “Did – you went to Godric’s Hollow tonight, didn’t you?”

Harry nodded and pulled her close. “I didn’t know what they might have thought of me before, when I was a child,” he said quietly to her, a hand running through her hair as his chin rested on her head. Ginny listened quietly, arms wrapped around his waist, knowing he needed to get whatever was on his mind out to her. “I knew the Dursley’s didn’t care about me, but I couldn’t put a name to whatever it was other children had, the way their parents liked them and spent time with them. I – I didn’t know what that was, how to name it, how to do more than feel jealous that this caring existed for everyone else and not me.”

He took a shuddering breath, and Ginny pressed closer, laying her head against his chest and feeling his heart beating sure and steady against her.

“My first year, Voldemort told me that my mum needn’t have died, that she was trying to protect me, and then he wasn’t able to touch me and I couldn’t understand how that could be possible… Dumbledore, when I woke up three days later, he said my mum had died to save me, that because she loved me, it protected me from him, and it… Ginny, I could barely fathom how such a thing was possible, that loving someone enough to die for them could protect them like that. I knew it was true, but I didn’t understand it, couldn’t make sense of what that could even mean.”

Harry stopped talking for a minute or so, and Ginny waited him out, knowing he needed time to gather his thoughts properly.

“I think I learned the most about love from your family,” he spoke at long last, and Ginny blinked at this, startled yet eager to hear more. “My aunt and uncle would always overwork me or ignore me, but your mum cared about how much I ate, and your dad actually wanted to talk to me and hear what I had to say and that –” He broke off and chuckled. “It was amazing and confusing and I didn’t understand why they were like that towards me because no one had ever been like that before.” He paused, then added, “It was easy to accept worthlessness before that summer.”

Ginny almost interrupted to insist that Harry was not worthless, but barely managed to hold her tongue in her desire to let Harry speak his mind. He didn’t tend to talk this much about himself, but now that he was, she was not about to let herself interrupt or potentially stop him somehow. She pressed her lips together and clung to his waist, waiting to hear more.

“Your mum was the first adult to hug me,” he said quietly. “Twelve years old and I’d never –” He broke off and shook his head, chin brushing the top of Ginny’s head as he did so. “I’d seen Aunt Petunia hug and kiss Dudley loads of times, but I had no idea what that was like, and then I was so embarrassed by how much I liked that your mum treated me like – like a son, and I thought I must’ve had something like that before I ended up with the Durlseys, but I didn’t really know until tonight.”

He pulled back slightly and cupped Ginny’s face. She looked up at him in the dark room and smiled. “And you know now?” she asked softly.

He nodded. “I lost so much,” he whispered, “and I – I never fully grasped that before. It isn’t fair.”

“You’re right,” said Ginny quickly, “it isn’t fair, but… everything you’ve been through, everything that makes up who you are – it’s why I love you so much.”

He kissed her fiercely then, desperately, and Ginny gave into it completely, feeling tears on her face that weren’t entirely her own. She knew in that moment that this was what it was to be alive, to carry on in the face of every death and disappearance that plagued their world, and she couldn’t think of a single thing in this world that mattered more than these moments of determined love when so much was uncertain.

“I love you,” Harry gasped out as he pressed her against the nearest wall.

What could possibly compare to Harry’s love? Ginny surged upwards into another kiss, tangling her fingers in Harry’s wild locks, showing him how much she loved him, and how deserving he was of that love. Nothing else mattered.

Back to index


Chapter 36: The King's Consort

Author's Notes: I still exist!

But I'm also very tired.

But I finished school! I'm waiting for final grades to be posted so I can apply for my teaching license as a certified special education teacher. I'll be official by the end of January 2021!

This story... well, I've hit a bit of a wall. And I'm at a point where I'm not interested in trying to force myself past it. There was so much writing I had to do over the past couple of months for both school and work that the last thing I want to do is force the words to come. This story will never be abandoned, but updates will be sporadic at best. I know I'll figure out the things that have me stuck, but I'm trying really hard to give myself time and space to breathe, as well. That's why I'm giving you a chapter with a cliffhanger and no clue when the next chapter will be posted. Sorry!

