Chapter 29

Molly Weasley let out a quiet sigh as the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station. Her children were coming home again, at least those that still lived there. Percy would soon be making his own way in the world, and she would miss her quiet, bookish son. If he went to work at the Ministry, as seemed likely, he’d at least live close to home, maybe even stopping by for dinner at times.

She shook her head to banish her melancholy mood. Now was not the time to start missing her babies, not when she still had Percy for another year. There was even one more than she’d expected. Poor Harry was such a dear, really. For as short a time as he’d lived with them at The Burrow, it was like he’d been there forever; and so handy in the kitchen, as well. It was a little unusual to find a boy his age that not only liked to cook and was also fairly good at it. From a few comments Ron had let slip, she knew why Harry was so experienced. It was a wonder those horrible Muggles hadn’t made him hate the thought of touching a frying pan.

No, Harry had proven to be handy at a lot of things, some of which were quite alarming. She understood he was very good at Quidditch, but Seekers flew so recklessly, it was a wonder any of them survived. Arthur suggested they go see one of the games, but Molly wasn’t sure she would be able to stand it. He was still so small… it tore her heart to see him unconscious in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing.

That memory reminded her that he’d been hurt far worse off the Quidditch Pitch. To think, that a Hogwarts professor had been involved in the attempted-murder of a student! Even without knowing the victim, the thought made her ill. Considering that the plot had nearly claimed the lives of her two youngest children — for Harry was slightly younger than Ron, and she considered him as much hers as any of the rest — the very thought made her furious. Professor Dumbledore seemed reluctant to dismiss his Potions Master, but Molly Weasley was fully prepared to take him to task if he relented.

Fortunately, the plot had failed… but the way in which it was thwarted was almost worse. The thought of children facing down a Basilisk was both ludicrous and terrifying. But they’d defeated it, which was the only reason her little girl was still alive. Arthur suspected Ginny had been given the book to discredit his Muggle Protection Act, but Molly knew a lifetime of bad blood between him and Lucius Malfoy was also a factor. For a thoughtless moment, she’d hoped Harry or one of the others would curse the cruel patriarch, but that would have led to even worse trouble. No, everyone had escaped unscathed, and that was all she could ask. Ginevra was shaken by what happened, but Madam Pomfrey said that would fade with time.

With that in mind, Molly braced herself as she looked through the crowd of disembarking students and their families. She spotted Percy first. He seemed likely to become as tall as Bill if he kept growing. Her prefect son was shouldering his way through the crowd, traces of an annoyed frown flitting over his features as he was jostled by the crowd. He’d never really been a people person. She caught his eye and he nodded and started moving toward her through the press of bodies.

“Mother,” he said coolly, straightening his shirt.

“Percy?” she asked. “Where are the others?”

“I’m not sure,” he answered. “I rode in the Prefects car.”

Molly frowned. While her children didn’t always get along, she did hope they would take care of each other, especially after such a traumatic term. She opened her mouth, but Percy seemed to have anticipated her.

“Fred and George ride with their Quidditch mates,” he said quickly, “and Harry’s crew usually get their own compartment.”

“I see,” Molly said, though she really didn’t. “Did you have a good term, then?”

Percy nodded. “Examinations were about what I expected. Nothing compared to what the N.E.W.T. tests will be like, though.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Molly said, patting his arm as her eyes scanned the crowd. “Do be a dear and help me look for your brothers.”

Percy sighed and peered back across the mass of students and parents.

“They’ll probably see us first,” Molly said as she straightened Percy’s collar, though it wasn’t really that askew. “You’ve grown so tall.”

Percy coloured slightly and Molly suppressed a grin. Things were all right with him if she could still make him blush with a little praise. She worried about him at times. He was so determined to prove himself that she wondered… but she was just being silly, really.

“Oy! Percy!” A voice called out from behind them.

Both of them jumped and turned to see Fred and George standing behind them. How had they slipped past them? Molly knew better than to ask though — they lived for the attention they received when someone wanted to know how they pulled off a prank.

Of course, Percy never seemed to have figured that out. “What are you two playing at?” he demanded.

