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Echoes of Power, Part I: Anger | ||||||
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Category: Alternate Universe Characters:Draco Malfoy, Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Minerva McGonagall, Neville Longbottom, Remus Lupin, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape, Sirius Black Genres: Action/Adventure, Drama, Humor Warnings: Death, Sexual Situations, Violence Rating: R Reviews: 542 Summary: Harry mysteriously disappeared at the age of six, and then benefited from years of tutoring from an old family friend. With the return of Voldemort, it is finally time for a 15 year old, well-trained and somewhat cynical and sarcastic Harry to take up his place at Hogwarts. Life at Hogwarts, however, is not always what Harry anticipated. There, secrets are revealed, allies are discovered, and the journey to power begins. Completely AU. Hitcount: Story Total: 334418; Chapter Total: 10477 Author's Notes: See below. |
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Preface A/N: A special SIYE note: many readers have pointed out some chapters seem truncated. The SIYE engine has problems rendering several chapters in this story. The tech staff are aware of it, but have no direct fix yet. You can see 'broken' chapters by using the little printer icon in the top right corner of each chapter page -- just click on it, and it will open a new tab with the full chapter. You can do the same for the story icon, but that loads the whole story, not just that chapter. Echoes of Power : Part I : Anger : Chapter 28 : Gilded Cages oOo oOo 18 Jul 1021 The man was tall and strong, red glints playing in his blond hair as he strode back and forth in the very room she now sat in, windowless and deep beneath her ancestral home. “I’m telling you, Rowena, that it’s been a true gift for me to see how the king thinks, the juggling he is capable of in the demands placed upon his shoulders. Have you seen or heard of his schools? He mandates all freeborn be educated! It is the birthing of a new era, you can almost feel it. Alfred’s choices are changing everything.” Her own voice was rich and vibrant, a reminder now of scant years that felt as though they were ages past. “And what of it? We are not as they are, no matter how much they may be reaching for understanding.” Godric turned and faced her, one hand waving her challenge off as though it were no more than an insect. “You know how it has been for our kind these many long years — with careful, circumscribed Master-Apprentice teaching . . . and that pieces of knowledge are still lost, only to be rediscovered later. We do not work with each other enough — not even to discern what we know in common, thus what we have that is unique. And why? You and I both know that we are the scapegoats for the ignorant. Even today, magicians are not well-received in any land. King Alfred has been about the goal of educating his people for some few years now, but at least there you can see how it changes things. What if we were to do the same?” She could almost recall her responses in her head concurrently to the reflected memory of her challenge as it echoed from the basin. “Godric, you always did act first and consider second. You speculate building a centre for learning, but how will you hide it to avoid that persecution you admit to? Where will you find any students for it? The knowledge passed down from our masters is highly prized and much-secreted, for good reasons you well know. How would you set about ensuring the safety of those that might be willing to gather for teaching, when you need to keep them safe from each other as much as any students?” Godric nodded his head in agreement as he resumed pacing in her chamber. “Of course those are the things you would worry over. I admit, they worry me, too. But I have a friend, you see, and she is brilliant with making magic do things I thought not possible. I was hoping to enlist her aid to resolve these rather trivial details.” “Trivial?” Even to this day, his response struck her as odd. “I know your periodic affliction of sanity scares others, Godric, but you should not call these trivial. If you fly but a few hours north of here, the Franks will happily burn you at the stake should two people agree that you used magic in some manner.” Godric stopped pacing and frowned at her for a moment. “Yes, I call these trivial compared to finding a way to organise our magical knowledge. To finding a way to systematically teach that knowledge in a timely manner and to make it as easy to learn as reading or writing. To devising a way to store our knowledge, so that those who come after us can be more than we ever could. In the face of those problems, I consider these others trivial. Have you forgotten your years of Apprenticeship and how you were instructed?” With a sharp hand gesture, a gleaming copper table frame appeared. When he snapped his fingers, a thick wooden top adorned it. “Or will you tell me that you can now do this?” “Point.” “So I am asking you, Rowena, won’t you come back with me to England? I have been granted by the king a large parcel in Brighthelmston and plan to build a school there. I hope others will join me, but I would rather they join us, or even build schools of their own!” The scene dissolved silently back into the basin, the ghostly fragments of memory reconstituted in quicksilver flashes. She paused as she reflected on what memory would best suit the needs of the moment to come. Free will guaranteed that the future was always in flux, so there was no certainty the truth would ever become known. Her job, as she saw it, was to ensure that should any piece of the truth be revealed, it must be the whole truth in one go. The primary flaw was the limited capacity of her construct, or rather, the limited long-term stability such memories would have. A few memories would last all but forever. Too many memories, and all would be for naught. With a sigh, she put the tip of the wand to her greying temple, lamenting only briefly that their lives were all being cut far short of what they should have been. Magic was a blessing and a curse. oOo oOo Saturday, 15 Sep 1989 “I feel it is in their best interests that you agree, Remus.” Nicolas’ voice was urgent, yet muted as events dictated. Remus was tired and depressed in ways that he had not felt for years, and the unhappy circumstance of the Flamels arriving on the eve of Margaret’s death was another strain he simply had no way to deal with. A close relationship borne from their correspondence and free-thinking was too weak to take such weighty matters on their first face-to-face meeting. Between his own grief and listless anger, he was doing everything he could to help David and Harry hold onto their sanity. It was a tragic event, yes, and upon learning exactly how it had transpired, he would even say it was horrifying. He feared at a very deep level what would happen should David see Harry as the cause of his wife’s death. It would be the natural human reaction, given the sequence of events. Remus knew that with time, the initial anger — hatred even — coupled to survivor’s resentment would be replaced by a true understanding of events. Remus felt, however, that such a transitional state in David, no matter how brief, might cause Harry to revert to his prior fractured self after everything that had happened. Perenelle silently served tea to Remus and Nicolas before sitting between them, holding the cup firmly in her hands. “Please, Remus, we are not asking you to lie. We are merely asking that you do not tell them this.” Remus sipped his tea and tried to find the infinite patience that his students claimed he possessed. “A calculated omission is still a lie none the less.” Perenelle’s soft sigh almost escaped his notice, but her strong gaze held him when he looked at her. “Tell me, Remus, did you know what we just told you? No, I thought not. Your condition would preclude you being told. The English Ministry is quite good at discriminating its services, reserving them from the Muggle-raised, among others. Knowing how close you felt to Margaret, and knowing how thoughtful you are, let me ask you this: what would this knowledge do to young Harry? Or David?” Remus shook his head slowly. “It would destroy them. That one simple act could have saved her life even with that wound . . . they would come to hate the world of magic, or at the very least, they will regard you all with contempt. Harry has a very keen sense of right and wrong. He, in particular, would not take this well.” He watched in his own brew of bitterness as the married couple exchanged a lengthy silent communication with a brief glance, before Perenelle turned back to him. “And you? How do you feel, knowing this?” Now Remus was deeply torn. On the one hand, he valued the newfound knowledge. It could save others if the situation arose. On the other, he understood why the Ministry did not hand out such knowledge to everyone. It would be far too easy to abuse, but that did not cool his internal flames of hate. He had decades of prejudice and bias to blunt his immediate reactions to such discriminations, but neither Harry nor David had any basis to fully understand the subtleties of what he had just learned. “I don’t want to lose Harry, not again.” “Truly, that is why we ask this of you, Remus.” Remus sighed in turn and rested his forehead on the cool surface of the table. Eventually, even he had to admit to their logic and to the demands of the moment. “I’ll not tell them, but with conditions. If I’m asked, I’ll speak the truth. And if I feel that either is able to cope with this, and they have not asked, then I will tell them. Of course, if it becomes a matter of life and death, I’ll simply use the knowledge and live with the consequences.” Nicolas’ voice was soft yet held an ineffable strength deep inside it. “That’s all we can ask for, Remus.” “There’s something else,” Remus said after a moment. “Harry has a strange sort of luck. He’s either luckier than anyone has a right to be or is cursed horribly. Things like this tend to come out, and with him, it’s almost always at a bad time. Perhaps the worst possible time.” Perenelle laid one hand on his arm, squeezing briefly until he looked up at her gaze. “Then let us simply hope for the best.” Remus looked at the clock on the wall briefly. “I need to go. The night is coming soon, and my furry little problem is going to flare up. I’ll be back in the morning, but I won’t be worth much.” “I could never agree with you on that, Remus,” Perenelle said softly. “But we will try to do what little we may here.” Remus shrugged slightly. “You’ll need to do more than that. You’ll need to be the best.” oOo oOo Tue, 24 Dec 1991 “Where is this place?” “Remus, you have lived here far longer than we have. We should be asking you that question.” Remus sighed briefly before turning to the last two that arrived. “Harry? How are you feeling, now?” “M’okay, Remus. My head doesn’t hurt anymore.” Harry’s voice was subdued, unnaturally calm. Of course, the overly generous dose of Calming Draught that Perenelle had forced upon him was in no small manner contributing to that condition. A simple headache restorative had been useless for the debilitating pain Harry had experienced, which was unusual in and of itself. They would have to investigate why his head had ached so severely without warning. For now, it was slightly amusing to see Harry relaxed to the point of unconcern about anything at all. Standing in a thicket on the side of a country lane, Remus saw that rolling lowland hills and farms mostly surrounded them. A small dirt road led off from the rather narrow paved track, but otherwise there was little present to indicate the existence of humans — were the neatly set acres of each farm to be considered ‘natural’ scenery. “Right. Let’s see, then, eh?” Remus extracted his wand and waved it about briefly before letting it rest in his flat palm. The tip swung back and forth several times before settling in a direction that led down the dirt road. It was the simplest of tracking spells, too subtle for anyone to notice without a thorough examination and too weak to give an exact location. A series of staged jumps around the country had narrowed the location down by triangulation, and he knew they should be near the fellow of interest. On closer inspection, it was clear the dirt road was once a two-groove path left behind by automobiles, but vegetation had increasingly overrun from its centre. “We need to go that way, apparently. The distance is quite short, so it’s probably that cottage ‘round the bend.” It was hard to see clearly with the setting winter sun in their eyes, but in the weakened afternoon light, he could make out what was a rather small dwelling. While trees were scattered about the edges of fields or periodically along the main road, there was no form of cover or visual obfuscation between the small home and the thicket where they stood. “Disillusionment Charms, I should think,” Nicolas said quietly before tapping Harry smartly on the head, showing an increasingly unified thinking from the strange afternoon. Paranoia in healthy doses made perfect sense — at times. The only disagreement was from Harry, but he was under the influence as it were, leaving his opinion somewhat dubious of correctness. Even before the camouflage magic on Harry began to settle, Remus saw the cool ripples start from where Nicolas tapped himself in turn. As quickly as he could manage, Nicolas had everyone other than Remus well hidden. “Let’s go find out more about our man of mystery.” It was a cold walk, but silence was kept after the initial planning. Remus would handle the approach, and Nicolas would support him as backup. The winter air was crisp and nearly biting, but thankfully the wind was mostly still. The small cottage grew larger with every step yet remained small and snug. Had it been in proper upkeep, Remus felt it would be a rustic yet pleasant setting in which to live or raise a small family. While the cottage still appeared to be quite sound, the signs of neglect in the garden and upon the shutters were indicative of a resident indifferent to the insistent demands of nature. “I wish Edgar were here,” Harry offered in the quiet as they reached the partially obscured front gate. The gate itself was open half-way, yet the leading edge was buried in the ground and had clearly been that way for some time. “He could fly up to the windows and just tell us what was going on.” Remus smiled slightly, acknowledging the simplistic point to himself, though he turned and gestured in the area that Harry’s voice had come from for silence. Standing before the dwelling, Remus considered the setting. He saw nothing untoward in the least, but Harry’s reaction — likely to the person they thought was inside — was more than enough to unsettle him.. With a deep breath for that extra dash of serenity, he made his way to the front door and rapped sharply three times. The soft glow of light from the front windows flickered briefly, but he could discern no sounds inside. After waiting sufficiently long that he thought perhaps two minutes had passed, he rapped again, three quick blows with the back of his fist. The faint seam of light under the door depicted a shadow moving before he heard a loud scraping noise. It was not the sound of a bolt being thrown back but was something else, something he could not recognise. “W-w-who’s th-th-there?” a rather timid voice weakly called out. Remus had to strain to hear it properly. “Happy Christmas Eve!” he called loudly. “I’m Jimmy Evans, a new neighbour down the way.” Remus heard a faint thumping noise, as though something heavy had been dropped, when the voice inside answered. “J-j-just a m-moment . . .” and then the door swung open, revealing the man with the strange headpiece. At this range, Remus easily recognised that it was a turban and not a hat after all. “Y-yes?” There was almost a faint whinge in the man’s tone, as though he had no desire to be interrupted on this night. Remus wondered briefly whether a personal event in the man’s past had predisposed him to solitude or sorrow during an otherwise festive time, but the turban was an unknown factor. Perhaps he merely disliked the religious connotations of the hols, thereby being short to any and all comers who might be expressing yuletide greetings. “Sorry to bother you,” he offered with as pleasant a smile as he could, “but I thought the holiday might be a good excuse to meet my neighbours. I’m Jimmy.” Remus stuck his hand out and held it there in space as the young man before him trembled very slightly and stared at the hand as though it were offensive in some manner. Belatedly, Remus realised that some religious cultures found physical contact with unbelievers highly offensive, and slowly he let his hand drop. He knew that might complicate the game plan for keeping Nicolas nearby at all times. The man’s eyes rose back to meet his gaze, before he stepped back slightly. “C-c-come in.” He stepped back and bowed slightly, gesturing with his back hand for Remus to enter into the foyer. Remus made a production out of smiling at the invitation and boldly walking forward, and then he deliberately tripped on the threshold, sprawling into the side of the young man, causing both of them to tumble to the ground. “Oh!” Remus cried out. “I’m so sorry!” Remus tried to scramble to his feet but did his best to keep the man down longer than strictly necessary by alternately grabbing and releasing his arm as though he were trying to pull the fellow to his feet. Nicolas was to follow them in during the confusion, while Perenelle and Harry would wait just outside the door. Perenelle was to charm the door such that if required, it would fly open at her touch — a security precaution should they need to leave in a hurry. When the young man was finally standing again, as Remus continued to apologise, there was the faintest flicker in the atmosphere of the cottage that sent a tremulous shiver down his spine. For the briefest moment, Remus thought that there had been a hint of recognition on some level in the eyes of his host. Then it was gone, and he was being waved off with a repeated ‘N-no m-matter, n-no m-matter’ as the door was sealed. With almost a lazy flick of the man’s wrist, the deadbolt was thrown and Remus’ host was facing him, eyes on the floor. “M-m-may I g-get y-you anyth-th-thing?” With a gesture, he indicated that Remus should precede him into the house proper. Remus turned to see a small formal living room just down the hall, strewn with stacks of books and papers. Some of the materials even looked faintly familiar, such that — The hand on his throat was more powerful than any grip he had ever felt before. He could feel his blood vessels surging in pressure at the same instant he involuntarily coughed in reflex, but nothing was able to escape from the crushing grip. “Liar! Werewolf!” The voice was a hiss of hate spitting in his ear, a hot fetid breath washing over