Not really that sorry.

Parts of this chapter come from HBP chapter 14 "Felix Felicis."


Chapter Thirty-Six: The King’s Consort



“… Wait, I don’t get it.”

Hermione sighed and lowered her book to gaze at her two best friends. “Do I really have to explain it again?” she said testily.

Ron glanced at Harry and shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t understand this whole – what is it, Exceptions to Gamp’s Law?”

“The five Principal Exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration,” said Hermione as patiently as she could manage. “There’s food –”

Ginny interrupted with a loud groan as she dropped her bag next to Harry’s chair and sat down on his lap. He put down his quill to wrap his arms around her without hesitation, and Hermione felt a flash of jealousy at how easily they interacted with each other.

“Tell me again why I need to know how to vanish squirrels,” said Ginny grumpily. “Do Vanishing spells really show up on our O.W.L.s?”

“They change what they test on every year,” said Hermione. “You need to know how to do this, Ginny.”

“And when exactly would I be vanishing squirrels as a professional Quidditch player?” demanded Ginny.

“It’s about more than the squirrels,” said Hermione, unable to conceal her scowl. She never liked engaging in these kinds of rows with Ginny, but couldn’t stop herself, regardless. “You’re honestly telling me you’ll never have the need to vanish anything in your life? What about spoilt food? Or something broken in your home?”

“Harry will do it,” said Ginny tartly. “He’s already a better cook than I’ll ever be, so he can keep track of the food.”

Harry snorted. “Knew you kept me around for a good reason,” he said sarcastically. Ginny laughed and kissed him firmly.

“Give up on revising for the night and I’m sure I can come up with a few more,” she said suggestively. Ron groaned and Hermione tutted.

“We’ve got to get this done,” she reminded Harry firmly. “McGonagall’s testing us on this tomorrow, and I know you don’t want to fail.”

Harry sighed and nodded, so Ginny dragged over another chair right next to Harry’s and did some reading for Ancient Runes as Hermione worked with Ron and Harry, fingers of her left hand running through Harry’s hair absently as she leant against his side.

It was hard not to feel envious of what Harry and Ginny had. Harry had never been very comfortable around others (courtesy of his upbringing, of course), and while he had always been at his most relaxed with Hermione and Ron, the way he was able to be even more so with Ginny spoke volumes to the strength of their relationship. It was almost impossible to see the abused boy when Ginny was leaning against his side or legs, or casually touching him; her hand on his arm or holding his hand, it all went well beyond what Harry had ever managed with anyone else.

Hermione wanted to experience that. She wanted to be able to hold someone’s hand or casually lean against them and know it was wanted, even craved. Her eyes drifted to Ron as he agitatedly ran his hands through his hair, trying to understand the reasoning that food was an exception to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration. They hadn’t done much more than hold hands a couple of times following their date in Hogsmeade, and more and more, she wasn’t certain where they stood with each other outside of their planned date at Slughorn’s Christmas party next month. She genuinely liked him, and she thought he liked her, but would there ever be more?

Hope was all Hermione had at the moment, and she prayed it was enough.



“Clear conditions,” called out Demelza as Ron approached the Quidditch pitch with Harry and Ginny for their first match against Slytherin. “No frost this morning, so the ground’s hard enough for a good kickoff. What’s more though,” she added with a grin at Ron, “Vaisey took a Bludger in the head yesterday during their practice, and he’s too sore to play!”

“No Vaisey?” said Ron in astonishment. “That – that’s brilliant!”

“They’re playing Pritchard instead,” said Demelza. “Second year, pretty fast, but nothing on Vaisey.”

“No Vaisey,” said Ron enthusiastically. “One less distraction, means we don’t have to target him specifically.”

“Malfoy’s gone off sick, too,” said Demelza.

Harry slammed to a halt, staring at her. “What? He’s ill? What’s wrong with him?”