“Well,” Fred began, “George and I wanted to see if you were going to threaten the crowd if they got rowdy…”

“Sort of like how you threatened the entire Gryffindor house,” George added.

“Percy did no such thing,” Molly snapped. She didn’t know what the twins were trying to do, but she had better things to do than listen to them wind their brother up. Did they have to start fighting before they even came home?

“Don’t be so sure, Mum,” Fred warned with a grin.

“Er…” Percy said in an uncomfortable tone.

“Percy?” Molly asked, more curious than anything. But the chagrined expression on her older son’s face was making her start to wonder.

“Don’t worry, Mum,” George reassured her, elbowing his twin. “It was all in a good cause. Percy told everyone off when they got curious about what happened to Ginny, and said that any questions would go to him and McGonagall… or else.”

“I didn’t say it like that,” Percy objected testily.

“You didn’t have to,” Fred agreed. “They all got the message loud and clear though. Why do you think we skipped your normal end of term prank?”

George hissed and elbowed Fred again, but Percy was distracted by Molly giving him a very firm hug and a loud kiss on the cheek that left him beet red. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. I’m proud of you for looking out for your sister!”

“Er, right, Mum,” Percy mumbled.

Yes, he’s definitely all right, she thought. Now to look for her younger children. She was prepared for the worst, but she could deal with anything if her little girl needed help.

At least that was what she thought before she saw Harry and the others forging their way through a gap in the crowd. Something seemed… different about them. Her eyes studied Harry’s face for an instant as he stopped and scanned the crowd. He’d always been such an anxious soul, the poor dear, what with all that had happened to him… but something had changed. His expression was still a bit guarded, but he looked more relaxed than she could ever remember.

Molly frowned thoughtfully as Harry turned their way. Being a mother to boys as mischievous as Fred and George had given her an advanced course in reading the faces of her young men, and her intuition was telling her that something significant had happened to Harry, aside from his ‘accident’. On the other hand, she couldn’t imagine what it could have been. He’d suffered a near-fatal injury, and then gone through a horrific battle, not to mention that nerve-wracking confrontation in the Headmaster’s office. He should have been a bundle of nerves, the poor thing.

Instead, Harry’s face split into a genuine smile the moment he saw her, and he raised his hand in a carefree wave. As he led the others over, Molly couldn’t help but feel like she was missing something.

Instinctively, her eyes sought out her other children. Ron was talking to his Muggle-born friend, Hermione, as they pulled their trunks through the crowd. He seemed a bit nervous, which wasn’t surprising — the young woman’s intelligence was a bit daunting, once you got to know her. Funny that Ron hadn’t become used to it by now though.

Ginny was the one she’d been worrying about the most. After her ordeal in the chamber… having her body taken over by that awful book. The really hateful part was how someone had tricked her into thinking it was a harmless present from Harry. The boy said he’d plucked it out of her cauldron after Lucius Malfoy had dropped it in. Molly had no doubt Lucius was cruel enough to come up with the plot that finally placed the cursed diary in her daughter’s hands.

That night in the hospital wing, Ginny had broken down and cried in her arms, but wouldn’t really talk about it. Molly knew she was still holding something back, but she couldn’t imagine anything that wouldn’t pale next to what she’d just gone through. So she just hugged her daughter and then helped her change and get settled down for the night. But when she left the hospital wing, Ginny was tossing and turning restlessly in her sleep.

Looking at her daughter now was almost like looking at another person. Ginny didn’t seem as carefree and excited as she’d been at the beginning of the term, but she’d also lost that haunted look Molly had first seen in Professor Dumbledore’s office. She wouldn’t miss that look either, but she did wonder what had banished it.

Molly Weasley felt a pang of unease as she realized that maybe her little girl was starting to grow up.

OoOoO

Harry had never been overly fond of crowds, and the terror attacks conducted by the Death Eaters during the second war had only reinforced this dislike. One or two well-placed curses would turn Platform Nine and Three-Quarters into a death-trap, and transform the crowd into a panicked mob… So it was with no small relief that he found Mrs. Weasley and the older boys near the edge of the platform.