his face. Tears of pain and adrenaline filled his eyes. He was jerked back, the turban-headed man directly behind him, their backs to the wall. Remus was driven to his knees with almost casual ease. His own hands were digging vigorously at the fingers clamped on his throat. His fingers scrabbled for purchase, and he ignored the self-inflicted gouges from his nails as he tried to fight off his attacker. A bolt of violent red passed just in front of his eyes before it was deflected. It scorched a round burn onto the putrid purple wallpaper. He was on his knees. The hand had been removed from his throat. He was gasping for breath. He realised his throat was partially crushed. It was all he could to do wheeze any air in or out as he fell onto his side, trying to massage his throat into working again. The adrenaline was making him shake; it was giving everything a surreal appearance. Time was fleet as an eagle yet slow as molasses. He saw the turban-clad man flick a wand motion. A strangely dancing pattern of light resolved itself into Nicolas, who was already throwing a bolt of purple at the turbaned man. Remus could hear his own wheezing so very loud in his ears. As the bolt leapt across the narrow distance, the front door all but exploded inward. The man with the turban had a giant silver shield in his off hand. To Remus’ fading mind, it seemed almost magical as it appeared in the blink of an eye and the room grew somewhat dimmer. The harsh rasping of his throat was broken by his own fingers digging frantically at his neck. Without his conscious direction, they were trying to force the damaged passages open. He was drowning, the edges of panic creeping upon him. A shattering scream reached his ears above the roaring of his own laboured breathing. Remus looked up as Nicolas fell to a crackling black lightening. The old man was writhing on the floor, sparks and wisps of smoke forming at his extremities. Perenelle had appeared, he realised after a moment. Her wand appeared to be on fire, a beautiful aura flaring and weaving. The man with the turban was somehow missing his shield. Nicolas cried out feebly, trying to rise. The room grew painfully bright, but Remus’ eyes were already watering. Perenelle was on the ground. Both of her legs were neatly severed. She reminded him of a discarded mannequin in a run-down shopping centre. Blood was everywhere. Remus saw Harry standing in the doorway, calmly watching everything. Harry’s wand almost languidly made perfectly precise motions, drawing a terminally slow arc through space. The boy’s off hand was pressed firmly to his scar. The turban writhed like a snake, sliding, twisting, rising, flaring. A hideous face emerged from its folds, hissing at them, hissing at the host. The walls were closing in. Remus was losing the battle to breathe and remain conscious. Even the floor was becoming hard to see. “No!” Her voice was so very weak, the light so very dim. The man with the winged turban darted for Harry, but Perenelle somehow placed a shield just in time, blocking progress. The house shuddered for a moment. Blood was everywhere, and it was raining as Perenelle’s chest exploded with a point-blank curse. Nicolas began screaming then. In the dimness of the moment, Remus thought he saw the deep illuminating spark of life therein flicker, once, then vanish. “No!” Nicolas’ cry was lost in the aftermath. The turbaned man was facing Nicolas again, wand held high. Harry’s precise wand motion was over. Remus thought he had heard Harry calmly say, “Reducto.” A terrible sound was echoing as the host fell to the ground. The head rolled away as the body dropped like so much dead weight. Shrieking, the wraith in the turban detached from the head and fled to the back of the house, an odd turban-cloak billowing behind. And then Remus knew no more. oOo oOo Fri, 15 Sep 1995 “No, I won’t say you’ve broken him, but you’ve not done him any favours, either. Albus Dumbledore has no idea of how to handle him, and he has decades of experience with unruly and difficult children. Your child oscillates between false bravado, petulant youth, and all but dead, wearing the mask that gets him what he desires in the moment. He has not the mindset he needs to do what is before him.” Cyril’s implied accusations were ringing in the silence, Remus and Sirius shifting gazes back and forth before they turned to him. David could feel the pressure of his headache mounting, and his temper was already on a short leash given the events that had transpired over the past two months. “What are you trying to say, Cyril? What’s your point here?” “My point? My point is that you’ve no idea just how damaged he is, nor have you taken steps to rectify the situation.” David was on his feet, his anger bubbling over before he even realised it. “That is my son you’re talking about! I love him, and I will not tolerate you implying otherwise!” The strength of his own shouting surprised him, and he found his hands were clenched in the rush of emotion. “I know him far better than you, who have only been here days!” Sirius had surged to his feet as well, and David could see he was ready to defend Harry except for Remus’ hand restraining him. Cyril seemed unimpressed, ignoring Sirius and waving off David’s mounting fury as though it were inconsequential. “Perhaps you do, though I wonder how you let these things develop if you care as you claim. Why did you allow Nicolas to isolate Harry here? Not only did he decline Hogwarts, you removed him from the local schools as well. You froze his social skills as those of an eleven-year-old, and already emotionally fragile no less, whilst thrusting him into a curriculum any adult would struggle with. You let him become a student trainee of the War Mages, a babe in the wild, and under Nicolas of all people. What were you thinking?” Remus broke the silent tension that followed, his hand still white with the grip holding Sirius back. “What do you mean, ‘under Nicolas of all people’? He was widely regarded as a prominent figure of justice and highly sought after for his knowledge.” Cyril sighed and sat back down, grudgingly followed by Sirius, leaving David standing there with the blood rushing in his ears. David was confused over the strange tangents this newcomer was thrusting in front of them, and he had to admit after hearing it that Remus’ question was one he wanted an answer to as well. He slowly sank back into his seat, wishing the ibuprofen would work faster to clear his brain. “Nicolas Flamel was the head of the War Mage committee some three centuries prior. He stepped down in protest after nearly eighty years of leadership. The nature of the protest was secret and between the War Mages and the ICW main body.” Cyril paused to systematically hold the gaze of each person in turn. “Even though he stepped down, he still was instrumental in choosing each of the next several heads of the Mages. What cannot be ignored, however, is that the War Mages have been decreasing in number and power ever since he did step down. Why is that?” David had known the first part of that information, but the second part was new to him. Sirius snorted briefly, before retorting, “I suppose you should just tell us.” Cyril shrugged briefly. “I don’t know. It’s something that’s under a secretive oath. But that is merely one issue. All students and apprentices are required to have a detailed journal kept by their mentors and teachers. Every War Mage that encounters a student or apprentice is required to record their interactions and impressions. When I became Harry’s new mentor, I took over his logbook. I should like to know why the last entry in it was dated the twenty-third of December, 1991.” “The twenty-third?” Remus asked after a moment. “Correct.” When David looked up, Remus met his gaze. It was an awkward framing, but David nodded his agreement to Remus. Remus flicked his eyes to the scowling Sirius before focusing again on Cyril. “Perenelle died on the twenty-fourth, by Voldemort’s, uh, hand, I suppose. Perhaps the two are related?” Cyril shook his head briefly. “Perhaps. That does not change the fact that Harry is perilously close to being lost.” David bent his head, absently running his two hands back through his hair, clasping fingers as to both stretch and strain his tired muscles. “Given all of the events that kept happening, we felt that the offer from Nicolas was ideal. He would be better equipped to handle . . . what Harry needed, needs, to learn. By the time Nicolas offered the extra protections of the War Mage status, it was clear that it wasn’t really an option to say no.” Cyril sighed, and the blank mask the man wore was somewhat offensive to David. “And you simply assumed that Nicolas had no agenda of his own? I’ll grant that you might not anticipate that he would single-handedly dismantle the War Mages for some private reason. But did you not wonder that he would not hesitate to use all of us to achieve his vision of the future? Surely it was clear that his notions of time and mortality were no longer human.” “You appear to know more than we do,” David said, struggling to keep his fluctuating anger in check. Cyril’s implications and hints about their negligence or failure to grasp elusive threads were doing nothing for his efforts so far. “I have personally seen no evidence to agree with your comments about Nicolas.” David paused to blow out a long, slow breath. “As for Harry, we all agree, he needs to regain some sense of balance or perspective. Ever since this summer . . . I have asked him to restart his therapy sessions, and he has agreed to do so.” David watched as Cyril rose again and began pacing. It was clear that, as unpleasant as the conversation had been thus far, Cyril had more to relay. There had to be a reason for the man asking for this meeting, after all, something beyond conspiracy theories and innuendo. “Yes, some form of counselling would help. Yet, there is much going on with Harry that I fear. I agree with his training, and he should continue that schedule, particularly in the physical arts. They build fine control and hone the mind’s edge. His continued use of all of you for a crutch in his own thinking, more, as a buffer from his peers, must stop. The lot of you will become scarce for in-person interactions. In this, Dumbledore and I both agree.” “No.” David found himself on his feet again and let his resentment and anger flare, no longer trying to keep it under a tight lid. Sirius was up as well, throwing off Remus’ efforts at restraint. “Hell, no!” he shouted. “I’m not doing such a damn thing! The last thing Harry needs is to be abandoned once more!” David nodded slowly, agreeing entirely with Sirius sentiment. “I will not agree to this. I will see him as much as I am able and he desires, regardless of what you want.” Cyril snorted at Sirius, dismissing the tall figure with ease, and then closed the distance to David. There was nothing overtly dangerous in his stance or tone, but David felt the urge to step back all the same. He had heard stories of what Cyril was capable of and hated that he felt a faint twinge of fear. Cyril seemed to either not notice or not care about the situation as his eyes found David’s. “Curtail your self indulgence. I am not recommending; I am telling you. You will all become scarce and interact with Harry primarily through letters until I indicate otherwise.” Remus blocked Sirius’s efforts to lunge toward Cyril. David was trembling in his anger. This stranger came into his home, threatening his relationship with his son, and intimated that David himself was a contributing source of dysfunction all around. He was unable to stop his seething anger from coming out as he all but hissed his response. “This is my son, not yours. I’ll pull him out of the magical world entirely before I bow to your demands!” “You signed the paperwork making him a ward of the War Mages. You could break the contract as he is still underage, but that makes him a citizen of Britain. You, as a Muggle, cannot be his magical supervisor. Thus, he will be subject to Fudge’s Ministry. What do you think would happen to him then?” Cyril’s voice was void of any compassion at all, and David found his hands were shaking involuntarily as they clenched and unclenched. “As the assigned mentor, Harry is mine, and mine alone. This is no longer a game of your making. Indeed, this is no longer a game.” Remus cleared his throat in the growing tension, and it was just enough to prevent David from joining Sirius in lunging at this intruder into his home. “Given all of the conspiracy theories, then, what’s your agenda, Cyril? Or Dumbledore’s?” Cyril held David’s gaze with almost cool contempt. “Our agenda must be that a forest cannot exist without trees.” oOo oOo Sun, 17 Sep 1995 “Potter.” Harry stopped in the hall, looking back to see the gangly redhead approaching him at a leisurely rate. The agitation of his stomach demanding food already had him irritated, and things did not appear to be improving anytime soon given how little the incoming boy liked Harry. “What a surprise, it’s another Weasley.” “Very funny,” Ron told him, handing over a folded bit of parchment. “I got a letter from my dad. He asked that I hand this note over to you.” Harry knew the parchment had no enchantments upon it but was unwilling to divulge that knowledge freely. Making a bit of a production out of it, Harry studied the parchment minutely until he thought Ron’s patience might be about to end in an explosion of some kind. Smirking faintly at successfully working out some of his own irritation, Harry deftly plucked the parchment from the boy’s fingers and broke the seal. Mr Potter, Given the recent events that transpired and the unfortunate involvement of my family once more, I have asked my wife to forebear continuing the exchanges betwixt the two of you. I hereby ask the same courtesy of you to her. She has complied with my request, albeit regretfully. For my own sake, I must admit in all honesty that I suspect this is a temporary situation at best. Regardless, I hope that we all might enjoy at least a week or two of peace. Cordially, Arthur Weasley 15 Sep Harry quirked one eyebrow in passing. That certainly made the situation with the lemming prank as clear as mud, since the note was dated before the incident took place. That would, in theory, rule out the Weasley matriarch and leave him back with a list of possible suspects yet with weak prospects. Now wondering whom to investigate as the primary culprit, Harry shoved the note in his bag. “Lovely. Thanks, Errand-Boy.” “Are you incapable of being nice?” Harry frowned at the redhead a moment. He was incredibly hungry this morning, almost as if he had drained his magic fully through drills. Sharing the memories of events with Floppy had delayed his getting out of the suite in time for the very start of breakfast, even if the Hat was now lazing about as a scarf tossed over one shoulder. The time spent with the Hat, added to his private early-morning exercises, had honed a previously mild appetite into a state where cannibalism might become a viable option. “Right now? Pretty much. Was there something you wanted?” Ron shrugged for a moment, the tall boy regarding him silently. Harry could see the lingering irritation on Ron’s face but was not overly interested in setting him at ease. This particular Weasley had been against Harry since shortly after his arrival. While the reaction was understandable at first, the continued clinging to a prior sentiment despite the evidence absolving Harry of most direct guilt in events made no sense. “Err, yeah, actually,” Ron said. “I . . . well . . . look, did you and Ginny have a falling out or something?” The question was nonsensical as far as Harry was concerned. “Not to my knowledge, why?” Ron shrugged briefly. “I’m starving. Are you headed to breakfast?” “Yeeeessss,” Harry drew the word out, hoping to get Ron back on topic, despite the urge to salivate heavily over the mere thought of already prepared food. “Right.” Ron jerked his head toward the corridor and started walking. Harry assumed that meant his company was requested, but due to the general antipathy toward Harry, Ron was likely unwilling to actually vocalise that. “Err, Ginny’s been off since she came back to the tower last night.” “Oh? Off like a light, or off like odoriferous?” Ron glanced at him for a moment before putting his gaze back on the floor in front of his rather large feet. “You’re rather cranky, but yeah, ‘oh.’ Reminds me of her first couple of years here, actually.” “Hmmm.” Harry tried to recall the conversation he had been stuck in when George wanted to convey something profound but had mostly made a muddled mess of too many ideas. “I think one of your brothers mentioned she was pretty lifeless back then.” Of course, Harry knew exactly why she might be thoroughly depressed today, but this was probably not the time for that type of honesty. Ron shrugged again, giving Harry the impression that the fellow was not particularly keen on admitting emotional things. That fit another mental tic mark on his Hermione-watch-list, but Ginny had asked him to lay off of the topic for a bit. “Yeah,” Ron said, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “That’s about right. I like the way Ginny’s been becoming more . . . her . . . old self . . . lately. Seemed to come out when you came along. I just wondered if you’d had a row or something.” Harry was no longer paying close attention to the path they were on. It was joining the main corridors down to the Great Hall, so it was more interesting to focus on the themes that Ron was hinting at. “If we had, what would you do about it? Offer to pound me?” Ron winced fairly hard at that suggestion, quickly averting his eyes away from Harry. “I think we both know that’d be an empty threat. So, no. I was thinking I might offer to be a . . . a go-between, yeah? Might help make for reconciliation, clear the air, get you two back together, that sort of thing.” “Er, Weasley, you do realise we’re not ‘together’ like you’re insinuating, right?” This time Ron stopped and looked at Harry directly, forcing Harry to stop as well if the conversation were to continue. “If you say so, Potter. It looks like it to everyone else, though. If you are or if you aren’t, well . . . George and Fred talked with me about it. I’m not going to get involved. I just want my sister to be . . . who she is supposed to be, not this . . . this shell. Seemed like you were making her that way.” Ron’s tacit admission that he was both less than pleased with the idea of a ‘together’ state and that the boy would prefer his sister’s happiness over his own mindset was unexpected. Harry had no tangible inclinations toward the notion, but it was a giant red button that said ‘do not push’ in flashing letters. He really could not pass up the opportunity to explore more of the psyche of Hermione’s partner and the boy that was so wary of him. “Really? So you’re saying you’d be fine with me snogging your sister? I thought you didn’t like me.” Ron closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. “Not really. I’d prefer it be almost anyone else instead of you. But as I’ve been repeatedly told, it’s her decision, not mine.” “And what of Herms? Is she putting you up to this, too?” “Don’t call her that!” Ron said with surprising heat. “She hates nicknames!” “Oh?” “Yeah, oh,” Ron grumbled. “Why are you so hard on her anyway?” Harry shrugged in a deliberate mimicry of Ron’s typical responses. Given the lack of reaction to the shrug, however, he decided the subtlety was lost. “It passes the hours. Are you not happy to have more personal time with your girlfriend?” Ron flushed as soon as Harry said girlfriend, which made no sense. It was well known now, if not before, so the source of consternation had to lie in some facet of their actual relationship. Something about one or both of them left them uneasy with the status quo labelling. “I guess I shouldn’t complain, it is nice, but, well . . . it’s not like it’s her choice, now is it? Doesn’t quite mean the same.” Harry whistled softly. “Wow, Ron. You’re full of surprises today. I had you pegged for avoiding emotional issues.” Ron scuffed his foot for a moment and looked like he was going to retort, but loud voices coming down the corridor behind them clearly ended the moment. “Right, then,” Harry offered. “I’m off to breakfast, Weasley. Thanks for the heads-up on your sister, by the by. I’ll see if I can’t help out somewhat.” Ron nodded in turn, though the redhead kept his gaze on his trainers and made no motion to resume the trek for breakfast. Instead, Harry wandered into the Great Hall alone and scanned the Gryffindor table. He saw the clump of usual suspects he had been sitting with but instead angled for a pair of empty seats half-way down the table from them. Ignoring the looks of surprise in both locations, he sank into the space next to Dean and promptly filled his plate with bangers and eggs as everyone around him watched. “Er, good morning?” Dean offered tentatively. The knot of people around Dean were obviously surprised at Harry’s proximity since he had been sitting primarily with the Weasley-mix before this morning. “Yeah, g’morning to all,” Harry muttered as he poured himself juice, and Ron continued past him to join the others. “Don’t let me interrupt your conversation.” As Harry began eating, the silence stretched out. Rather than worry over what Dean, Seamus, Lavender, or Parvati were thinking, he focused on appeasing his raging hunger while he scanned the Head Table. Cyril and Dumbledore were both missing, but Slughorn was there. Harry winced inside as he made eye contact. Surely he would be receiving yet another invitation to spend ‘quality time’ with the new potions instructor in a one-on-one setting. The mere idea was enough to make his teeth ache. “So, Harry, how did you get past the defences on the girls’ tower?” Dean asked, finally breaking the silence. Before he could answer, Ginny sat down next to Harry. The others in the knot of Weasleys-and-more had their eyes on her as she sat down, which could have been expected since she deliberately moved from sitting with them to her new location. She kept her gaze on the table, but he could easily tell she was sinking into depression. As she slumped forward, she leaned slightly into his side, as though seeking a leeward shelter in a growing tempest. She said nothing, so he decided to merely let her be for the moment. Looking back at Dean, he caught the mixture of curiosity and disapproving looks from the other girls nearby. Smiling slightly, Harry gave a vague wave with his unimpeded left hand. “Trade secret. But you could try using magic. Maybe you’ve heard of it?” Harry was rewarded with small smiles from Lavender and Parvati, and most other girls in the area simply nodded faintly or looked away as he scanned the attuned faces. Dean merely sighed dramatically before replying in a wistful tone, “And here I thought I might learn something new and useful.” “Good luck there, eh?” Harry offered while Seamus chuckled, and the conversation picked back up on something Quidditch related. Harry tuned it out and looked down at the crown of Ginny’s head, since her gaze was still on the table. She was pushing her utensils around a bit aimlessly as far as he could tell, so he decided it was time to interrupt her quietly. “Are you sure you want to be sitting next to me, Ginny? Seems like it hasn’t been a good place to be.” Ginny did not react much to the question, until he heard her whispered response. “What difference does it make now?” Understanding all too well the vicious downward spiral her own mind was working on, he reached out with his unencumbered arm to pour her a glass of juice as well. He looked back down the table to see where she had been sitting and noted the glossy sheen of a plate that remained untouched. Before he could look away, he saw Ron watching the two of them intently, giving a rather slow and deliberate nod to Harry. Harry quirked an eyebrow in response, ignoring the rather unsubtle hints, then he pushed some bangers and toast onto her plate. “I’m guessing you didn’t sleep much,” he offered in the same whisper she had used. Her head shook slightly against his shoulder. “Ginny . . . It’s a pretty raw deal to find out life has it in for you. I remember when . . . things . . . like this would come up, it always took me a while to stop constantly thinking about whatever was going on. But you need to eat. Even though you don’t want to, try, please.” Harry made no effort to force the topic or ask again, instead doing his best to eat without dislodging her too much. After several minutes of silence, she sat up a little bit and started to eat mechanically. Harry could tell her interest in the idea was quite dead, but she was doing it because she knew she still needed to. The morning owls streamed into the Great Hall, the general volume of everyone increasing in response to letters or news. Harry helped himself to extra portions of the eggs and toast, with plenty of jam, before a commotion by the twins caught his attention. Harry saw a rather stiff and regal-looking owl take off from the table in front of them, while they were having an animated but hushed conversation with several sharp gestures over a piece of parchment. Neville was slowly leaning away from them as their movements became ever greater. Harry decided it was none of his business and finished the rest of his breakfast. It was much easier to eat when Ginny was not impairing his movements, but he felt it was a sacrifice he was obligated to make. He had unintentionally put her in such a precarious position. If he could help her recover and, more importantly, remain safe, then he would do whatever he could. Though she managed to eat everything he had put on her plate, Ginny’s meal was over long before he finished his breakfast. When he pushed his plate away slightly and left the silverware in the middle of it, she leaned against his side again and closed her eyes. “C’mon, Ginny. ¡Ándale! ¡Ándale! ¡Arriba! ¡Arriba!” Rising, Harry tugged Ginny to her feet and motioned for her to walk with him out of the hall. She fell in step beside him, though it was apparent how tired she was. When they reached the momentarily empty Entrance Hall, Harry gently caught her elbow to get her attention. “I want to give you a choice. You can train with me this morning, now, or we can do that this afternoon. It doesn’t have to be physical training if you’re too tired, but we need to cover some ground in something. Time’s far too valuable to lose. Which would you prefer?” Ginny’s gaze felt somewhat distant to Harry as he stood there waiting for her response. He had seen a similar look, of being mentally frazzled and exhausted, when Remus had pulled too many all-nighters working on some new idea that kept eluding his grasp. When she finally looked back at him, she just gave him a weak partial smile and shrugged. “Right, Weasleys and their shrugs. It’s like a whole new language.” Her smile seemed a bit more genuine, but it was still mostly empty of her spirit. Tugging on her elbow, he began leading her toward the stairs and the Come-And-Go Room as a destination. “Oi! Harry, old chap!” Harry paused and turned as he was half-way up the first staircase. George was waving toward him to garner his attention. “Problem, George?” George just shook his head for a moment as he closed the distance. “I’d love to know how you can tell us apart so easily, Harry.” Harry just smiled, knowing it had to be irritating to the fellow. “It’s magic. For a school that teaches magic, it’s amazing how many people just don’t seem to know how to use it.” “Very funny. It’s not right for a bloke without spectacles to make such a spectacle of things. Right, Ginny?” Ginny seemed to have no interest in the conversation, just waving off George’s query before he turned back to Harry. “Right, I need to borrow you for lunch, Harry. Got a meeting of sorts that we were asked to bring you along for.” “A meeting? That sounds . . . curious. In the castle, I presume? And not for Slughorn?” Harry was mildly intrigued that they might have some kind of event going on, even more so that the parties wanted him around for it. “Most of us don’t get to leave the building just because we feel like it, old boy. So yeah, it’s here, and no, we don’t run errands for the professors.” George glanced again at Ginny, before he nodded slightly in her general direction. Harry understood the implicit question but had no answers. Rolling his shoulders for response to the inquiry, he asked aloud, “So where shall we meet? Dungeons? Towers? Forbidden places? Broom cupboards?” George winced hard at the last suggestion, causing Harry to crow, “Ha! How is Katie, by the way?” George shook one finger in an exaggerated manner at Harry in response, indignation on his face. “I’m going to find out how you’re doing this, young man, and then we’ll see who knows what.” Harry grinned in victory while Ginny asked quietly, “Katie? What happened to Alicia?” “Oooo, sounds like it’s a right drama around here,” Harry chuckled. “Is this the only form of entertainment? A bit of pranking and keeping tabs on who is seeing who? How . . . incestuously close.” “Ugh,” George moaned, “please don’t go there. Alicia’s fine, she just . . . wanted a break, Ginny. I’m okay with it, I guess. It’s not like we’re no longer friendly, you know? As for you, Mr Potter, let’s just meet here, eh?” Without waiting for a response, George turned and marched away, back straight and singing a tune that sounded suspiciously like one Harry had previously heard from Peeves. Shrugging at the conundrum of solving who mimicked whom in that line of thinking, Harry started climbing the stairs again, Ginny at his side. “That’s what had Neville and Hermione so flushed last night,” Ginny said quietly. “Hermione found him with Cho. He’s been trying to be decent, but she’s rebounding hard. I just don’t want him to get hurt.” “This really is a rather closed system, isn’t it? Everyone knows everyone else, and there’s only an illusion of privacy. Kind of disturbing, really.” Ginny sighed a bit more as she kept pace with him. “It’s not that bad, really. It just means you need to be careful to be nice most of the time. If you irritate everyone around you, well, where else will you go? You’d be pretty friendless the rest of your life until you started doing the right thing. That’s probably part of why you’re so . . . shocking. You just don’t care.” “Why not live among the Muggles? It’s not like they’re contagious or something.” Ginny said nothing in response until they were almost to the seventh floor corridor that was their destination. “Could you really give up using magic all the time like that? Or not having a job that uses it? I don’t know if I could.” “Given the choice of living in a fishbowl or having privacy, hell yes,” Harry answered sharply. “I don’t know how you lot can stand it.” Harry paused for a moment, holding one hand up to indicate she should remain silent. Studying the surrounding area, Harry determined that nothing living was going to overhear them. “I’ll let you in on the secret to this place. You might want a place to go to feel safe, right? So you come up here, concentrate on what kind of a room you want, and then walk back and forth three times in front of that portrait.” Ginny’s eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. “Really? That’s it?” “Yeah.” “Who else knows about this?” Harry shrugged uneasily. “As far as I can tell, we’re now the only two that are in the castle.” It was true. All the others were either not allowed into the castle or dead. Of course, having permission to be in the castle was not quite the same as being incapable of getting into the castle, but that was one of those small details in life that was better left alone for the moment. “So, you try it. We’ll do some training later but not now. Instead, think about the room we need. I want a table to study at, with a good light, and you should go for whatever you can think of that might let you kip out if at all possible.” It was almost surreal to see the life that had slowly returned in some small measure to her face vanish again, leaving behind the same lost girl that he had first seen last night. The pointed reminder of her inability to sleep, and probably why, was almost as effective as a Dementor. “Right.” Even her voice was duller than it had been mere moments before. Knowing that there was nothing to be done for it yet, as only time would give her the perspective she needed, Harry settled for watching her trigger the magic of the Room. When the door appeared, she jumped slightly, before moving over to open it. She glanced back at Harry for a moment before she strode into the room, and he followed her in. The room was quite small, less than ten feet on a side. It was dark around the edges. A desk that looked surprisingly like McGonagall’s sat in the middle, one lone Muggle-style desk lamp casting a focused cone of light upon the surface. A beat-up and frankly ugly sofa was located immediately behind the desk’s chair. A slate-grey duvet was heaped messily on one end. Ginny, however, wasted no time and sank into the monstrosity with an almost palpable relief. Curious about why she would find comfort in that hideous thing, but unwilling to invade what might be a very personal issue, Harry closed the door and sealed it with his wand using both a Locking Charm and a Proximity Alarm combination. Pulling out the book on wards from his bag again, Harry settled into the desk chair. Ginny was so close he could reach out and touch her if he wanted to. “Try to sleep a bit, eh?” She kept her gaze averted but nodded slightly, lying down and curling about herself much like a cat might. After she settled the duvet over herself, only a few wisps of hair adorning her pale forehead and her brown eyes were discernable. As Harry tried to find the spot in the text he wanted to begin re-reading from, Ginny’s soft voice caught his attention. “Harry? You’ll stay here, right?” “Yeah. I’ll wake you before I leave to meet your brother.” “Thanks, Harry.” “Anytime, Ginny. Anytime.” The silent room and stark lighting made a surprisingly good study environment for Harry. The complete lack of outside distractions, coupled to the lack of potential visual distractions, allowed him to focus on the intricacies of wards and their construction remarkably well. He was trying to understand the subtle problem of attenuating a ward to the ambient magical energy supply, such that it was neither over- nor under-powered for a given use. The utilisation of buffer stages to strengthen fields around otherwise poor sites, or to provide deep power wells for critical infrastructure, did not alter the requirement for attenuation. It merely shifted it from part of the ward construction to the buffer construction. As he was chasing the concept of staged buffers and the inability to handle variable ambient fields, Ginny’s voice startled him from the fascinating text. “Harry?” Shaking his head briefly to bring his awareness back to the rest of the world, he made a noncommittal sound in response. It was coming close to the time he needed to leave anyway, so that meant she at least had a few hours’ rest. “Why do you constantly seem so angry?” Exhaling slowly, Harry tried to understand where the question was coming from. While he knew he had some mild . . . issues . . . that he needed to work through, particularly given the events of the summer, he felt that he did not exactly exude anger or the like. He opted to not turn and look at her, since her tone was soft and hesitant. By not looking at her, she might be willing to actually talk, rather than withdraw. “I’m not really sure what you mean, Ginny.” “I’ve been trying to understand why you’re so, I don’t know, volatile or some such.” She paused for a moment before rushing her next words. “Why do you have such hate for us? For our . . . culture?” Her line of questioning was in a different direction than he had feared, so it was easy for him to fall back into old arguments that he had hashed out many times with others. “For you? I don’t ‘hate’ you or most of the students at Hogwarts. I do have, err, contempt for your culture — rather, for the chosen state of pervasive ignorance and plausible deniability.” “Ignorance? Deniability?” Her tone carried her confusion clearly. “What did we do? What did our parents do?” Harry laughed bitterly. “Do? They’ve done nothing. Perhaps you should ask it the other way ‘round. What did this culture not do?” Ginny’s sigh was quite loud, and her volume rose to match an almost tangible frustration. When he turned to face her, Ginny’s face conveyed irritation. “I don’t understand. I’m wanting to, but you’re not teaching me or explaining anything, Harry. Instead, you’re patronising me.” Shrugging slightly, Harry held up his hands. She was right, after all. “All right, I deserve that. Let me give you just one example. The Statute of Secrecy. What’s it there for?” “To protect us from discovery by Muggles.” Harry tried not to laugh again at her simplistic answer, probably imparted straight from a Ministry text or pamphlet somewhere. “Right, to protect you from Muggles. Tell me, if a Muggle sees something magical, when efforts to keep it hidden fail, what happens?” Ginny paused, but Harry could tell she knew the answer just as well as he did. “They get Obliviated.” Nodding, Harry smiled faintly. “Precisely. So what exactly are you being protected from? Should they see anything, they’ll get mind-wiped. Is it really protection for you?” Ginny was slower to respond to this one, a sign that she was starting to think about the question rather than parroting whatever she had learned growing up or been told to tell others. “Well, in most places, they don’t burn people at the stake anymore, but they’d still expect all kinds of miracles from us. We’d never be able to live our own lives, we’d be enslaved.” Harry laughed again; he really was unable to stop himself. “Right. Enslaved by Muggles? Who lack the Imperius Curse, or a means to