“No idea,” said Demelza with a shrug, “but that’s great for us, innit? They’re playing Harper as Seeker.”

Ginny snorted. “Harper’s in my year, and he’s an idiot,” she said. “Doesn’t stand a chance against you, Harry.”

Ron watched as Harry nodded vaguely, mind still obviously on Malfoy not playing. They continued towards the changing rooms, and Harry finally spoke when Demelza separated from them. “Fishy, isn’t it? Malfoy not playing?”

Nodding, Ron glanced around the changing room. “You reckon he’s focusing on his mission, instead?”

“I don’t see what else he’d abandon Quidditch for,” said Ginny quietly. “He normally wants every chance he can get to try and beat you, Harry.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “Maybe Hermione could go and see if he’s in the Room of Requirement again.”

“And have her miss the match?” said Ron incredulously. “Harry, it’s our first match, she’s got to be here for it!”

Ginny raised her eyebrows. “You mean your first match where you’re playing decently and she’s not likely to get dragged off to see a giant or somesuch?”

Ron flushed at the words. They were true, but he didn’t want to go admitting it out loud.

“No, you’re right,” said Harry. “We’re not going to catch him at it today with everything else. I just want to know what he’s up to.”

“And we’ll figure it out,” said Ginny reassuringly. “We can scare off his Polyjuiced goons later and see if we can find a way in, but for now… the match. Besides, Gwenog Jones said she was going to be here, so we’ve got to focus!”

Harry nodded, and they set about getting ready.

Ron felt incredibly nervous as the team stepped out onto the field five minutes later to tumultulous roars and boos. One end of the stadium was solid red and gold; the other, a sea of green and silver. Ron could see that many Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had taken sides too: Amidst all the yelling and clapping came the tale-tell roar of Luna’s famous lion-topped hat that she’d worn at their match against Slytherin a year ago. He couldn’t help but feel bolstered by the sound of it. Looking around the stadium, he tried to see if he could spot Gwenog Jones, but he wasn’t having any luck –

“There,” Ginny breathed beside him, nodding to where Slughorn was sitting. Sure enough, Gwenog Jones was seated next to him in robes of a dark green and gold to match her team colors. “I can’t believe she really came!”

Ron rolled his eyes. “‘Course she came, you’re ruddy brilliant, after all.”

Harry stepped up to Madam Hooch to shake hands with Slytherin’s captain, Urquhart. Ron could tell that Urquhart was doing his level best to crush Harry’s fingers, but Harry gave no outward reaction. “Mount your brooms,” called out Madam Hooch, and Ron did so, gripping the shaft harder than necessary, eyeing the Slytherin Chasers for a moment and reviewing everything he knew about them. He could do this… he could do this!

The whistle sounded, and Ron kicked hard off the ground and headed straight for the goalposts. He held his position, carefully eyeing the action before him before being startled by the commentator’s voice.

Lee Jordan had graduated last year, and Ron was both surprised and greatly annoyed to discover that his replacement was none other than Zacharias Smith. Gritting his teeth, Ron tried to ignore the words.

“Well, there they go, and I think we’re all surprised to see the team that Potter’s put together this year. Many thought, given Ronald Weasley’s patchy performance as Keeper last year, that he might be off the team, but of course, a close personal friendship with the Captain does help…”

His words were greeted with jeers and applause from the Slytherin end of the pitch. Ron kept his eyes on the game, determined to prove that he was more than just Harry’s friend.

“Oh, and here comes Slytherin’s first attempt on goal, it’s Urquhart streaking down the pitch and –”

Ron eyed his movements, caught the feint the Slytherin was trying to do, and blocked the shot!

“– Weasley saves it, well, he’s bound to get lucky sometimes, I suppose…”

Ron snorted. He was more than someone who could get lucky sometimes! He could do this!