Harry couldn’t help but smile when he caught her eye. Being on the train again had awakened a lot of old memories and he’d had to remind himself that he wasn’t going back to Privet Drive this summer. He waved at Mrs. Weasley to get Ron’s attention and then began heading in her direction.

The others followed and Harry began reflexively tracking their positions with his ears and his peripheral vision. Ginny was closest, behind him and slightly to the left. Ron and Hermione were behind her, while Neville and Luna were trailing somewhat to his right. Harry found himself doing this more and more since the ambush in the courtyard. Perhaps those situational awareness exercises he’d picked up from a Muggle manual on small unit tactics were more effective than he’d realized. Harry wondered if the Slytherin students they’d fought had seen enough to realize what was happening. He hoped not. Better that the Death Eaters have no idea what they are about to step in when the time comes.

“Harry, you are looking so much better!” Mrs. Weasley said as she fussed over him, straightening his collar and making a determined swipe at his fringe.

Harry braced himself. “Er, thanks Mum,” he said awkwardly in a quiet voice.

The next thing he knew his feet left the ground as he was seized in a hug that would have made Hagrid wheeze. By the time Mrs. Weasley put him down he was seeing a few spots. His head cleared while the tearful woman was giving Ginny the same treatment.

“You had to do that right here,” Ron said. “I hope we’re riding the Knight Bus. I don’t want to see her drive in such a state.”

“Ronald Bilius Weasley, if you can’t say something nice,” Molly began, but then she shook her head and hugged him too. Ron was looking rather rumpled when she let him go.

“What was that for?” he asked suspiciously.

“For being foolhardy enough to help Harry rescue your sister and being modest enough not to make a big deal out of it,” the stout woman said, making Ron’s ears pink. “I’d like to say that goes for all of you,” she continued, looking at Hermione, Neville, and Luna. “I didn’t really get a chance to say this earlier. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”

“Ginny’d do it for us,” Neville said, looking a little uncomfortable. Hermione and Luna nodded in unison, which made Harry smile.

“Well, I’m very happy my children have made such good friends,” Mrs. Weasley said, then paused. “All three of them,” she continued with a smile.

Harry grinned and wondered if he needed to start worrying about another accidental magic discharge.

“Neville?” a stern voice called out from Harry’s left.

“I’m here Gran,” Neville replied.

Augusta Longbottom, looking as forbidding as ever in her long dress and tall hat, didn’t so much move through the crowd as walk and expect them to get out of her way — which they did.

“There you are,” she said, with just a hint of exasperation in her voice.

“Sorry,” Neville said, “I didn’t see you before.”

Mrs. Longbottom nodded primly. “Very well, let’s be off. Molly,” she said, nodding toward Mrs. Weasley.

Luna, undeterred, walked up to Mrs. Longbottom and looked up at the angular woman. “Hello, Mrs. Longbottom, it’s good to see you again,” she said calmly and held out her hand.

Neville’s grandmother didn’t react, though Harry thought he saw a slight tightening around her eyes. “Neville,” she snapped.

“Coming, Gran,” Neville said, making a great display of turning his trunk around. But once his grandmother’s back was turned to leave, he shrugged apologetically at the rest of them, looking rather confused.

Luna took advantage of the moment to step forward and give Neville a brief hug. He patted her shoulder twice with his free hand, but otherwise stood stock still. The blond girl whispered something in his ear before she let got and quickly stepped back. Neville nodded once, then hefted the end of his trunk and set off after his grandmother.

Harry gave Luna a questioning look, but she didn’t say a word. It was hard to tell with her glasses, but it looked like her eyebrows were slightly drawn together. If his eyes weren’t deceiving him, it would be the closest thing he’d seen to a frown on her face.

Mrs. Weasley looked a little confused, and perhaps apprehensive, about what had just happened, but she made a determined effort to change the subject. “So, Hermione, do you see your parents?”

“No, Mrs. Weasley,” the brunette witch replied, “but I’m sure they are around here somewhere. Don’t hold up your departure on my account.”