overcome the Fidelius Charm? How exactly would they hold you against your will? You have magic, after all.” Ginny shook her head after a moment. “I don’t know, Harry, okay? I’ve never really thought about it, I just trusted my dad’s explanations. I can see problems if I lose my wand, or something like that, but it doesn’t really answer whatever you’re pushing at. What does our hiding have to do with your dislike for us?” Harry shrugged faintly. “Okay, you think about that one. Let me ask another question, though — and it’s related even if it doesn’t seem like it.” He waited until she nodded acceptance of the change. “If you see someone dying, but it’s in your power to help them live, would you? Assume they weren’t evil or somehow deserving of death.” “Of course I would. And the Statute allows that.” “Fair enough,” Harry agreed. “But what if it wouldn’t kill them, only maim them or leave them disfigured?” “Err, that’s not covered in the Statute,” Ginny temporised. “I’d probably try to get them help — Muggle if possible, or ask for magical help otherwise.” “And if you couldn’t find any help, then what? Would you step in and use magic to help them?” “I think I probably would,” Ginny said after a long moment of playing with the duvet. “I think my dad could help me explain it if I had to.” “Right. Now, one more. What if it wouldn’t be anything as drastic as maiming — just a very serious, debilitating sickness for a few weeks. Would you help? This clearly would violate the Secrecy Statute.” Wincing visibly, Ginny slowly shook her head. “Well, no, probably not. I’d get into all kinds of trouble if I did.” Her answer was unsurprising, but it left him mildly disappointed all the same. “So your convenience is worth more than a Muggle’s future life? The burdens they may have to carry that you could prevent?” “No, I didn’t mean it like that.” Ginny sat up, letting the duvet fall around her as she gestured vaguely with her hands. “I’d still try to get help, someone that was allowed to, or could work around the rules, or maybe know how to get whoever was hurt or so ill to proper care. Maybe even call St. Mungo’s Mobile Emergency team, right? But I can’t recognise the difference between a cold and something more serious easily.” “I see,” Harry offered drily, knowing his tone was approaching a patronising form again. “So you’d want to help and would try to help through proper channels.” Harry then leaned forward, holding her eyes with his own. “But if they had major upheaval from a long illness when you could have prevented it . . . because the Muggle methods were too slow, or you were denied aid because it’s only a Muggle . . . does that make you culpable? To their job loss? The impact it might have on their families? Their children? There is a continuum here, and you’ve drawn a line that says, ‘Here, I will help; there, it’s not worth my time.’ Who chose that division, and why?” Ginny kept her eyes on his, refusing to look away. But he could tell she was uncomfortable and facing new ideas. Finally, she simply frowned and looked at her fingers in her lap. “I don’t know, Harry. I’ve never really thought about it, as I don’t ever seem to go places where Muggles are that don’t already know about our world.” Harry had to give her credit. He was pushing fairly hard with these direct questions, and she was being both honest and was giving his questions serious consideration. It was more than he expected to get from people when this conversation invariably came up. In many respects, she was far ahead of the curve for being open-minded. “That’s fair, Ginny, that I’ll grant you. But think about these basic questions in more ways. We know that not all magical cures will work on Muggles. Sometimes magical methods require too much help from the body’s own magical core for Muggles to benefit. At the same time, there are hundreds of wounds, diseases, and disorders that simply aren’t dangerous or don’t exist in the magical community, because there exist magical cures or vaccines for them, or even emergency aid. Would you care to guess how many of those are used to aid the Muggles? The Muggles who die by the tens of thousands every year from these same illnesses or injuries?” When Ginny looked up, he thought she might even be sad. “Er, from the tone you’re using, I’ll guess none.” Harry nodded decisively. “Correct. Once upon a time, when the Muggles were going through the Dark Ages — a period the magical culture forced on them, no less — you were in some mild form of danger. For maybe two hundred years. But aside from that brief moment, you’re in more danger from the classes here than you are from the Muggles.” Motioning at the space all around them, Harry leaned back and smiled thinly at her. “The truth is, Ginny, you’re more of a danger to them than they are to you — unless they want you dead, of course. There is no magic that can save you from their most advanced weapons.” Ginny paused at that thought, and he could tell it was another completely new concept. For Muggles to be in danger from magical folk — through something other than megalomaniacal Dark Lords — was probably a disturbing issue. “So maybe the Statute is there to protect them for us? From us? Though I don’t really think there’s much danger from us. Well, aside from those few problem cases.” Harry shrugged absently, waving one hand in a see-saw motion. “More than likely, Ginny, that Statute is there for some political reason instead. It’s not a Statute of Secrecy — it’s really a Statute of Death. By withholding cures, withholding urgent care treatments that Muggles could never hope to equal . . . you, meaning all of this community, condemn to death — or worse fates — more Muggles every year than all of the magical people that exist on this planet.” Ginny was a little wide-eyed at his bald accusation. “Political reasons? You mean to further someone’s career? I have a hard time believing that.” Realising it was time to leave if he was to meet George, Harry stood and nodded slightly. “You want to believe other people are as good natured as you are. That’s a nice ideal. Reality is different. Humans are only as altruistic as their desires, Ginny, and what some people desire is completely unacceptable. Don’t fool yourself into thinking otherwise — just because your desires are gentler, most people’s motivations aren’t so pure.” “And this is why you hate us?” Harry sighed. She was thinking, but there were too many new ideas, new questions for her to assimilate them in one session. She may not even agree with him after mulling the issues over. “I already told you, I don’t hate you. I find the social and historical setting of the magical world repugnant, and the wilful wallowing in ignorance grating. I have much bigger concerns than what so-and-so may personally think or feel about me, and given my view of your society here, well . . . you can safely guess that I’m not inclined to care anytime soon. At any rate, I need to go, so you can think about it if you want to. It won’t change things we’re working on if you don’t agree with me. I’d be surprised if you do, actually. Either way, we’re still friends, and I’ll still help you as you need it.” Harry unlocked the door and was opening it when her final question caught him. “If we’re so . . . bad, why don’t you try to do something about it?” Stepping into the hall, Harry looked back at her. Giving her the smile Neville indicated was a bit too feral, Harry asked, “Who says I’m not? I’ll find you in a couple of hours, Ginny.” As Harry headed off to meet George, he admitted to himself that Ginny was likely to be an ongoing test case for his long-held beliefs. Since it was now unavoidable that her training had to continue, that meant their level of regular interaction would likewise increase. Their close proximity would invariably wind up in long, more focused discussions on how he perceived magical society against how she did. While it was not something he had planned for, he could see how it would be useful in many ways. She was a strange sort of friend, possibly capable of becoming a best friend, but he could easily see coming to trust and value her opinion — a novel point of view — if she could actually open her eyes to the rigid construct that magical society was. His own views had been hammered out in debates with much more experienced adults. If he could find ways to sway her to some of his views, or at least be more receptive to his ideas, then that was a skill he would use for the others he needed to win over. Even if he failed, he would still have picked up vital practice in both his approach and debate angles. Voldemort had already forced the original plan’s timetable to speed up in some ways and slow down in others. He was slow in taking direct actions but fast in bringing a focal lens to bear on Harry. The lack of input from Remus and Sirius was starting to grate in ways that Harry had failed to appreciate before. Previously, they all lived in each other’s pockets, and isolation from the others meant space to think and recharge. At Hogwarts, he had too much time away from them, and fates were apparently conspiring to keep them apart. He was displeased to adjust to a new reality — when he most wanted to discuss something, there was no one around he trusted fully to do so with. Harry’s thoughts were interrupted when he spotted the twins and Ron heading toward the Great Hall as he was. Collectively, they seemed to spot each other at the same moment, everyone shifting their paths to meet in the third floor central stairwell hub. “Weasleys,” he offered by way of greeting. “Potters,” Fred replied with a jovial slap on the back. “Let’s adjourn to the path of sweets, shall we?” As he was half-pulled, half-pushed into following Fred by George and Ron, Harry voiced the obvious. “It doesn’t appear that there’s much choice in the matter.” “He’s so smart,” George said loudly. “I knew we trusted our own little Dark Lord Rising for a reason.” “He’s not so little, George,” Ron muttered. “Blimey, you’re hard to move. Look, err, Harry, would you just go with us? Save the drama?” Harry grinned tightly at Ron, who looked very flustered. “Since you asked so nicely, Ron, I’d be happy to. Now, I know the where, but perhaps one of you chaps could suggest a why for it?” Ron pointed to Fred, who in turn pointed to George. George tried to point to Ron before Harry rapped sharply on the back of George’s hand with his fist. “Knock it off.” “Can’t blame a fellow for trying, can you?” George asked while shaking his hand out. “Fred and I got a letter asking us to bring you to a little pow-wow. Our brothers want to meet and greet you.” “Brothers?” Harry asked in an icy tone. “There are three others, right? How many are we talking about here?” “All of them!” Fred said brightly. “Looking forward to it, really. You know how we feel about mayhem and mischief. I’ve even brought some popcorn!” Harry had to laugh when he saw Fred’s bag of unpopped microwave popcorn. He was sure the twins knew, just as he did, that a bit of magic could make the popcorn pop perfectly in less than three seconds. “Right. So it’s a show, then?” Ron gave Harry a long look, before he said quietly, “Probably. All I’m saying is, I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t want to know, right? I don’t even want to be there.” Harry smirked back before looking to the twins. “And you two?” Fred nodded quickly. “Yeah, this might not be too pretty. Maybe they just want to say hello, but I wouldn’t count on it. The letter wasn’t exactly a friendly note. Kind of commanding, really.” “A show can go either way, eh?” George asked. After a moment, he continued, “Now, Percy’s pretty easy to wind up, but I haven’t seen anyone fluster Bill or Charlie in, well, years. Not since Mum caught them in the orchard with those three Muggle girls and the two empty bottles of Firewhisky, at any rate.” “Please,” Ron groaned, “my ears ache at the mere memory.” As they approached the statue of the witch that guarded the tunnel to Honeydukes, Harry grabbed the twins by the arm. “So what’s it worth to you if I can get them to throw a wobbly?” Without missing a beat, Fred and George said in perfect synchronization, “A Galleon from each of us.” “Done!” Harry said, tapping the witch and giving the password. As he led the way down into the tunnel, it was easy to see the bright spot about half-way down the passage indicating others. With three human shapes moving about, and the expectation for the three missing brothers to be there, Harry was not overly concerned — but he kept his wand in hand anyway. As they approached, the other three stopped moving and talking, turning to face Harry and their siblings. Harry stood off to one side and observed as the brothers exchanged hellos and slaps on the back, but it was obvious even having never met these three that things were a bit stiff and formal. He was able to tell who was who by the time their salutations were complete, though he was hard pressed to identify which was the largest threat. As the others settled into a loose semi-circle facing him, Harry opted to just get right to point. They were missing lunch, after all. “Right, I’m Harry, you’re a lot of Weasleys, and we’re all here. So what’s this all about, then? I can’t imagine you guys popped over from Egypt or Romania just to say hello, and I’m familiar enough with Percy’s reputation to know he’s never sneaked out of work at the Ministry just to be social.” Bill took the lead, partially by taking one moderate step in front of the others, and the rest by eyeing his siblings. “We’ve ‘popped over’ too much this month, Potter. Fred and George tell me you prefer things to be straight. So I’ll lay it out that way. We want you to stay away from our sister.” Harry was amused, particularly as Fred and George had edged behind their brothers and were shaking their heads in quiet disagreement. “Oh?” Harry asked, doing his best to sound surprised. “Really?” Fred was holding up the bag of uncooked popcorn, waving it vaguely in Ron’s direction, which enticed their brother to join them behind the newcomers. Harry admired the natural flare for life that the twins exuded. Bill’s sharp tone brought Harry’s gaze back on the eldest brother. “Yeah, really. It’s not amusing, either.” Deciding he would actually try to earn those Galleons, Harry tried to keep his voice level as he responded. “Let me guess. You lot vet all her boyfriends like this?” Harry ignored Ron’s reddening face and gaping fish-mouth, opting to keep his attention on the three unknown brothers. They were the variables in the moment; Harry knew he had little to fear from the youngest trio. “Boyfriend?!” Charlie all but yelled. “Like hell you are! You’ll leave her alone!” Percy huffed as he pushed his stern and outdated glasses up his nose. “Really, there’s no need for shouting. Mr Potter is supposed to be an intelligent young man.” Turning to face Harry fully, Percy continued, “No one else has dared date her more than once, so the question’s academic.” “Right, how thoughtless of me,” Harry offered quietly. “You only plan to Inquisition the ones that threaten to stick around.” Bill shook his head, his expression completely serious and, Harry assumed, aiming for intimidating. “It’s not an Inquisition, Potter. It’s a statement. You’re not going to be her boyfriend, and you’re going to leave her alone.” “Do you guys always let your incest-fuelled fantasies rule your logic?” Harry’s question may as well have been a grenade going off as Charlie and Bill visibly startled and paled. Percy, however, remained unaffected. “That’s rather low of you, don’t you think? And completely disgusting, if I do say so myself.” “Well, let’s see then, shall we?” Harry asked drily. “You’re threatening me off of being her boyfriend, but you admitted you would have done the same for anyone that tried to date her more than once. That means you don’t want her dating. That means that you don’t care about her happiness, only that she’s available to give you the affection you want from her without competition. Which means in your subconscious, you probably harbour sexual desire for your sister, but in your conscience you know it’s wrong, so you don’t think about it beyond intimidating anyone male that threatens to get close to her, and that’s only to satisfy your male urges to protect your perceived harem. Therefore, your incest-fuelled fantasies are wrecking your powers of reasoning.” Percy was gaping at him like a goldfish, while Bill and Charlie continued to appear decidedly ill. Fred and George, meanwhile, gave Harry a firm thumbs up while Ron looked like he was trying not to be violently sick all over the floor. Harry adopted a look of horror. “I guess I have to take your silence for agreement. Shall I tell Ginny her brothers have such lurid fantasies about her?” Harry’s ability to keep his voice free from laughter was being pushed to the limit. He was using a technique of rapid speaking with tenuous connections to make a hypothetical argument solely to push their buttons, and it was working. He would have to tell Sirius that the ‘advice’ previously given on this method worked quite well. Granted, it was entertaining. He felt secure in winning the bet with the twins, but he wondered if the emotional scarring would be faint or not. Fred lit off the popcorn, which made everyone jump and effectively killed the moment Harry had constructed. That was acceptable to Harry, as it allowed him to relax his façade of horror for a moment. When Bill and Charlie scowled at him while Percy lectured the twins, Harry asked, “You guys want to try again with the issue?” Bill and Charlie tried to look intimidating again, but it was almost as if they acknowledged the effort was doomed from the start. Instead, Charlie offered quietly, “You’re not safe to be around, and you’ve shown that many times. We want you to stay away from her. She’s been hospitalised enough because of you.” “And that’s all my fault, is it?” “Maybe, maybe not,” Bill countered. “But can you deny the point?” Harry shook his head slowly. “Let’s try a bit of logic again, yeah? I’ve been targeted by others since I was born. They are going to come after me no matter where I am. They will miss, I hope, which means everyone nearby is at risk. So if want your sister ‘safely away’, you need to take her home, since everyone in the castle is ‘around’ me enough to be ‘not safe’.” Percy harrumphed loudly. “That may be true, but you have to agree that the farther away from you, the safer one is likely to be.” “Nope,” Harry said sadly. “I have direct evidence that’s just not so.” Bill turned and sharply gestured to the other three lurking in the back, eating popcorn. “What about you? Don’t you think Potter’s dangerous?” George kept his attention on the popcorn, answering Bill around chewing. “Nah, we’re disciples of Potter’s. We like to think of ourselves as Potter’s Wheels.” Harry laughed briefly. “That’s better than Potter’s Weasels, I suppose.” Bill glared at Harry for a moment before turning back to the others. “What about you, Ron?” Ron held up both hands, full