Ginny seized the Quaffle and shot off down the pitch. “Ginny Weasley is, as everyone is well-aware, Potter’s girlfriend. It’s probably just favoritism that had him choosing her over other players that could have been better…”

There was laughter and more jeers from the Slytherin side, but a loud wave of protesting from the Gryffindor side overrode them. Ron smirked as Ginny cleverly shot her way around Pritchard, ducked a Bludger, and made the first goal for Gryffindor. In the stands, Ron could see Jones nodding appreciatively at Ginny’s obvious talent.

Seeing his sister on point only bolstered Ron’s confidence. He blocked every Slytherin attempt to score, and by the time they were leading sixty points to zero, Ginny had more than proven herself by scoring four of their six goals. A wave of “Weasley is our King” followed his next two saves, and he couldn’t help but give into the desire to pretend to conduct them from on high.

Smith tried to have a go at their Beaters next, but they were more than up to the task of proving their worth. Ron outright laughed when Coote aimed a Bludger at Harper that met its mark.

Ginny’s next score launched a new wave of singing, but it seemed someone had worked to adjust the lyrics for Ginny’s place as Chaser:

Weasley is our Queen,
Weasley is our Queen,
She always gets the Quaffle in,
Weasley is our Queen!

Weasley can score anything,
She gets it into every ring
That’s why Gryffindor’s all sing:
Weasley is our Queen!


Ron laughed delightedly as Ginny grinned and stole the Quaffle from Urquhart, passing it to Katie who dodged a Bludger, dropped it to Demelza, and headed off Pritchard so Demelza could pass it back to Ginny. She landed another goal, and Gryffindor burst into loud cheers and more singing.

“I hope you’re really seeing this, Jones,” Ron muttered to himself as Ginny soared over the stadium, face lit with pure joy and determination.

Then Harry shot up through the Chasers, followed closely by Harper. Ron allowed himself a moment to follow his friend and thought he saw a glimmer of gold high above them, but then Urquhart was coming towards him and he focused, waited, dove and saved another goal.

“He got it!” screamed Katie a moment later, and Ron looked back up to see Harry hovering above them, holding the snitch.

“Well, it looks like Gryffindor wins, two-hundred and thirty points to zero,” said Smith, sounding a tad frustrated, but Ron was barely listening to him, anymore, instead flying over with the others to meet in a tangled hug.

“We did it, we did it!” Demelza was almost crying.

“We showed them just how awesome we are!” shouted Peakes happily.

“Ginny, where’re you going?” shouted Harry from their tangled group, and Ron pulled out just enough to see his sister speeding right on past them until, with an almighty crash, she collided with the commentator’s podium. As the crowd shrieked and laughed, the Gryffindor team landed beside the wreckage of wood under which Ron could just make out Smith’s form, feebly stirring; he then heard his sister saying blithely to an irate Professor McGonagall, “Forgot to brake, Professor, sorry.”

Harry burst out laughing and pushed his way out of the team’s group hug, pulling Ginny to him and kissing her firmly where everyone could see. Hoots and catcalls rang from the crowd, and Ron seized the magical megaphone on a whim, turning to face the stadium and yelling out for everyone to hear: “To anyone still pining over my best mate, best get over it right now! Harry Potter loves Ginny Weasley, and I’ll fight anyone who wants to claim otherwise!”

“Mr. Weasley, hand that over right now!” shouted McGonagall as a new wave of cheers and laughter rose from the crowd. “This is highly inappropriate!”

“How else am I going to convince them to lay off following Harry everywhere and gawking at him, Professor?” said Ron, still talking directly into the megaphone.

Ginny pulled away from Harry, laughing as Harry flushed pink through a happy grin, and she moved closer so she could be heard on the megaphone, as well. “Ginny Weasley loves Harry Potter right back, you lot!”

There were more cheers as McGonagall finally seized the megaphone and pulled it away from Ron. “Both of you will be serving detention with me, Monday evening after dinner,” she snapped.

Ginny shrugged. “Worth it,” was all she said before wrapping her arms around Harry and kissing him again. Cheers rose once more from the crowd, and Ron grinned, pleased with himself for taking that step to really show his support for them both.