“That’s quite all right,” Mrs. Weasley replied with a smile. “I wouldn’t feel right leaving until I knew they were here — it just wouldn’t be right. They could have been held up in some of that awful traffic or something. I don’t know how people manage to deal with it every day.”

“Sometimes I ask myself the same question,” a voice said from behind her. Harry stopped his hand before it had done more than twitch toward his wand. He thought he recognized that voice.

Mr. Granger had worked his way through the crowd, his somewhat ruffled looking wife trailing behind.

“Mum! Dad!” Hermione said, hugging both of them enthusiastically.

“Good to see you all again,” Mr. Granger said with a smile.

“I’m glad you were able to find her,” Mrs. Weasley said in a slightly exasperated tone. “I swear this place gets more chaotic each year.”

“Well,” Mr. Granger said, “on the way over, we worked out a strategy to deal with that.”

“Look for all the red-heads?” Harry asked innocently.

The older man, who Harry remembered was a dentist by trade, laughed out loud. Harry let out a chuckle as well, trying not to remember how Hermione cried when they received word her parents had been killed.

“Hermione’s written so much about you all in her letters,” Mrs. Granger said, “I almost feel like I know you all. I understand your study group gets top marks as well.”

“Sort of,” Ron said with a lop-sided smile.

Hermione spun toward him, frowning. “Ron, how can you say that? You and Harry tied for second in our class on the charms final, you came in third in transfiguration, and you beat me on the herbology final!”

“Only because you had an allergy attack half-way through that one and could barely see your paper!” Ron protested.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger exchanged a look as they watched the argument progress.

Harry let out a sigh. “Are you two really both arguing that the other got the better marks?” he asked in a despairing tone.

Ron and Hermione both paused with their mouths open. Their faces began to acquire a ‘healthy bit of colour.’

“Can you two please go be mental on your own time?” Harry asked in a tragic voice, laying the back of his wrist against his forehead.

That set everyone off, and by the time the laughter subsided the other parents and students were giving them a wide berth. Harry scratched his head and shrugged.

Gradually, the press of bodies began to thin as the students and their families began to leave. Mrs. Weasley seemed to enjoy chatting with the Grangers. Harry knew she wasn’t as fascinated by Muggle contrivances as her husband, but the Grangers seemed like nice, sensible people. There was also the fact that Hermione was likely to be a guest again at some point during the summer.

Oddly enough, Mr. Granger had a few questions about magical devices, and seemed very keen on learning more about the Floo network. After Mrs. Weasley assured him that it was easy to lock down one’s Floo to prevent unwanted entries, he confessed that Hermione had been after them about getting their house added to the network.

“That’ll definitely make it easier to get together to work on our summer projects,” Harry observed brightly.

“That reminds me,” Mr. Granger said. “I have a friend who, along with his son, is really into martial arts. They visited us over winter holiday when Hermione was there. Paul was interested in learning more about who trained Hermione after watching her do some exercises. He was even more interested after his son offered to do a little friendly sparring with her and she had him pinned with a wrist-lock twenty seconds later!”

Harry let out a loud bark of laughter. “She’s a bit of quick study,” he said with a perfectly straight face.

“You could say that,” Mr. Granger responded with a grin.

“Daaaad,” Hermione groaned, frowning.

“Anyway,” Mr. Granger concluded, “I told him she learned while she was away at boarding school. He was very disappointed though. I think if you were interested, I could introduce you. He owns a chain of martial arts schools, so I imagine he’d like to hire you for the summer.”

Harry blinked. In a way, he supposed it wasn’t that much different from what he did with the DA. “I’m really flattered,” he finally said, “but I’m going to be tied up pretty much all summer long.”

“I imagined so,” Mr. Granger agreed, “but I thought you’d like to know, anyway. If you like doing it… well, it isn’t often one gets a chance to be paid to do something they like doing.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he promised.

At her mother’s prompting, Hermione was reluctantly making her goodbyes. After whispering with Ginny and Luna, she hugged Harry and Ron. She whispered a promise to Harry that she would keep in touch over the summer as much as possible, but the real surprise came after Ron’s hug, when she gave the red-headed boy a quick peck on the cheek. Her face gave no hint of embarrassment when the twins snickered, but Ron’s face more than made up for it. The sudden shift of attention by Mr. Granger from Harry to Ron didn’t help at all.