of popcorn though they were. “I’m staying out of it, Bill. But I think Potter’s got the right of it — it’s Ginny’s choice, innit?” “She doesn’t know better,” Percy stated sharply. “This is for her own good.” “So you think Ginny’s a bimbo?” Harry fired back, incredulous at the words he was hearing. “She’s too stupid to understand this?” “Stop that!” Charlie growled. “You keep twisting everything around!” “It’s not my fault you’re thinking with your hormones and your perceived superiority, not your brains,” Harry shot back. “Act like an adult, and I’ll treat you like one!” “What the hell does that mean?!” Bill retorted, his anger visible on his face. “It means,” Harry hissed, letting his anger out a bit, “you’re cowards. You should be having this conversation with Ginny, not me. It’s her choice who she has for friends or boyfriends. It’s her choice alone. If you want her to not spend time with someone else, you talk to her about it.” Bill rocked back, and Harry could tell his point was finally made with at least one of them. Percy looked disdainful of the idea, indicating he was still considering himself superior to his sister at the very least. Charlie, however, looked only furious. His tone was hard and cold when he spoke. “I’m not going to play word games, I’m just telling you flat out — keep away.” “Or what?” Harry asked, completely not intimidated by flexing muscles and testosterone posturing. “Or you’ll regret it,” Charlie finished in the same tones. “Oh, stop, you’re scaring me,” Harry replied in a monotone. Perhaps it was not as believable as he could have made it, so he added in a bored voice, “Really. Scary, shivers, all that.” Charlie alternated between naked fury and bafflement more than anything, apparently flummoxed that his efforts at intimidation failed utterly. Percy was silent but glaring with distaste, while Bill was shaking his head from side to side. “How is it that we’ve been defeated by a kid?” Bill asked no one in particular. “Get over yourselves,” Harry replied coldly. “I’ve gone toe-to-toe with Voldemort a few times. I have been hunted by vampires, Death Eaters, and werewolves. How are you lot supposed to intimidate me after that? What’ll you do? Try to pound me? Try to hex me? Or maybe you’ll just call me bad names?” “Look,” Bill finally offered, “can we try this again, but be more ‘adult’ about it?” Harry rolled his shoulders, while motioning for Bill to stop. “No, we can’t. You either have this discussion with your sister, or you don’t have it. After talking to her, if you want to talk to me with her consent, fine. Until then, this topic is closed.” “Come now, Mr Potter,” began Percy stiffly, “our family is involved beyond our sister. Our brothers, our mother, have been involved in your petty schemes and wounded by these events. Are you saying we can’t talk to you about any of this?” “That depends,” Harry replied. “If you want to know how and why, talk to me. If you want to threaten, pose dramatically, or demand isolationism, then go talk to your family and not someone uninvolved with how your family works. Now, since it’s clear we’re not going to agree on this, was there anything else you lot wanted to discuss? If not, I’m going to get some lunch and perhaps spend some time with my girlfriend.” Harry wanted to laugh at the open frustration on the faces of the three eldest but managed to keep it under control. Having backed them into a corner on the issue, he was unwilling to put it past them that they might try hexing him. He gave them enough time to respond, but the only sounds were Fred and George munching on popcorn and Ron shuffling his feet. “Right then. And for the record, boys,” Harry said as he put up a floor-to-ceiling shield to protect his back as he left, “lots of people have friends that are girls, but it doesn’t mean they’re a couple. It seems all I do is repeat myself, but Ginny and I aren’t together like you keep thinking.” Nodding briefly to the twins, Harry turned and left, his wand gripped firmly. He was not comfortable with exposing his back to the newest brothers three, but if he backed away it would indicate he did — on some level — consider them threatening. By turning his back, he was conveying the opposite; the shield was just prudence against petulant children. As Harry exited the secret passageway without incident, Floppy rose up and reverted to a ball cap with the brim low over his forehead. “Really, Harry, you missed an opportunity there,” Remus’ patient voice told him from the Hat. “About Bill? Not really,” Harry replied, pushing his irritation away. “If he can’t grasp the simple concept of being direct, he wouldn’t be useful anyway. But the bigger issue is that if I failed to make him think of me as an equal, he could never be what the plan needs.” “Calling him an incest-fantasising coward is so much better than being nice,” Floppy countered. “It really makes people appreciate all you have to offer.” “Sarcasm, Floppy? It’s not catching, is it?” “When in Rome, Harry, when in Rome.” The Hat reverted back to a scarf that draped over his shoulder, leaving Harry to enjoy his own thoughts as he strode to lunch. It was shaping up to be a wonderful day. Depressed ‘girlfriend’, family rivalries, unknown agents working against him, and absent mentors — just what he needed to keep himself occupied. As he approached the Great Hall, Harry decided that a private lunch would be far more desirable and turned to the kitchens instead. He would eat on his own, study the intricacies of wards a bit more, then work with Ginny on some meditation drills to at least keep her making some kind of progress in something. oOo oOo Tue, 19 Sep 1995 “Err, Professor, having a cup of tea whilst discussing classes with a professor really isn’t my thing,” Harry offered as politely as he could, trying to indicate he would rather be eating breakfast than discussing this topic. He had hoped that eating breakfast before most other people came to the Great Hall would allow him to eat in peace, not be stalked by the faculty. “So I think I’ll decline your offer for a private meeting.” “Oh, no, no, no!” Slughorn said with a flourish. “You’ve misunderstood me! It’s a gathering of prominent members of our society! Why, I’ll have a Quidditch player or two drop by, some of the department heads from the Ministry, and of course a select few students such as yourself.” Harry perked up slightly. “Oh? It’s not just a bunch of students?” “Not at all! You’ll find, Mr Potter,” Slughorn said with a warm smile, “that the connections you can make at a little gathering like this can be quite useful later in life. I have a few vampire friends that I’d normally invite, but, well, with the changes put in place I’m afraid that’s just not possible anymore.” “Hmmm,” Harry offered noncommittally, though he was becoming acutely interested in the idea. “When is it, again?” “The Saturday night of the first Hogsmeade weekend, six o’clock sharp,” Slughorn said with a smile. “May I count you in? You can bring a companion, naturally.” Slughorn smiled slyly for a moment. “You’re seeing Miss Weasley, of course, and she’s more than welcome. I daresay she would find many interesting people to talk to as well.” Harry ground his teeth at the reminder of the public perception regarding the situation between himself and Ginny. “Err, right, yeah. I guess I’ll come, and I’ll see if Ginny would like to join me.” “Excellent!” Slughorn said with tangible glee. “Simply excellent. I must run along, now, Mr Potter, I have some correspondence I need to finish up! I’ll see you in class this afternoon.” Slughorn ignored the Head Table, turned, and left the Great Hall at a fairly aggressive pace. Just as the potions professor cleared the doors, Ginny walked in, her eyes downcast and her steps shuffling somewhat. Silently, she took her seat next to him and started scooping small amounts of the food available onto her plate. Letting her have the peace she appeared to desire, Harry resumed eating his own breakfast. “This is odd.” Ginny’s voice carried tones of confusion as she looked up from the morning post she had received. Harry had made it a habit to sit near a different group — or by himself — at every meal he ate in the castle. Ginny invariably joined him, either getting up from where she had been sitting or merely finding him when she entered the Hall. “What’s odd?” Harry asked out of politeness more than actual focus. He was preoccupied with the actions of his mentor. Cyril had suddenly re-appeared after days away and then promptly left again after handing over a terse note. Much like his other mentors, Cyril had simply gone to ground, and face-time was non-existent. Harry was still puzzled by it. Harry — Given the change of climate in events, I have had the elves move your possessions back to the Gryffindor dormitories. I will be in contact as I can during the days ahead, but there are too many things afoot for me to remain here constantly. I expect to hear of positive developments along your objectives when we meet next. Cyril Why he was being moved back into the regular dormitories was left unsaid. Either this was something related to the veiled challenge sent to the ICW regarding his own status, or there was some other political pressure coming to bear. While it was true that he had little to fear directly from any students at this point, given the myriad events of the nearly three weeks in the castle, the problem was that his personal safety did not translate into safety for those immediately around him. Dumbledore had agreed to that previously, earning him the private suite, so it was puzzling why the change was taking place now. “It’s this letter from Bill, my brother,” Ginny began. Her words made him pay more attention than he had been. “He’s asking me if I think it’s safe to be around you. He’s also hinting that he has concerns over what the nature of our interactions are.” When she looked up at him, Harry could easily see the surprise and confusion on her face. It was a pleasant change of pace from the depths of depression she had slowly been settling into. As she watched him, however, her eyes gradually narrowed. “All right, Harry. I can almost feel that you know something about this. What’s going on?” Harry was certain she was bluffing. She could never get past his mental shields; that was a given. “I have no idea what you’re on about.” “Don’t lie to me, Harry,” she warned. “You want me to be honest with you, you should be honest with me.” Now Harry was confused. She radiated certainty, but it was inconceivable that she could tell when he was being evasive. “How would you know the veracity of that, one way or the other?” “How do you tell Fred and George apart?” she countered. “Err,” Harry stammered, seeking time. There was simply no way he was going to answer that here, if at all. But how he could evade both questions was unclear. It was, in fact, quite unlikely that he could, if she really was able to tell when he was less than honest. “Let us help,” Fred offered, dropping with George into the seats opposite them. “We couldn’t help but hear Ginny’s question and your lousy handling of it, Harry.” Harry looked back down the table toward where he had seen them before they came over, noting that the twins had been sitting at least fifteen feet away and through a dozen people. Looking over at them, now sitting opposite him, Harry arched one eyebrow, calling them on their misdirection. “Not now, oh mighty Pottery Lord,” George said. “Listen, Ginny, you remember we wanted a word with Harry on Sunday? Well, that was at Bill’s request. He wanted a word with Harry, here.” Fred picked up the conversation seamlessly. “Got more than a word, though, he got a right good verbal lashing. Our Master Potter is quite the fellow to pierce you with a knife a few dozen times, when a slap would have been just as effective.” Ginny groaned and closed her eyes, then rested her head on the table. “Let me guess. He wanted Harry to stay away from me, right? He said some pretty wild things at St Mungo’s.” “Right in one, Ginny,” George replied. “Knew you had it in you. Of course, Harry had it in him to educate Bill on the topic. Made him look like a lump of clay, when he was done. It was beautiful. But based on your question, well, seems like Bill took the moulding to heart, once he got his head out of his arse.” Ginny was silent for a bit while Harry eyed the twins. They had no apparent qualms about ratting out their brother, but then they did have a stated ambition to cause mischief and mayhem. Nothing limited that mayhem to people outside the family. Ginny finally spoke up again. “There’s more to this than you’ve told me, isn’t there?” “Does it matter?” Harry asked, cutting off the twins. “You did receive a letter about his worries. Nothing wrong with looking out for your loved ones, is there?” “It’s not the looking, Harry,” Ginny muttered. “It’s the manner of the looking.” “See, Harry, that is how a proper leader of the light would have talked to Bill. She’ll make Dumbledore proud one day, our Ginny will.” Fred was smirking fairly heavily as he said this. “The way you talked to Bill, though, it’s clear you’re the next Dark Lord Rising.” “I can’t wait,” George gushed while rubbing his hands in glee. “Think of all the people we can cow with Harry leading us.” “You’re right, Harry,” Ginny said before the twins could go on. “I don’t really want to know right now. I’ll deal with Bill on my own.” “Right, then,” Harry said brightly. “Now that that is settled, you two want to tell me how you ‘heard’ us talking through all the bleating sheep?” Fred held up something that looked like a bit of string, and winked. “A new toy. Let’s adjourn to a more private locale, and we can discuss it, eh?” Harry shrugged. “Ginny? Joining or staying?” Ginny pushed the remains of her plate aside, grabbed her bag, and stood with Harry. “Where are you two off to this morning, then?” Fred asked once they were out of the Great Hall. “Charms, isn’t it?” “Yeah,” Harry agreed. “Now explain about your toy.” “Right,” George agreed, handing over another one. “We call them Extendable Ears. Just toss one end at a door or near a group of people, and it’ll stretch out to place a tiny magical microphone by it. Then listen on the other end.” Harry studied it closely as they walked toward the Charms and Transfiguration classroom corridor. “How far will it go?” “Up to forty-two feet,” Fred replied. “We thought we’d get the drop on life that way. We’ve been trying to add a Disillusionment Charm to the extension to make it less noticeable, but it just doesn’t work right with the Extruding Neck Hex we built the base with.” “But it performs brilliantly!” George continued. “We’ve been testing it for a few days now, and we’ve got the volume control down. I’ve got high hopes for these. Lots of opportunities for mischief, if you ask me.” Ginny reached over and touched the stretchy material Harry held. “Very nice. If I catch you using these on me, you’ll not be pleased.” “Tried using one in other magical settings yet?” Harry asked, ignoring the idle threats between siblings. “What d’you mean?” Fred asked. “It works here, we know that.” “No, no,” Harry replied. “You know how Hogwarts fireplaces can be used to communicate, but not move about? Have you tried using one through the intra-school Floo network, all by itself? Say, on the Slytherin common room? Or perhaps in an interesting Ministry fireplace?” “That’s brilliant!” Fred murmured. “Quick, George. Back to the House! This is far too important for wasted time in classes! Cheers, Harry, Ginny!” Ginny groaned faintly as the twins scurried off down the hall. “You know you’ve just eliminated any chance of privacy for everyone in the castle, don’t you?” Harry shrugged. “It’s not like you’re not already in a proverbial fishbowl, is it? Just a couple more lost souls swimming around. What’s the worst that will come of it?” Ginny looked at Harry with her eyes wide. “You did not just jinx yourself like that, did you?” Harry smiled faintly. “Well, they haven’t caught me with their latest efforts, now have they?” “How do you do that, Harry?” Ginny stood facing him in the hallway, and he could tell it was deserted. Only the portraits were nearby, but he did not trust them much. Ginny’s eyes were still dead, but she was asking anyway. “How do you know which twin is which? Or tell what they’ve charmed or hexed?” She was starting to show signs of life, at least so far this morning. Perhaps she was ready to start catching herself from falling further into the spiral of darkness. Curiosity was one way to drive that slow path to recovery, giving her something else to focus on. Harry decided to give a simplistic yet true answer. “You’re not going to share this with your brothers, are you? I sort of enjoyed redirecting their efforts last night on that McLaggen fellow. Prancing on the table while singing ‘God Save the Queen’ seemed fitting, somehow.” Ginny smiled faintly in return. “At least you haven’t had to listen to him prattle about Quidditch for the past year. But no, I won’t tell anyone.” Shrugging, Harry gestured toward their Charms classroom. “I can sort of, err, read magical signatures — you know, the bit of residue magic leaves behind when used. From that, I can tell who is who, if I’ve met them before and remember the pattern. With the pranks, it’s more telling that something’s not right and knowing what that might mean, rather than being able to tell you exactly what’s going to happen.” “Really? I’ve never heard of that before.” “It’s apparently one of the rarer Gifts,” Harry offered vaguely. Seeing that Flitwick was not around and nothing appeared ready for the students, Harry opted to take advantage of the moment. “Look, we’ve got several minutes before people will show up for class, since we left breakfast so early. Will you to listen to me for a moment, Ginny?” She nodded, but he could tell she was becoming more uncomfortable as her eyes flickered back and forth between what he thought was his shoulder and his gaze on her. “Listen carefully. You are going to die. You cannot change that.” Startled, she looked at him with bright eyes. “What?” “Everyone dies, Ginny. Everyone.” Harry paused to be sure she was hearing him and not over-focusing on only part of the message. “Worrying about it changes nothing. You have a birth-day, the day you were born. You also have a death-day, the day you will die.” She shook her head slowly for a moment, and he could tell she was very uncomfortable. “Yeah, I know that, Harry.” “You know it, but you’re not accepting it, Ginny,” Harry said softly. “In the past, you’ve been able to walk around, casually thinking ‘some day before I die, I want to do such and such.’ That’s normal. Lately, though, you’ve been walking around thinking a short mantra of ‘I don’t want to die’ thanks to Riddle. But the other attitude is the right one — some day, you will die. There is nothing you can do to alter that fact. You will not get advanced notice. You need to embrace your death. Your obsessive focus right now on what you fear, what you believe will come too soon, is killing you just as surely as if I stabbed you.” Ginny was silent for a long time before she met his gaze again. “Why are you telling me this?” Harry sighed and ran one hand through his hair. How was he to explain ideas that he had only come to understand after things became so dangerous to him and others? He wanted her to understand what he had learned the hard way, to find some way to accelerate her acceptance of the inevitable. “Only after you accept that you’re going to die will you be able to move past it. It helps you to focus on what’s important and what only seems important. When you accept death, then you can learn how to exercise what little control we have over when or how death comes.” Ginny shuddered briefly, but her head stayed up and her dull eyes seemed close to overfull. “I don’t want to die, Harry. There’s too much I want to do yet. I can’t just accept death like you do.” Harry sighed. The idea had been conveyed, but she had not grasped the real message. Perhaps it was still too early after all. “Wanting has nothing to do with it. I want death to come right now no more than you do, but that doesn’t change the fact it will come for me. There was a Muggle author some years ago, sort of ahead of his time. He wrote a bit about the idea, though he never really appreciated it fully, not like the warrior castes of old. ‘Under six feet o’ dirt tis less easy to laugh; But I’m gay whilst I linger on top of the land.’ If you can accept that it has to happen, then you can move on to try and have some influence over the moment it will come — as much as any mortal may. Think about it, Ginny. You’re not dead yet.” Ginny said nothing in return, so Harry sank into a seat at random. Ginny sat next to him but kept her bag in her lap as she played with the straps. “I think I’m learning how to hate your Mr Riddle.” Her whispered confession broke the silence, easing the bit of strain that Harry had been feeling after their prior conversation. “He’s a right bastard, isn’t he? Funny thing is that Riddle really is a bastard — and a half-blood, too.” “Isn’t there some old witch’s tale about gaining power over someone by knowing their true name?” Ginny asked. “Can’t you use that somehow?” “It’s true in some ways, I suppose, but not in others,” Harry replied after a moment’s thought. “If you know someone’s true name, then you have to know that person on some level. So you’d understand a bit about their history, their life experiences . . . and in a way, that is a power over them. But it’s not a magical form of power. It’s simply understanding them well enough to see things from their perspective to some extent. That helps you to figure out how to deny them what they’re after.” “Deny them?” “A great general of armies named Sun-tzu wrote about strategies for winning several thousand years ago,” Harry explained. “The most effective way to win a war is not to kill your enemies, but wreck their plans — what they are after, what they are trying to achieve.” “Is that what you’re doing, then?” “I’m hoping for quite a bit more than that, Ginny,” Harry murmured. “Quite a bit more.” Their private conversation had to end as a few other students drifted into the classroom, but that was all right with Harry. He had given Ginny more things to ponder, though so far she had yet to argue with him. He hoped if he could get her internal focus to change, she would climb out of her growing depression and fears to really start training as hard as he wanted her to. Until then, he just had to be patient, no matter how much he disliked waiting. By eight o’clock that night, however, Harry was even more frustrated. He had found his home once more void of other humans, goblins, or vampires and had been left to fend for himself. Hedwig had been a happy companion, though she seemed rather agitated for reasons he was unable to discern. Having a close relationship with such an intelligent creature was both a blessing and curse — in this case, a curse because he felt he should have been able to understand what she was upset over. Master Gata had spent their time together discussing Ginny’s physical conditioning regime that Harry had instated. That led to a discussion on how to gauge her body’s ability to handle the stresses of school, training, and her newfound predicament in the big picture. After a solitary dinner interrupted only by feeding scraps to Hedwig, Harry returned to the castle, only to remember that he was now back to living in the dormitories. Even Floppy had been uncommunicative lately, and Harry was worried about his sanity if he was missing the verbal sparring with an obnoxious, unfortunately animate object. He was greeted upon his return by one of Mrs Figg’s Kneazles in the Entrance Hall. He could not tell which one it was, but it studied him warily for a moment before it slinked off into the shadows. Taking that as one more omen for an enjoyable conclusion to the day, Harry trudged his way to Gryffindor Tower, ignoring the whispers or stares that met him as he passed others in the corridors. The Fat Lady glowered and huffed, but she opened anyway. Harry did not even have to ask or threaten her, so in some small way he had at least a partial victory for the day. As he stepped into the common room, however, he was reminded again of the surreal nature of the Hogwarts community. While there were only a few students about, everyone present stared at him in silence. “Right, then,” Harry said loudly. “I’ve been asked to return to my ‘House’ as it were. Nothing to see here, move along, move along,” he finished with waving his hands about as though directing the stares away. “Harry?” Ginny’s voice from behind him was a surprise, and from her tone, she was as surprised to see him in the common room. “What’s going on?” Harry shrugged slightly. “Nothing major. I’ve been relocated to the Gryffindor dormitories.” “Why?” “Your guess is as good as mine.” “Oh.” After a moment, she grabbed his elbow and steered him to a sofa by one of the fires. He sank onto it without protest when she gave him a mild push, and she dropped into the seat next to him, her bag thumping to the floor rather splendidly. “Your ‘trapped in a glass bowl syndrome’ bothering you, then?” Harry smiled faintly. “It’s nice to know I can keep secrets from you so easily.” Ginny smiled in turn, though it failed to reach her eyes. “Just so long as we have that straight.” Harry took a moment to make sure no one was in eavesdropping range. “Ginny, there’s a . . . meeting of sorts I’m supposed to be at on Saturday. Remus and, er, others will be there, too. It’s the group of people working on our little Riddle problem, among other things.” Harry stopped to check again that no one was near enough to listen in. “Remus indicated you could come along, if you wanted to. Meet the others, that sort of thing. I thought I’d offer, since you’re sort of stuck in this mess.” Ginny studied him closely for a while before she nodded slightly. “As long as you think it’s safe, okay.” Harry made a waffling motion with his left hand. “Safe? Yeah, I suppose. But some of our . . . allies aren’t human. Some of the other races are a bit sexist, really, and you may not like how they ignore you.” “Goblins, then?” “You could tell that . . . oh, right, Bill works for Gringotts. I guess he told you about it?” Ginny winced a bit. “Yes, I’ve been told that girls are seen and not heard during business, and that the more senior and powerful the goblin, the more ‘junior wives’ he has.” “Right, then,” Harry said after a moment. Ginny did not look thrilled with the idea of dealing with goblins, but there was not much he could do about it. “I need to get Dumbledore’s approval to take you, but that shouldn’t be an issue. I haven’t decided if I’m going to invite him to be there as well.” “Let me know, then,” Ginny said with a nod. “Yeah.” Harry was uncertain that asking her to go to such a meeting in their current confused state was the right thing to do, but it would have to happen sooner or later. Starting to trust her more now, in little things, would hopefully make trusting her with the bigger things more palatable later. “Eh, Ginny, when was the last time you met with Remus?” Ginny looked up from her books that she was pulling out of her bag. “I just came from a meeting. Why?” “Tonight?!” Harry was unable to stop himself from growling slightly. “That berk, he’s avoiding me. I wonder if he’s the one behind the lemming caper . . . “ “Lemmings?” Ginny asked cautiously. “Do I want to know?” Harry sighed, waving it off. “I don’t want to talk about it. I think I owe him a bit of something, that’s all.” Ginny kept her eyes on him for a while before she shrugged and went back to pulling out her Transfiguration text. As she started reading, Harry leaned back and tried to grasp what was so important to his mentors and why they were suddenly all unavailable or unwilling to discuss recent events. There was something more going on than he could perceive, so the question remained how to get it resolved. Before he could get too much further with his thinking, Fred and George came down the stairs from the boys’ dormitory side and spotted him on the sofa. They made a perfectly straight line in their path to him, vaulting over anything in the way such as furniture or people. “Harry!” George cried as they got closer. “You’re smashingly brilliant!” Fred squeezed himself in between Ginny and Harry, causing Ginny to leave with a huff as she moved over to a table to study. “Yeah?” Harry asked, as Fred made himself more comfortable by not sitting half in Harry’s lap. “You’re just now realising the obvious?” George dropped into a chair facing the sofa Harry and Fred sat on, grinning faintly. “Yes, well, perhaps I should rephrase that. Your brilliant idea about the Floo worked like a charm.” “No pun intended!” Fred agreed. “How well?” Harry asked, thinking of the device’s possible uses. “Eh,” Fred said while waving his hand in a back-and-forth manner. “We need to find a way to cancel the noise of the fire. Never realised just how loud burning wood is.” George nodded his agreement. Harry thought about the problem for a bit. “Sounds like you need a magical version of a band-pass filter. Ever heard of those?” Fred and George shook their heads in negative unison so perfectly in synch that Harry was again amused by the non-verbal messages the two seemed to live off of. Magical twins were something else to ponder. “Think of it like this. If you’re in a room that’s all the same colour of, say, blue . . . and then if you put something in there a slightly different shade of blue, it’d be hard to find. But if you took a picture of the room first, in the initial condition, you could subtract that out from the later picture — and then the new object would show up all by itself and be easy to see.” Fred nodded after a moment. “Yeah, that makes sense, but it wouldn’t work here, would it? The sound of the fire isn’t some constant thing, it’s always changing.” George, though, was rubbing his nose. “But if you could somehow cut that out . . .” “Right,” Harry said. “That’s what I was getting at. The trick is you want to remove the variable noise source. So what if you built two microphones into the end? One aimed out, and one aimed backwards. The backwards one should mostly get the fire, while the one facing out will get the fire and whatever is on the other side. Take out the sound of the fire, and . . .” “Wow,” Fred whispered, “it just might work. D’you know how to do magic for that?” Harry shook his head. “Nope, not a clue. I’m sure you’ll figure something out, though.” Before anyone could say anything else, a shriek resounded from the stairwell and Ron came pelting into the common room. He was waving about excitedly, saying something to Ginny very loudly and much too fast to be intelligible. For her part, she appeared vexed that her studying had been interrupted again, and more so that it was her brother doing the interrupting. “Spiders,” Fred whispered next to him. “Ron’s terrified of them.” “And how d’you know that’s what has him like this?” Harry asked, suspicious that the twins had done something deliberate. Fred shrugged briefly. “We don’t, not really. But every time he walks through a spider’s web that has a spider in it, this is what he does.” “Yeah,” George added softly, “you’d think he’d be over it by now. We tried to scare it out of him years ago, but it just made it worse.” “Scare it out of him?” Harry wondered aloud. “With what? A spider carrying a box of food?” Fred whistled briefly. “Hear that, George? We should try that one next. Great idea, Harry.” Chuckling at the mere vision of what it might do to Ron, Harry wondered about the mayhem side of the twins’ almost unified personality. In many respects, it reminded him of Sirius and Remus when they descended into childhood brawling with little hexes and jinxes cast back and forth, trying to one-up the other constantly. Ginny slammed her books down and stood up before marching over to where Harry was sitting with the twins. Ron was sitting at the table she had left behind, his head slowly thumping against the hard wooden surface. “Harry,” Ginny started, “Ron just asked me something rather unexpected. He’s got this incredible fear of spiders, but he thinks you don’t fear anything at all. Ron said he learned that when you handled a problem recently, and he witnessed it. He wanted to know if you could help him get over his, err, spider problem.” “Spiders, eh?” Harry asked slowly. “These two told me the truth, then?” “Yeah.” She seemed indifferent to the idea, but he could tell she was irritated with having her attention broken from her class work. “Maybe I can help him,” Harry admitted after a moment. “I could make it worse, too, you know. Like they probably did.” He said this with a jerk of his thumb toward her other brothers. “Life is full of risks. Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to tell me?” She did not phrase it as a question by much; it came across as more of a pointed barb egging him on. Either she was truly annoyed at another familial interruption to her plans, or she shared some traits in common with the twins. “What’s he got against spiders?” Harry finally asked as Ginny and twins watched him. “He’s always been afraid of them, but now, thanks to Hermione, he thinks they’ll suck his eyeballs out,” Ginny said with an airy wave of her hand. “She didn’t know about his phobia, but during first year she told him that they feed off the juice of things. Ron reckons that, sooner or later, they’ll realise eyeballs are the perfect meal.” The twins started laughing hard at that announcement, while Harry just sat there in shock. “What?” “Eyeballs, Harry, eyeballs.” Ginny had a bit of a smirk on her face, which Harry was happy to see despite the reason for it being there. “So he needs to find a way to see a spider and not visualise a juice-sucking monster?” Ginny threw her hands into the air while the twins managed to get their laughing under control. “How should I know? He just thinks you can help him get over the fear. He’d better do it soon, too, since Hagrid’s planning for a live Acromantula lesson.” Harry thought about it for a few moments while Ginny stood with her hands on her hips, one foot tapping away in obvious impatience. Finally, Harry had an idea that might work, or it might not, but either way he could honestly say he tried something. “All right. D’you think Hermione might be willing to help us?” “Hermione?” Ginny looked doubtful that Harry had a clue as to what he was asking for. “Yeah,” Harry agreed. “You know, his girlfriend that embarrasses him.” “Just checking, Harry. I’ll go up to the dormitories and find out. You do know that she’s still irritated with you, right?” Ginny walked off without waiting for his answer, but the twins were still there and smiling broadly. “Is this a popcorn moment, Harry?” Fred asked solemnly, his voice completely out of place for the words. “I dunno about popcorn,” Harry retorted, “but earplugs might not be a bad idea.” “I foresee,” George said in a drifting nasally voice imitating Trelawney, “a dark confrontation for young Ronald.” Fred leaned over and adopted an eager expression. “But will he survive?” “It looks rather grim for Mr —“ Their conversation stopped as Ginny came back down, Hermione in tow behind her. The brunette had a decidedly unfriendly look for Harry, but that had been the norm for the past few days. “What do you want?” she asked brusquely. “Right, thanks for coming down, Hermione.” Harry tried to be as polite as he could, since he wanted her to at least listen to the request before telling him where to go. “Ron wants to get over his arachnophobia, and asked if, err, we could help. I have an idea, but it really needs you to volunteer for it. You are the one that made his fear what it is, as I was informed. Are you willing?” Hermione cut a withering glance at Ginny before her focus returned to Harry. Her expression made it clear she had no trust in his judgement whatsoever. “What are you going to do?” Harry shrugged briefly. “Make his adrenaline gland explode.” “What?!” Her response was not quite a shout or a screech, but it definitely pierced the inner sanctum of his skull and reverberated a few times. Shaking his head side to side and doing his best to ignore the snickers from the three Weasleys, Harry did his best to look contrite. “Sorry, Hermione, I was being metaphorical. I thought you’d appreciate it.” “Don’t say things like that, Harry,” she complained. “You’re scary sometimes, and I can’t tell when you’re being serious. What I meant was, what will you use me for?” “Yeah, yeah, so I’ve heard lately,” Harry muttered. “Look, it’s much faster to do it than describe it in detail. I can promise you it won’t hurt you in the slightest, the effects wear off after exactly five minutes, and it might help Ron. So are you willing or not?” “Erm,” Hermione hedged for a few moments, “it’s not going to be embarrassing or something, is it?” “Well,” Harry said slowly, “I wouldn’t think so, but I don’t know what you’d find embarrassing. There’s no nudity, no pain, not much of anything but one Sticking Charm and a temporary bit of transfiguration. I’ve done both spells loads of times, though not quite in this combination.” Hermione flushed at his answer, but he could tell she was torn between wanting to help Ron and wanting to avoid Harry’s sense of humour. “If it won’t hurt, and you really think it might help Ron, then . . . all right?” Her reluctance was clear, but then Harry could see how she wound up in the supposed house of the brave rather than the house of the brainy. Perhaps Floppy knew a thing or two on what to do with scared little kids after all. “Excellent,” Harry told her with a smile. “Oi, Ron! Get over here.” Ron came over whilst dragging his feet every step of the way. The score or so of students in the common room had given up any pretext of doing anything other than watching the strange drama unfolding by the fire, but Harry was doing his best to ignore them. When Ron finally arrived, he looked a