The detention would be worth it based on the pleased looks Harry and Ginny shot him when they pulled apart, ready to head back to the changing rooms so they could get ready for the party Seamus started yelling about.

Hermione was waiting just outside the changing rooms when Ron emerged with Harry and Ginny. “Ron, you were brilliant!” she said, cheeks pink as she smiled brightly at him. “I knew you’d play well!”

“Thanks,” said Ron, grinning at her. “Pritchard was practically useless today, could barely aim at all!”

“We’re lucky that Vaisey couldn’t play,” said Ginny. “I don’t think we would’ve made nearly as many goals if he’d been around.”

“Slytherin could’ve made a few scores had he played, though,” Ron told her. “He’s much harder to predict than the others.”

“Point is, we showed everyone that our team is excellent,” said Harry. “Shall we head up to the tower now?”

“Harry, m’boy!”

The grin on Harry’s face slipped a little as Slughorn approached with Gwenog Jones walking alongside him. “Hello, Professor,” he called out, clearly trying to sound pleased to see the Potions master. “Did you both enjoy the game today?”

“You put together a sound team, Potter,” said Jones, reaching out a hand and shaking Harry’s firmly. “I can see why Slughorn is so fond of you despite the various things that have been published about you over the years.”

“You can’t believe everything you read in the Daily Prophet,” said Hermione shortly.

“Not even this ‘Chosen One’ thing they’ve got going these days?” said Jones with raised eyebrows.

Harry flushed a bit and shrugged. “I can see why people would believe it,” he admitted. “Being the target of an egotistical maniac and all, you know?”

Jones smirked and nodded before looking at Ron. “Nice job out there,” she said.

“Thanks,” said Ron, shaking her proffered hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Ron Weasley.”

“Ginny’s brother?” said Jones. “It seems Quidditch is a talent that runs in the family.”

“Our twin brothers used to play as Beaters on the Gryffindor Quidditch team before they left Hogwarts,” said Ginny, flushed in excitement. “Thank you so much for coming to the match today!”

“It was my pleasure,” said Jones, and she smiled quite brightly at Ginny. “Slughorn’s right, you’re very talented. Is professional Quidditch something you’re interested in?”

“Absolutely,” said Ginny, returning the smile as Harry wrapped an arm around her.

“I think she’d be brilliant at it,” he said.

“So would you and Mr. Weasley here,” said Jones, and Ron felt his face warm in a mixture of pride and embarrassment. “I hope you keep the Harpies in mind when you’re ready to try out professionally,” she told Ginny. “I can see you bringing glory to our team.”

“Thank you,” said Ginny, blushing much as she had used to do whenever she’d do something embarrassing in front of Harry like knocking over her porridge bowl. Jones said her farewells and set off for the castle gates with Slughorn as Ginny seized Harry’s hand and led the way to the castle doors, Ron following behind them with Hermione at his side.

Ginny started chatting excitedly about their game and Jones’s praise, Harry listening with an amused but happy smile.

“You really were amazing today, Ron,” said Hermione in a much quieter voice as they approached the castle, Ginny still prattling on about her Quidditch plans. “I barely noticed the others playing because I was watching you.”

“You – you were?” asked Ron, feeling quite pleased by this. Hermione nodded, cheeks very pink now.

Ron grinned, and the bubble of joy filling his chest lasted him all the way back into Gryffindor tower. Renewed cheers and clapping greeted their group as they clambered through the portrait hole, and they were soon surrounded by a mob of people congratulating them.

“Smith ought to know better than to doubt a team you put together, Harry!” shouted Colin Creevy with a wide smile. “I took some incredible pictures of the match! I can’t wait to get them developed.”

“Did you get our kiss, Colin?” Ginny asked him. When he nodded, she smirked. “I’m the only one getting any copies of that one, understand?”

Her friend nodded again, grinning in amusement as Harry flushed.

“Did you like our song, Ginny?” called out Danielle. “It was Emily who thought it up, we passed them out this morning at Gryffindor table.”