Fortunately, Hermione and her mum led him away, in spite of his sudden reluctance to leave. Harry was fairly certain he saw Mrs. Granger swat her husband on the shoulder as they walked away.

Mrs. Weasley was also eyeing Ron, but she held her tongue on the subject for now. “Very well, I think we can head out now. Stay together everyone.”

In short order, they were riding the Knight Bus toward Ottery Saint Catchpole again. Ginny hadn’t said much since they left the train, but she’d walked rather close to him and made a point of sharing one of the moving bench seats with him. She also didn’t seem nearly as self-conscious when the careening bus sent them sliding into each other.

“I’m having flashbacks to last year,” he said in a low tone.

Ginny gave him a sharp look.

“Er, no, not what happened with the Dursleys,” he quickly added. “I mean the last good part of the term. Riding the bus with you and your family.”

“Your family too, now,” she said softly.

“Every way but legally,” he whispered. “When Dumbledore would let me leave Privet Drive and come spend the last few weeks of a summer at The Burrow… I felt like I’d been let out of jail.”

Ginny peered at him again, frowning. “You know, I find myself forgetting, at times. About, you know, everything.”

Harry nodded. “It is a lot to digest,” he agreed. “I’m surprised you all didn’t have me carted off to Saint Mungo’s.”

“I didn’t say we didn’t believe you, you prat,” she said fondly, “It’s just… you’re still Harry, to us, anyway. That’s all. It’s hard to reconcile that with all the Boy Who Lived rubbish, let alone that other thing.”

Harry pondered this for a moment. “You know, that has to be one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. Thank you.”

Ginny didn’t answer, but looked down at the floor as her face reddened. They shared a companionable silence through several stops, all the way to the village.

As before, Ron and Harry jumped to their feet as the bus stopped at Luna’s house. They grabbed her trunk and carried it over the uneven terrain of the Lovegoods’ front yard. The blond witch seemed a little more distracted than usual as she unlocked her front door. “Thank you,” she finally said with a faint smile as they set her trunk down. “Do you think we will be doing any training this summer?” she asked.

“Only every day,” Ron quipped.

Harry made a slightly rude noise, but let the remark pass. “It’s an opportunity for us to be… ready… when the time comes, so yes.”

“I’ll Floo over,” she said thoughtfully, “though it isn’t that far to run as a warm-up, is it?”

“No,” Harry agreed, “it isn’t. We usually do several laps around the inside of the security perimeter at The Burrow.”

“Did you invite Neville as well?” Luna asked, her gaze just a bit more focused than Harry was used to seeing.

“Of course,” Harry said, but then he made a face. “I just hope his grandmother lets him come.”

“Don’t mention my being there,” Luna said in a direct tone. “She rather violently dislikes me.”

“I’m sure you just…” Ron began, but then his voice trailed off. “Okay, so maybe she does hate you,” he allowed.

“Ron!” Harry said, shaking his head. “I’ll try to keep quiet about that Luna, but I don’t know for sure what she’ll do.”

“That’s a first for you, isn’t it? Not knowing what someone will do?” she asked.

“Not really,” Harry clarified, “Not if they are in a situation I’ve never seen them in before.”

“I see,” Luna said thoughtfully. “I suppose it really is going to be up to Neville, isn’t it?”

She looked a little sad, Harry thought. “Yes,” he agreed, “but I think I know which way he’s leaning already.”

Luna nodded. “I do make him a bit uncomfortable, don’t I?”

Harry made a noncommittal gesture with his hand, ignoring Ron’s grin. “Maybe,” he allowed, “but I think, on the whole, you make him feel better too. He’s just not used to someone both liking him and being open with their feelings.”

“That’s just a bit sad, isn’t it?” Luna asked.

Harry nodded. “Well, he was raised by his Gran after his parents were attacked. I don’t think she was really ready to deal with a child again, not on a full-time basis. She’s sort of reserved, but I think she does care for him. She worries about him a lot, I think.”