mixture of terrified and resigned. “Why am I having second thoughts about this?” Harry waved him off. “Ginny said you wanted someone to help you with your irrational fear. Yeah?” “Now?!” Ron hissed. “In the middle of the common room?” Harry raised his hands as though warding off the question. “Would you rather it be in the middle of a fight to the death?” Ron glowered and grumbled for a minute, before he settled down when Hermione stepped next to him and briefly held his hand. “Yeah, okay. What d’you want from me?” Harry smiled, thinking this was going to be far easier than he expected. “I want you to turn, face Hermione — let go of her hands, she’ll need them — right, now take a couple of steps back, perfect, perfect. Now, Ron, stand still. Hermione, you stay where you are, too.” Ron said nothing, but Hermione gave him a rather nervous glance. “Uhm. Okay.” “Excellent. Oh, by the way, Ron,” Harry said with his wand out, “I just put a Sticking Charm on your feet. Try not to move, you’ll only look silly. Now, are you ready? And you, Hermione?” Not bothering to wait for a response, Harry meticulously transfigured Hermione’s body — careful to leave only her head alone — into an appropriately sized black widow spider’s body. Since he intended for her head to remain unmodified but to have the overall proper dimensions as a real spider, the incredibly vast multi-legged body that reformed around her gave Harry a long pause. The sight before him was almost enough for Harry to feel an echo of Ron’s primal fear, which was being loudly broadcast with the wailing and arm thrashing coming from the lanky redhead. For a moment, Harry was worried that Ron might break his legs off trying to get away from the scene. A mad scramble of the other students fleeing the common room left many desks and chairs overturned, while the twins huddled by the fire, bug-eyed. “That’s cruel, Harry.” Ginny’s voice was in his ear so she could be heard over Ron’s banshee imitation. “You put his fear of spiders in direct conflict to his feelings for Hermione.” “Well, I thought it was a clever idea,” he nearly shouted back. “Didn’t you?” “Oh, it’s quite good, and quite evil. Really, that’s very disturbing.” She shuddered briefly as they watched Hermione’s mouth open and close silently as her multi-faceted body moved about, alternately getting closer and farther with Ron. “I think you may have broken him.” “If he’s broken, then so’s his fear. Besides, it’ll wear off in another . . . four and a half minutes.” Harry finally pulled his eyes away from the horrid yet fascinating tableau, and took Ginny’s elbow. “My work here is complete. Shall we away for a brief stroll to the library? I really don’t want to be here when she gets her vocal cords back.” “Please. I don’t think my ears can take much more of this.” With the Fat Lady’s portrait closed behind them, the lingering yells and sobs followed them toward the library. “D’you think this will help Ron?” Harry asked after a while. “I really wasn’t trying to be cruel. Surely he can’t see spiders as eyeball sucking demons now, can he?” They were almost to the library, and Ginny pushed him toward a bench in the corridor by an over-sized window. Sinking down to it, she gestured for Harry to sit next to her. “The emotional devastation will be a bit hard to predict,” she said after a moment. “I doubt his fear will be gone, but it’s definitely going to be different.” There was a mostly comfortable silence between them. Ginny still did not display quite the same vibrant, fiery personality she had been a few days prior. But at the same time, she was no longer sinking deeper into despair. If he had to guess, Harry would state that she was no better or worse than she had been that morning — sort of locked into a holding pattern for emotional turmoil. “Feeling better, Ginny?” he finally asked quietly. “Not really,” she said after a bit. “I’m just trying to . . . not think about it much.” “Are you able to sleep now?” She sighed slowly. “Some. Not as much as I think my body is telling me it needs, but some.” Harry slowly reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. “Let me know if I can help, right?” She nodded but said nothing else, and he let his hand drop, feeling that the message had been conveyed fully. “So, based on your passing comment at breakfast, I take it Bill’s not too keen on me, eh? Nor your other brothers?” Harry could understand their point of view, even if he thought it was a bit narrow minded. Still, she was part of their family, and their desires to see her unharmed made perfect sense. That did not change the reality that it was her decision, or perhaps her parents’ decision, on whether to associate with him, but Harry really could not hold it against her siblings if they were feeling protective. “I don’t know, Harry, not really,” she replied. “I think it’s more . . . fear of the unknown. No one really knows where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing . . . then you show up, bad things happen around you, so what are they supposed to think?” Harry laughed mirthlessly. “I’m not saying their opinion isn’t warranted, Ginny. I’m just wondering if I’m going to have to keep looking over my shoulder for your family.” Harry let the silence stretch out. There was another topic he wanted to discuss, but he was unsure if it was worth asking just yet. When he felt that a topic change would not feel awkward from the silence, Harry started again. “Ginny? What’s the deal between you and Malfoy?” She froze completely, and it was obvious that she had even stopped breathing. Without looking at him or doing more than clenching her hands, she replied very stiffly, “I don’t know what you’re asking about.” Sighing, Harry turned and straddled the bench, facing her completely though she remained in profile. “I’m not going to push, not right now, but I’d have to be a right idiot to not make the connections. Your brothers read me the riot act about how you used to be, and I even saw a few signs of it myself on the train ride. But ever since Malfoy got kicked out, you haven’t been like that at all, and everyone keeps commenting on it. So what’s the story? It’s clear you weren’t too chuffed with him.” “Harry,” Ginny finally started in a deathly quiet voice, “there are things I really, really can’t talk about. Remember what I told you before? In the infirmary? This is, well . . . his father has this . . . I don’t know how to explain it. I’m sorry.” “Okay, Ginny,” Harry said after a moment. “But if I understand what you’re trying to get at, as long as that family has something to hold over you, you can’t talk. Is that about it?” Slumping into a more natural posture, Ginny nodded. “That’s it exactly.” “Well, it’s not much, but it’s a start.” Harry knew his statement probably made one kind of sense to Ginny, in that he would eventually find out the truth from her when she could tell him. In reality, he now had more useful information to relay to Edgar, such that it might accelerate tracking down whatever was going on and neutralising it. “By the way, Harry,” Ginny’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “I agree with you at least a bit about magical society. I’ve been . . . unhappy . . . with some parts of it for a while. I’d like to see things made better. I just don’t know how.” “Well —“ Harry was cut off as two yowling and screeching cats came around the corner and all but flew past them, disappearing around another corner. The first one looked suspiciously like Mrs Norris, while the second one was clearly a Kneazle. The after-glow of a magical cat was lingering, but they were moving far too fast for him to ever identify which one of Mrs Figg’s cats it actually was. A muffled shout came from where the cats had disappeared to, and then Professor McGonagall was striding around the corner. When her eyes lit upon Harry, she altered her path to reach them directly. “Mr Potter,” she said frostily, “I believe I need to see you in my office. Now.” Shrugging to Ginny, Harry gave a half-wave to the redhead and followed along as McGonagall made a trail back down the corridor. Unsure of precisely what he was in trouble for at the present moment, Harry opted to remain silent as the trek continued. When they reached her office, she held the door open and closed it sharply behind herself as she followed him into the room. “Sit!” she all but barked at him. Doing as he was told, Harry strived to wear a pleasant and benign expression. “Yes, Professor?” “You will explain to me why you terrorised the entire common room of your house tonight!” Her expression was frankly disapproving, and she looked ready to lock Harry in the dungeons. With a sigh, Harry explained exactly what had happened, why, and how. He did his best to recount the discussions and repeat the words exactly as they had been said, though he knew in a few places he was paraphrasing at best. When he was done, McGonagall was still glaring at him but also shaking her head from side to side as though in disbelief. “Mr Potter, you are already aware of the rules in this castle. Casting magic upon another person is expressly forbidden, with or without their permission! The only time you may be asked to do so is by a professor in a classroom setting. Regardless of how impressive your spell work was, you know these rules!” Harry shrugged a bit. “I know it’s a rule, yes, but it doesn’t seem to be enforced much, so . . . it seemed like a good idea at the time.” “A good idea?!” If anything, Harry realised his off-hand comment had not improved anything. “Madam Pomfrey is right now handing out a Calming Draught to nearly every student that was present in the common room tonight. I will tell you something else that has not been enforced lately, and that is your assigned detentions. You should have been serving them with Mr Filch this month, but he has been absent. Therefore, you will serve the remainder of them with Mrs Figg. Perhaps this will keep your idle hands from fomenting further chaos!” “Err, yes, Professor,” Harry said after a moment. It really had been too good to be true that he would escape months of detention through mere technicalities. “Very well. I have no further questions for you. But if you use magic on others once more in this castle outside of a sanctioned or justifiable situation, you will not like the consequences, Mr Potter. I will not give you any more slack in these matters, regardless of who asks for it.” McGonagall stared hard at him until Harry felt himself obligated to nod his acceptance. “You may leave, unless you have any questions for me?” From her tone, it was clear that she expected none but was carrying through with the formality of it. Still, seeing her stand there in her formal professor’s robes and hat reminded him of a question he very much wanted an answer to. He had asked Luna at lunch, and she suggested he ask someone older as she had no rational explanation. “Just one, Professor. Why do wizards and witches insist on wearing hats that are infundibuliform?” oOo oOo Fri, 22 Sep 1995 “You’re out of detention early,” Ginny commented when Harry sat near her on the sofa by the fire. “Did you see Ron or Hermione on your way back?” “Ah, no,” Harry said, wincing slightly. “They’re still not speaking to me, anyway, unless you count grunts from Ron and glares from Hermione.” “Do you blame them?” Ginny’s mouth had curled into a wry smile, but it still had yet to reach her eyes. “Nah,” Harry said, stretching his legs out. “Reckon it’s quite nice to not be subjected to twenty questions from her, or your brother’s consternation over what my intentions are.” “Intentions? Regarding what?” Ginny was watching Harry very closely, and he knew he had just put his foot in it. Her continuing ability to tell when he was being evasive if not outright dishonest was starting to challenge his pride. He was cautious about bringing up her methods again, as it could lead into twenty questions with Ginny that he was unprepared to handle given her apparent advantage. “Oh, the usual Weasley thing,” Harry said as mildly as he thought he could get away with. “What’s going on with my plans for world domination, your mum, that sort of thing.” “Uh-huh.” Ginny had not quite narrowed her eyes, but he could tell she was not far from it. “This wouldn’t be related to the letter from Bill, now would it?” “Honestly? No,” Harry said smugly. That was complete truth. Ron had played twenty questions before Bill had come along and had not tried to interfere beyond a reluctant offer of aid should it be required. Ginny frowned sharply at his answer. “I know you’re telling me the truth, but that’s only because I asked the wrong question.” “Yes, well, so life goes,” Harry offered, doing his best sage impersonation. “How did your meeting with Remus go?” “Okay, I suppose. He thinks I’ve just about got the basics to Level One down, now I merely need a lot of practice.“ She sighed slightly, before perking up a bit. “Oh, I almost forgot. Harry, Remus asked me to pass this to you after my Occlumency lesson earlier.” She rummaged in her pockets for a moment before she pulled out a scrap of parchment. “I’m sorry, he made no effort to hide it, and I saw what it said as soon as he handed it to me.” Ginny held out a small scrap of parchment, which Harry took and unfurled. Harry accepted it with a nod of thanks. 22 Sep — Harry — Change in plans. FM+A relocated to GZ by ‘request’, details per usual. —RJL “Dammit!” The short note did nothing to make him particularly happy. “Sorry, Ginny,” Harry said quickly, jumping to his feet, “change in plans. Tomorrow’s meeting is,” Harry paused to check his watch, “shit! In ten minutes! You can’t join us for this one. It’s not even an option.” Harry glanced at her briefly and saw concern all over her face. “I’ve got to run, or else I’m not going to be on time, and that would be bad. I’ll explain, err, tomorrow. Meet me for breakfast!” Giving up any further explanation, Harry bolted up the stairs to the dormitories. He gave a brief wave to Neville, who was buried in a pile of textbooks and papers, and fairly tore through the protective wards around his trunk. Pulling out a full-body robe of perfect white, Harry dumped his bag out into the trunk without regard for any collateral damage. The robe was quickly stuffed into the bag, the trunk sealed, and then he extricated the Firebolt from under the bed and the protective measures keeping it safe. Rising in a rush, he slammed the window open, his bag over his shoulder, and jumped out the window and onto the broom. He needed to avoid being late; things were strained enough as it was. The rituals he would have to endure on the other side were going to cut it close. As soon as Harry crossed the castle wall and wards, he concentrated and Apparated straight to the open air above the target destination. It was risky to Apparate into the airspace directly over the field, and he was rewarded for his haste with the brazen blaring of a dragon and shouts from the ground. Harry aimed directly for the knot of armed guards, braking as quickly as he was able, and calling out, “Friend! Friend!” as loud as he could. It would not buy him any safety, but it would give him a chance to get near enough to be inspected before he was either eaten or blown from the sky. Landing a few yards from the mail-clad figures of two goblin squads, Harry held both empty hands to the sky and yelled again, “Friend! I have come for the meeting! My host is Da’ath Smowl Crowley!” There was a rapid-fire exchange in Gobbledegook that he had no hope of following, given the fairly limited understanding he had of their very complicated tongue. A lead figure motioned him forward, so Harry slung his bag off his shoulder and into his right hand. With his left hand, he held out the broom. Carrying both at full extension, Harry walked forward. Two guards levelled poleaxes slightly forward of and at either side of Harry, while one stood back with his hands raised. Harry knew the middle figure was prepared to use very powerful goblin magic against him if he tried anything. Harry offered no resistance when the bag and broom were removed, and both were searched thoroughly. The white body robe was pulled out and held aside, before the emptied bag was tossed onto the ground by the completely inspected broom. With a curt hand gesture, the lead goblin indicated for Harry to complete the inspection process. Harry carefully held out each wand, handle first, and deposited them in the hands of a guard that appeared from behind him. Then he stripped all of his clothes off until he was in just his pants and waited for a magical scan to be used. Blinking rapidly from the bright light of the scan, Harry caught the white robe and hastily pulled it on. It was a bit chilly to be standing around outside in so little clothing this far north, no matter what time of year it might be. “You’re late,” the lead figure grunted in heavily accented English. The guards raised the poleaxes, while another stuffed his belongings into the bag before hoisting both and carrying them off to a storage area. “Better run.” Needing no further encouragement, Harry slipped into a provided pair of sport sandals, which automatically resized, and started running down the tunnel behind the guards. The sharp turn down into the earth after a few dozen yards was entirely expected, and he slowed just enough to navigate the turn before he jumped onto the stairs and took them as fast as he dared. Somewhat breathless and with sweat beading his brow, Harry reached the bottom of the twisty and narrow staircase in a personal record time. Following the narrow tunnel at the base for another fast jog, he slowed as it abruptly joined a major thoroughfare, itself on a gentle slope of some five degrees or so. Turning to continue downward, Harry kept his pace to a steady if slightly fast jog, trying not to come too close to any of the goblins he saw moving about. The moderate artery of the underground city was paved perfectly smooth, as were the walls from the floor for some five yards of height. From there, the remainder of the walls and all of the ceiling were entirely natural cavern formations, causing shadows to leap about like children’s puppets in the flickering torch light that lined the walls. At the base of the thoroughfare, where the slope disappeared, Harry continued straight ahead and ignored the other road options. Moving through a giant archway some thirty feet across and forty feet tall, Harry slowed to a brisk walk as he moved into a giant natural cavern, lit with mammoth cauldrons of oil. The light reflected from thousands of quartz crystals embedded across the stalactites. In the middle of the cavern stood a massive ziggurat, three stories of twenty feet each building the structure. Adorning the top of the temple were columns of pure gold, atop which each held a smaller yet still massive cauldron of burning oil. The floor was perfectly paved, with not even the tiniest crack or uneven region in it. Harry made a beeline for the junction of the base at the first story and the gentle ascent ramp. A series