“It was brilliant!” Ginny replied. “But Ron and I can’t be King and Queen, we’re siblings.”

“Didn’t stop the Egyptians,” muttered Harry to Hermione, who snorted. Ron blinked for a moment, confused, before grimacing at the implication.

“Gross,” he said.

“Obviously Harry’s the Queen’s consort,” called out Emily to laughter and cheers that made Harry’s face turn beet red in embarrassment, “but we don’t have a King’s consort!”

“Yeah, who’s the lucky bird Ron fancies?” shouted out Coote and Peakes together.

Ron’s face felt hot enough to fry an egg. He opened his mouth, uncertain what he was going to say when someone else cried, “I am!”

Turning, Ron caught a brief glimpse of the determined expression on Lavender Brown’s face before her mouth made contact with his and her arms wrapped around his neck.

Oh.

So this was what a kiss felt like.

Lavender’s lips were warm and smooth against his, and his mind went blank at the feel of them. Her arms tightened around his neck and she pressed herself right up against him. Was he touching her back? Had he actually wrapped his arms around her waist?

Ron had no idea how long it lasted before he finally figured out that he didn’t want this and pulled away, abruptly becoming aware of the cheers and catcalls around him. Where was Hermione? Hadn’t she been standing right next to him?

Lavender was beaming at him, but Ron looked around, confused and worried at the lack of Hermione nearby. He caught sight of Harry’s face and saw it had gone completely unreadable.

Ginny, however, clearly had fury etched all over her every feature. She squeezed Harry’s hand, whispered something to him, and slipped away through the crowd. Ron stared at his best friend, uncertain what to say or do.

“Come along, Ron,” said Lavender, and she was tugging him away. “I think we deserve some time alone, don’t you?”

Ron didn’t know what to do. Harry’s eyes averted from his, and he slipped away the same direction Ginny had gone, leaving Ron alone.

“Yeah, you claim your man, Lavender!” someone shouted, though Ron didn’t know who it was. He felt Lavender tugging him away from the crowd to a less crowded corner of the common room and followed, still blank-minded and completely out of his depth. His book hadn’t said what to do if another witch threw herself at him like this. Lavender was pretty, to be sure, and nice enough, but –

Lavender pushed Ron down onto a chair and clambered onto his lap, pressing close and kissing him again. It felt good, and he liked it.

But she wasn’t Hermione.

“Wait,” said Ron, pushing Lavender away and staring at her pouty lips. “I – this isn’t – where’s Hermione?”

Lavender stared at him for a moment. “You are getting the best snog of your life,” she said, “and all you can think about is your bookworm of a friend?”

Ron scowled at her. “I need to talk to Hermione,” he said. “She – she’s the one –”

Lavender burst out laughing. “You want her?” She shook her head incredulously. “How could you compare to her one and only boyfriend, anyway?”

Ron’s ears felt hot at the mention of Viktor Krum. “I want you,” said Lavender, leaning in close enough that her chest brushed against his. “What has Hermione ever done to show that she wants you, too?”

“We went to Hogsmeade together,” said Ron instantly.

“One date, and no action?” Lavender tsked and shook her head. “Tell you what, Ron. I’ll give you one hour to go find Hermione and prove to me that she wants to be with you.” She leaned back to stare at Ron intensely. “I’ll be right here waiting for you. You’re exactly what I’m after.” She slid off his lap and stood before him. “One hour, and you’re mine.”

Ron stared at her for a long moment and then bolted, weaving his way through the crowd for the portrait hole. He had to find Hermione and explain. She’d understand he was taken off-guard, that he didn’t really want Lavender, wouldn’t she?



One glance at the Marauder’s Map told Harry exactly where Hermione was, Ginny’s dot already there with her. He slowly made his way down the corridor to the nearby empty classroom and slipped inside to see Hermione sobbing into Ginny’s arms on top of an old desk.

“I know he’s a prat,” she was telling the older girl as Harry quietly shut the door behind him, “but you could see the surprise on his face. He wasn’t expecting Lavender to throw herself at him like that.”