“But why?” Luna asked. “It’s not like he isn’t good at things.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Neville changed a lot, his first year at Hogwarts. I’m not sure you’d have recognized him if you met him before and after term. I don’t think Mrs. Longbottom has completely caught on either.”

“So he’s spending the summer holiday with a woman who doesn’t think he’s any good?” Luna asked, that faint frown appearing again.

“I don’t think she’s that bad,” Harry said quickly, “and Neville just seems to ignore her when he disagrees with her. Besides, we’ll try to have him over as much as possible.”

“I’d like that,” Luna said. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Harry asked in confusion.

“For everything that happened this year,” she answered with a slight smile.

“Ah,” Harry answered intelligently.

As he and Ron jogged back to the impatiently-waiting Knight Bus, Ron shook his head. “There’s something else you should teach a class on, Harry.”

“What’s that?” Harry asked.

“How to talk to upset witches without getting hexed,” Ron quipped as they climbed back on, ignoring the annoyed look Stan Shunpike gave them.

“Come on,” Harry said, “it’s not that hard.”

“Maybe not for you,” Ron said with a laugh. “Mr. Smooth.”

“What’s not hard?” Ginny asked.

“Talking to you when you’re mad about something, without getting hexed,” Ron said bluntly.

“Ron, I do not go around -- how could you say such a thing?” she asked, fuming, reaching for her wand.

“Shouldn’t listen in on private conversations, now, should you?” Ron taunted with a grin.

Harry made a point of getting out of the line of fire as he sat down. “That was well-played, Ron, but you’ll likely end up regretting it later.”

“Not hardly,” Ron said, plopping down on a bench near Harry and Ginny.

“Then I’d talk to Mum and volunteer to do the laundry this summer,” Harry warned in a conspiratorial whisper. “Remember what happened to Percy and his grundies.”

Ron swallowed and went pale. “I-I’ll do that, Harry,” he said in shaky voice. “Good thinking, mate.”

As Ron turned to say something to Fred, Ginny leaned over and whispered in Harry’s ear. “It’s an interesting idea, but you know I only had the one vial of defective shrinking solution.”

Harry nodded slightly. “True,” he agreed, whispering out of the corner of his mouth, “but it’s not fair for you to always get stuck with helping your mum… and I’d rather cook than do laundry.”

Ginny looked impressed in spite of herself. “That was almost Slytherin, Harry.”

Harry shrugged. “Well, fair’s fair, and I didn’t force him to do anything.”

Ginny just smiled and shook her head as the Knight Bus arrived at the path to The Burrow.

OoOoO

That evening, as they sat around the dinner table with Mr. Weasley, Harry asked a question that had been bugging him since it occurred to him on the train. “Mr. Weasley?”

“Yes, Harry?” the genial man said with a smile. He’d told Harry more than once to call him Arthur, but it still felt profoundly unnatural for him to do so.

“If Draco Malfoy was expelled from Hogwarts, why didn’t Professor Dumbledore snap his wand?” Harry asked. “They did it to Hagrid, didn’t they?”

“Ah,” Mr. Weasley said and made a face. “Well, it boils down to a couple of factors. Draco wasn’t formally charged with a crime, due to a lack of hard evidence.” He held up his hand at Mrs. Weasley’s sharp inhalation. “I know, dear. He did it. We just can’t prove it to the satisfaction of a court of law… especially not with the influence his father still wields.”

“But if he isn’t going to be trained…” Harry said, his voice trailing off.

“Well,” Mr. Weasley said with a resigned expression, “there are other magical schools he could attend. I’m not sure Beauxbatons would accept a student who’d been expelled from Hogwarts, but Durmstrang might not be as choosy… especially if there was a good bit of money involved.”

“Great,” Harry said flatly. “He’ll be attending Death Eater University.”

Molly looked a bit alarmed at that, but Percy was curious. “You’ve heard of Durmstrang?” he asked. “They have a fairly top-flight reputation in Northern Europe.”

Harry grimaced. “I’ve read up on them a bit, when I was researching all my options last year. They teach Defence against the Dark Arts at Durmstrang, only they don’t worry about the defence part. They call it ‘a progressive approach to non-traditional magic’. I call it Death Eater boot camp.”