of stout doors, each guarded by a squad of goblins, stood closed. Harry approached the central door and bowed low. “I have come for the meeting.” Nothing was said, but then Harry did not expect any conversations with the guards. Instead, the door was drawn back, and Harry strode inside. He was relieved to find he was not late, for Remus stood with Sirius just inside the passage. Several others were milling about further inside, but Harry breathed deeply to know he was not going to create more conflict from tardiness into what was likely to be a contentious meeting. “Remus!” Harry said happily, breathing a bit harder than normal from the pace of his arrival. He grabbed Remus in a hard hug, before releasing him and pulling Sirius close. “Sirius! Where the hell have you guys been?!” Sirius held up both hands to cut Harry off, to which Harry glared, but Remus pulled Harry close to his side and whispered fast and low. “Harry, I need to tell you this, but I can’t really explain it right now. Cyril has an agenda of his own. I don’t think he’s interested in working with our plans.” “What?” Of all the things Harry had thought he might hear tonight, this was far from the list. “Are you saying don’t trust him?” “Not at all,” Remus hissed. “You can trust him, but be wary of his motives.” Harry had to reflect on that for a heartbeat. “So now you’re saying be wary of any of the ‘adults’ at Hogwarts? Everyone?” “Well,” Remus temporised, “I’d trust Poppy any day of the week to take care of you — but not to keep your secrets, necessarily. Other than that, your summary is correct.” Sirius spoke up in a loud voice suddenly, as a door further down the passage opened. “C’mon, Harry, let’s get inside.” Remus made a motion to ask nothing more at that moment and started following Sirius into the inner chamber. Harry hurried next to his side and gave one last whisper. “I need a box for Peeves.” Remus nodded his understanding, but then they were into the meeting hall, and no one was speaking. Harry followed the other two as they made their way to one of many triad seats along the outside of the hollow square-shaped table. Remus sank into the lead chair of three, while Sirius gracefully sat in the one to the left and just behind Remus’. Harry sat in the chair to the right, in line with Sirius. The other groups settled about the table, all except along the far side away from the doors, at which no one sat. As the last group settled, the solid block wall behind the empty side parted in the centre, and three very tall figures emerged. Harry immediately recognised Crowley, serene as ever, and his two peers, Frimdexw and Tulmnik. Tulmnik always appeared lost in his own mind, though Harry knew he seldom missed anything spoken in his presence. Frimdexw was the problem, looking down on those not of the Elder. But today, Harry could see naked fury on his face, which was troubling. Each moved to a solitary seat on the unoccupied side and sat, except Crowley, who stood in the centre on their side of the table. With a gesture, the wall behind him closed, and the doors by which the others had entered also firmly closed and locked. When the silence was complete, he sat and nodded exactly once. “This unscheduled meeting has been called to hear from the Lupin delegation.” Immediately, every eye turned to Remus, who rose and placed his hands flat on the table in front of him. “Our progress over the past two months has been ahead of schedule in some respects and behind schedule in others. Harry Potter has now joined Hogwarts, whilst immediately dislodging the primary makers of instability in the school. However, there was an unanticipated problem with a select group of Voldemort sympathising families, and it has retarded Mr Potter’s acceptance and the image we hoped to immediately establish.” Harry practiced his own meditation exercises as Remus quickly rehashed the status of life in Hogwarts to date. As Remus baldly and rather painfully detailed the things Harry had done wrong, which were several, he also stated what Harry had achieved that they had not originally planned on doing for weeks, if not months, yet. “In events outside of that domain, Edgar has neutralised the —“ A loud clap echoed through the room, and Frimdexw stood, his fury still evident. “There is nothing outside of that domain! I see weakness, I see failure, I see humans who are betraying our trust! Again!” No one said anything for a moment, and Harry knew he had to keep his mouth shut. He was not allowed to speak unless invited to by an Elder. “That is not the case,” Remus replied calmly, “and you know this. True, we have had setbacks. False, we have not abused your trust.” “Bah!” The Elder looked very close to losing control. If the body chemistry were physically capable of it, Harry would have expected him to foam at the mouth based on the tone alone. “What have you done for alliances? Weasleys are nothing! What of the ones we told you to make contact with? What of the locus? What of the denizens beyond the shadows?” Remus remained standing straight, and Harry had to admire anew the strength of his friend. Under the verbal onslaught and the radiating power of the Elder, Harry was personally feeling very nervous about the odds of leaving the room unscathed. “It has barely been three weeks, you cannot —“ “I cannot?!” The Elder slammed his hand on the table again, this time causing it to buckle and shatter in the space directly in front of the enraged one. “But I can! Time is everything! We gave you much, humans, and we have nothing to show for it! And we die waiting, risking! Or have you already forgotten?!” Crowley stood, and Harry felt a glimmer of hope. Without looking at anyone, he announced, “Peace, now. They had nothing to do with your maknoy, and you are aware of this.” Frimdexw glared at Crowley, then turned and gestured to the wall, which unsealed. Without a word or look back, Frimdexw left, and the wall resealed itself. “Continue,” Crowley said as he resumed his seat. Remus, hands still on the table, did exactly that. “Edgar has neutralised the recent efforts of Minister Fudge’s lead counsel by . . .” Harry listened but did not discover anything beyond what he already knew. Everything Remus detailed was something they had been working on at some level for months or was based on Umbridge’s efforts. The primary differences since the last formal meeting of the allies were all about events that had taken place since the initial decision to move the war to the next stage. The more frequent and informal meetings that they tended to have spent less time rehashing and more time planning. Of course, those meetings had no Elder in them. At length, Remus concluded his summary and remained standing. “And what new business should this body be aware of, Remus Lupin?” For the first time that night, Harry saw Remus shift slightly. He knew that only truth could be spoken in this room, but when an open-ended question was asked, the binding magic made for interesting loopholes in what could or could not be ignored. “It has been brought to some of our attention that the Flamels potentially had more than one agenda in place. We are here for the restoration, but there may have been something related to power struggles within the ICW itself.” Harry was simply shocked into numbness. Remus would not state such here without strong belief in the matter, but the idea of Nicolas not disclosing something that could be critical was beyond the pale. Silence remained in the room, but it was obvious that everyone other than the Elder had questions. After the silence stretched out to far beyond uncomfortable, Tulmnik leaned forward slightly. “Would this matter be of the War Mage leadership?” “Possibly,” Remus admitted. “It is of the War Mages in some manner, though we have no way at present to discover what, how, or why.” Crowley nodded at this statement, and Harry was surprised when the Elder locked gazes with him. “This matter is one we know of. There is no conflict.” Remus nodded, while Harry wondered at what Crowley was trying convey through eyes alone. “Thank you,” Remus’ voice called out. “We have nothing further to discuss at this time.” “Very well,” Crowley said, standing. “We will continue this at the next regularly scheduled meeting. Harry Potter, you will remain.” Harry stayed in his seat as everyone else in the room, including Tulmnik, left the way they had come. Sirius and Remus patted Harry on the shoulders as they passed him, Remus whispering, “Soon, Harry,” as he left. When the room was empty, Crowley beckoned Harry to follow him. They moved into the passage that led deeper into the ziggurat, following the path taken by Tulmnik. Almost instantly, they came to a junction, upon which Crowley guided Harry away from the centre of the building. Harry said nothing, for he knew that Crowley would speak when he was ready to, regardless of how much Harry wanted to ask dozens of questions immediately. Their circuitous path kept them to the outer-most corridors whenever a junction was encountered, but this was a path Harry had been on before. At length, they exited the back of the building and walked through the giant natural cavern, arriving at a smaller opening into a series of unpaved passages. Crowley picked out a winding and twisting path up, and Harry followed. They at last reached a moderate, open alcove with a natural formation that opened to the night sky, creating a small window. “As you know, any of the Elder may call such a meeting. It should be obvious who called this, and why.” Crowley remained unflappable, and Harry understood that this was all of any apology that would ever come for this night. “I understand,” he replied quietly. “I did not quite follow the maknoy problem.” Crowley moved over to the window and looked out of it before responding. “There is no problem. She is dead.” “I’m sorry,” Harry automatically replied. Crowley raised one hand in a simple gesture telling Harry that no more need be said. “When you are Elder, this is to be expected. What is problematic is that the maknoy was also Elder. We are Elder, we are not Infinite.” Harry said nothing, for there was nothing he could say. The exact numbers of the Elder were a great mystery, one that he had once naïvely asked about. Had he been older, he suspected he would have been given a sound thrashing for asking a question that was not allowed. As it was, he was merely given short treatment for several weeks, but not by Crowley. Crowley had complimented him, in private, about asking the question that everyone wanted to ask, but no one dared to. “You had things you wished to speak of but could not. What would you ask, young Harry?” Harry blinked, trying to think of what was most important to ask in the time he had been offered. “Riddle. What is he up to, and what should we be doing?” “Plans,” Crowley murmured, “he makes his plans and adjusts for your plans. The game is no longer limited, for he now can act on his own.” Crowley hummed softly for a moment before he turned to face Harry again. “We believe he has something in place outside of what he has done in the past. He has a source of information we have not been able to find.” “So he’s pushing our buttons?” “Crude, but perhaps accurate,” Crowley acknowledged. “He is likely taking the measure of his opponents.” “Lovely,” Harry muttered. “How much of a problem is Frimdexw going to be? Or the other Elder?” Crowley said nothing for a time in response, instead gazing at an unknown visage from the opening to the night sky. “You should understand, Harry, that few people appreciate being reminded of their mortality. On the one hand, it is just the loss of a minor wife, a blow to pride and ego. On the other hand, it is the loss of life itself, a reminder that we are all but temporary residents here.” Harry nodded absently, envisioning Ginny’s dejected countenance. “I have to keep reminding myself that not everyone has accepted their death as inevitable.” “Few ever have a path to walk as yours. Such events to transpire in so little time. Do not forget that it is also a journey.” Harry said nothing in response, for there was nothing he could say that would have any value. To the life of Crowley and his peers, he supposed that the mundane goblins or humans came and went with alarming rapidity, an impermanence of thought through continuous disruption from pesky mortality. Yet even so, Crowley’s days were numbered just as surely as Harry’s were, and the mere fact of their common mortality coupled to their understanding of such was enough to make them kindred souls of the mutual journey. It was their views on life — on the purpose and issues in life — that made them companions in brotherhood rather than simply travellers upon the same road. Any further conversation would be impossible, Harry knew, as soon as the steady tramping of feet making a distant bass heartbeat became audible. The rumble and faint vibration increased as they stood side by side, staring into the night. Within moments, the higher pitched jingle of mail and metal made a discordant cacophony counterpoint to the deep cadence of marching feet, and in some sense, marching life. It had only been a few moments, but the tramp of feet and jingle of metal became quite loud, and Harry turned to see a nine-squad of goblin warriors come into the alcove proper. The glittering eyes in helms of steel enamelled to the colour of blackest night took in everything, which was apparent. No weapons were drawn, and Harry knew he had been regarded and promptly discarded as a threat with the casual ease of long assessment. As a unit, the entire squad came to a halt, all sounds ceasing except for the very faint breeze of soft breathing and disturbed spaces. The leading eight members, two columns of four, dropped instantly to one knee, heads bowed, left hands in clenched fists to their foreheads. The squad leader, standing in back, bowed from the neck, but kept his eyes firmly where he could observe the room while showing all respect. A brief comment was made in a dialect of Gobbledegook that Harry vaguely recognised as the high-priest form, at which point Crowley turned and surveyed the newcomers. Harry knew their time was over, and proper deference was due to the situation. Turning to face Crowley, he dropped to one knee in supplication, both cupped hands held up as though to catch rain from the sky. With his eyes down, Harry said the necessary ritualistic phrase to allow his passage out of the caverns. “I thank you for the gift of time you have granted me, Elder. You honour me with such treasure.” Without waiting for a response, Harry fluidly rose and left the room, threading his way back to the surface, and ultimately back to Hogwarts. Time was of the essence, as it always would be. oOo oOo A/N: About the long delay before this chapter was posted. As I stated in other forums, and in A/N’s on other works of mine, Echoes is a very complex story that takes a non-trivial amount of time to work on. In the beginning, I had a good bit of idle time and could post weekly or even twice a week. However, as an adult with kids and a real job with high demands, my free time is something that comes and goes in cycles. The past year or so has seen it at a very, very low level. I will publish when and as I can, but I will not sacrifice the quality to just rush material out. As I have said many times, I will not abandon this story barring something truly horrific happening. In the event that I am forced to do so, which I cannot foresee at all, then rest assured that I will simply post my detailed outline of exactly what happens, why, and when. One way or the other, you will not be left hanging. The outline itself is in excess of 75k words. A big thank-you to the beta team: cwarbeck and Chreechree for their dedicated editing, plot checking, and consistency legwork; Sherylyn, for conversion and slang corrections; and Sovran for the pre-publication sanity check. Notes on specific parts of this chapter: Material on King Alfred sources from English Historical Documents, vol. 1, by Dorothy Whitelock. This edition comes via Readings In Medieval History, Volume One: The Early Middle Ages, edited by Patrick J. Geary (2nd edition). Harry cited H. P. Lovecraft, specifically, “The Tomb.” You can find it in the anthology Dagon and Other Macabre Tales (selected by Derleth, edited by Joshi). The paraphrasing of the work of Sun-tzu is based on The Art of War by Sun-tzu, translated by Ralph D. Sawyer. The passage in question is from Part 3, “Planning Offensives.” I will also refer on occasion to Military Methods of the Art of War, by Sun Pin, also translated by Ralph D. Sawyer. Some people may think of the mentioned ‘St. Mungo’s Mobile Emergency’ as derived from St Margaret’s New Zealand Chronicles. I had this version planned out long before I read her story, but I wanted to acknowledge that in the actual writing around this plot device I may be slightly influenced by her work. I have substantially different logistics and mechanics involved, but I feel that the credit is due since she did publish a version of the concept first. You will be finding out more about this as the story continues. The phrase Harry uses to Ginny (“¡Ándale! ¡Ándale! ¡Arriba! ¡Arriba!”) is borrowed from Speedy Gonzalez, the fastest mouse in all of Mexico. Its rough translation would be “Come on, hurry up!” or something along those lines. A few wrapping-up notes from prior chapters: I promised more details on the Uncommon Law case cited. The short version is that the UL cases are all fictitious. That said, a barrister in England wrote the cases, mostly to poke fun at the illogical situations that could conceivably arise through the complex layers of common law. The “cases” for UL were published as serials in England, typically in Punch, and widely read by both non-lawyers and lawyers. To the author’s credit, there were several instances of laws changing to redress the issues brought up by the fictitious UL cases — in effect, proving that truth is stranger than fiction. Or something along those lines, at any rate. I used the words cromulent and embiggened in a prior chapter. For those not in the know, these are fake words created in an episode of The Simpsons to poke fun at certain ideas. The reason I used these is that I have received several reviews questioning whether I understand my audience, generally with implications that the vocabulary or concept behind this story — especially in the Theory of Magic sections — is too complex. Of course, there have been quite a few to stand in a glass house and throw stones for my being involved with fanfic at all. All I can suggest is this: writing these little ditties is my stress outlet from an otherwise much more complicated life. Some people watch TV. Some people read books. Some people write them. If you don’t like it, don’t read it. And if you have to pick up the dictionary once every now and then, be glad you’re learning something, rather than losing more brainpower through mindless visual conditioning. |
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