“B-but he kissed her back!”

Ginny met Harry’s eyes, anguish written all over her face. It was true. Ron had wrapped his arms around Lavender and kissed her right back.

“I know,” sighed Ginny. “It could just be hormones, you know. We’re all idiots at this age, aren’t we?”

“I – I don’t understand!” Hermione wailed. “He asked me to Hogsmeade, he – he’s been so nice and I thought – I thought –” A new wave of sobbing overtook her, and she collapsed against Ginny again.

Harry slowly approached and sat down on the desk next to Ginny. “He’s never mentioned Lavender,” he said quietly. “Only you.”

Ginny scowled and said, “So why did he –?”

The door to the classroom banged open and Ron barged in, red-faced and worried. “Hermione?” he said the moment he spotted her. “Please, I can explain –”

“You looked awfully comfortable with Lavender hanging all over you like that,” spat Ginny with more venom than Harry had expected given her attempts to calm Hermione before Ron’s entrance. Hermione quickly stifled her sobs and wiped hurriedly at her face.

“She caught me off guard, that’s all!” snapped Ron angrily. “I didn’t ask her to snog me in the middle of the common room, did I?”

“But you liked it, didn’t you?” Ginny snarled back. “We all saw you wrapping your arms around her!”

“Ginny,” Harry tried quietly, but she ignored him, clearly far beyond reasoning now.

“And then you just stood there, hands on her waist –”

“I was looking for Hermione!”

“While holding onto a pretty girl!”

Harry had had enough. He pulled out his wand and shouted, “Silencio!”

Ginny mouthed wordlessly for a few seconds before turning a betrayed expression on him.

“Shouting at each other isn’t going to solve this,” he snapped at her. “And this isn’t about either of us, is it? It’s between Ron and Hermione.” He rose and pulled Ginny to her feet. “We’ll let you two figure this out,” he said, dragging Ginny from the room and shutting the door behind him. Then he lifted the spell from Ginny.

“How could you do that?” she shouted at him. “The prat needed a solid telling-off –”

“It’s not our business,” Harry responded firmly. “It’s not our relationship on the line here, either, is it?”

“I dunno, is it?” returned Ginny. Harry startled at this and stepped back. “He deserves every bit of vitriol I can throw at him, I never thought you’d take his side on this!”

“I’m not taking anyone’s side!” said Harry. “I just don’t think they need either of us to tell them what to do!”

Ginny glared at him. “They’re going to leave you, Harry,” whispered Voldemort in his mind, and he clenched his jaw. He did not need this right now. Shaking his head, he took another step back, trying to stay focused. “Being shouted at never makes it better,” he forced himself to say. “You just end up hating yourself even more.”

He turned to walk away, but Ginny’s hand caught his. He stilled, keeping himself from looking back at her, Voldemort’s laughter ringing in his ears.

“You said they mostly shouted,” said Ginny at last, voice quieter and very sad. It didn’t take a genius to know she was talking about the Dursleys. “Loads of vitriol, if I had to guess.”

Harry swallowed hard and nodded.

“Did – did they ever outright say they thought you were worthless?”

“Not directly,” Harry muttered, “but the intent was always clear.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I’m sorry,” said Ginny softly. “Classic Weasley temper, only I took it too far.”

Harry didn’t say anything, and after a few moments, Ginny slowly walked to stand in front of him. Her brown eyes were sad, her face apologetic. “You did the right thing, pulling me out of there,” she told him. “And you’re right, it’s not up to us to tell them how to sort this out. It’s just – seeing the way he responded to Lavender, and Hermione’s reaction –” She shrugged. “I suppose I rather lost it. Forgive me?”

There was no hesitation in Harry’s answer: “Of course,” he said, the high, cold laughter finally fading away. Ginny stepped closer to him and hugged him tightly, Harry returning it as he felt the tightness in his chest loosen in relief.

Ginny wasn’t going to leave him. Voldemort was wrong. He always had been, and he always would be.

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