“Er, yes,” Mr. Weasley said, “I know a retired Auror who has said much the same thing. Anyway, given their wealth, the Malfoys may just opt for a private tutor. He’s probably already got one contracted for the summer as it is.”

Harry frowned. “What good would it do to teach magic over holiday, even if Draco was still attending Hogwarts? Wouldn’t the restrictions on underage magic keep him from practicing over the summer? Or at least not in front of witnesses, right?”

Mr. Weasley actually looked embarrassed at this point. “Well, to tell the truth, there is a little-known clause in the laws regarding underage magic. If a student has an accredited teacher to supervise their progress during the time they are away from school, they are officially exempt from the law.”

Harry stared at the man as his ears reddened slightly. “And no Muggle-born student would have the resources or knowledge to hire such a tutor, while his pureblood classmates are free to study up on the subjects they have trouble with,” Harry said slowly. “Let me guess, the Purebloods lobbied to get that rule added. No wonder Draco seemed to have improved over the summer. He was training hard to take me down.”

“I agree it isn’t exactly fair,” Mr. Weasley said, “but getting clauses like that removed… it takes a majority vote of the Wizengamot to alter or repeal an existing law, and in the current political climate that will never happen.”

Harry grimaced. “It’s one thing to agree that Muggle-hunting is barbaric, but I suppose it hits a little closer to home when it means giving up a special privilege,” he concluded bitterly.

Ron was scowling at this, but Ginny just looked thoughtful. Harry was confused for a moment, but then he guessed what she was thinking. “How do you go about filing for an exemption?” he asked.

“It’s just a form you fill out,” Mr. Weasley said, “but you have to include information on your instructor — who needs to be a professional of some sort, so Molly and I wouldn’t qualify.”

“I was thinking of someone else,” Harry said with a grin. “Would you mind if we had some ‘professional instruction’ during holiday?”

Percy was blinking rapidly, while Ron, Fred, and George looked positively aghast.

Mrs. Weasley, on the other hand, looked very uncomfortable. ”Harry,” she said quietly, “that’s not a bad idea, but I’m afraid we really can’t afford to hire…”

Harry cut her off, hauling out the ‘big guns’. “Mum,” he said quietly, “this is both for my education, which my parents left money for, and for my security, which we had an agreement about. Being able to use my wand without fearing repercussions alone is worth it. But I also have to worry about… other things. I can’t really afford to slack off for three months, now can I?”

Mrs. Weasley pursed her mouth, and her eyes grew a little watery. “No Harry, I suppose not. I just wish it wasn’t necessary.”

“I know,” Harry agreed quietly. “Me neither. But maybe this will all be over some day and we can throw a party or something.”

“We’ll bring the Fire Whiskey,” Fred volunteered, “and lots of it.”

Mrs. Weasley rounded on the twins, but when she saw their smiles, she stopped and laughed herself. “All right Harry,” she agreed. “Go ahead. But I assume you have someone in mind? Do they have the credentials to satisfy the Ministry?”

Harry nodded. “They should. He’ll be teaching at Hogwarts next term.”

Mr. Weasley let out an approving chuckle as Harry and Ginny stood up and began clearing the dishes. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley rather conspicuously lingered in the kitchen as the others left. Ginny gave Harry a questioning look, but shrugged and left after he nodded.

After the kitchen door swung shut, Harry turned to look at his guardians. “I assume you wanted to speak about something else?” he asked.

“Yes Harry,” Mr. Weasley replied as his wife put the kettle on. “Can you test our Occlumency now?”

Harry nodded and closed his eyes. He could still feel a little curiosity leaking through their shields, but when he probed at their minds, he found gratifyingly strong defences in place. “You’re both almost there,” he said after a moment. “I think in a week or two your minds should be completely secure.”

“Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said, “If Professor Snape has been dismissed, is all of this secrecy still necessary? Bill and Charlie told us that, if anything, you’d understated how unpleasant he could be. But he’s gone now, isn’t he?”

Harry nodded. “But there are other people who know Legilimency, and I don’t really want to trust their discretion with certain things.”

Mrs. Weasley’s eyes flashed, but her husband beat her to the punch. “Who are you talking about?” Mr. Weasley asked.

“Well, Professor Dumbledore, for one,” Harry replied in an uncomfortable tone. “I’ve felt him trying to probe me a couple of times, though he didn’t seem to try at all last term.”

Mr. Weasley looked troubled. “This… whatever it is, it’s something you want to keep secret from Albus Dumbledore?”

Harry nodded, his mind racing. He’d been hoping to delay this particular conversation, but it didn’t appear he was going to get his wish. “I know how important he is, to the Ministry and to the rest of the country… but he’s also the man who placed me with the Dursleys. I have no doubt that he wants to do what’s right… for everyone. But I’m not sure he will do what’s right for me, and I have no confidence that he will respect my wishes where I am concerned, prophecy or not.”

“Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said, “You are just twelve years old. It’s… normal… for adults to make the necessary decisions for you.” She smiled to take the sting out of her words and Harry’s sense of irony drowned out any resentment they may have stirred.

“Mr. Weasley,” Harry said quietly. “I understand that you and Professor Dumbledore did not agree about me coming to live here.”

“That’s right,” the man said in a tense voice.

“Was his first thought to send me to the Diggory’s or back to the Dursleys?” If the man still believed in the blood wards after the dementor attack on him and Dudley, then he already knew the answer to this question.

“He wanted to send you back, Harry,” Mr. Weasley replied, “but with measures to ensure your safety.”

Harry nodded. “And he decided this without even asking me how I felt about going back there, didn’t he?”

His guardian didn’t answer, but instead stared down at the scrubbed-wood table. He jumped a little when his wife placed a steaming cup of tea in front of him. “Harry,” he finally said. “I understand your caution, but you also need to understand our point of view. We don’t know what we are agreeing to keep secret, and that worries us.”

Harry nodded and thanked Mrs. Weasley for his tea in a quiet voice. As she settled with her own cup, he spoke up. “I understand what you mean. But I do trust both of you. If, after you have heard everything, you still want to go to Dumbledore, I won’t stop you. I might try to talk you out of it, but the final decision will be yours.”

Harry swallowed, wondering if he’d just read off his own death sentence. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanged concerned glances. “Thank you, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said after a moment.

“Drink your tea,” Mrs. Weasley urged him.

The hot liquid soothed his throat, but Harry still felt claustrophobic, trapped.

“H-how is… our houseguest?” he asked after a moment.

“You mean that stray that followed you home?” Mr. Weasley asked after a moment.

“Yes, that one,” Harry replied. “I haven’t seen him around. Is-is he all right?”

“Well,” Mr. Weasley said carefully, “he was sick for a while, but he eventually recovered. Only once he was feeling better it was a trial to keep him penned up. You know, a big, healthy dog wants to run around and play, not stay indoors all day. A couple of months ago he took off, though I’m not exactly sure why. I imagine, now that you are home, he might come sniffing around after a while.”

“That would be nice,” Harry said with a worried smile, “I sort of miss the big fur-ball.”

“I do as well,” Mr. Weasley said, but Mrs. Weasley just snorted. “Despite what you might think, it is nice to have you back here,” he continued. “So, shall you test us again in a week?”

Harry nodded. “I can also work with you when you practice. You’re mostly there, both of you, you just have a few… gaps, I suppose. If I try to probe at those, sometimes you can feel what I’m doing and that sort of helps you close them off.”

“Really?” Mr. Weasley asked. “That’s quite interesting.”

“Hermione figured it out,” Harry added, “she’s as good a Legilimens as I am, but she makes a bit more ‘noise’ when she does it.”

“I suppose Molly and I could just join you youngsters’ practice sessions,” Mr. Weasley said eagerly. He seemed as enthusiastic about this as he did Muggle technology. Harry wondered if it was learning about something previously unknown to him that made him so excited. For a moment, Harry pictured the man as a scientist from one of the shows he’d sneaked glances of from Dudley’s telly. Or maybe a ‘mad’ scientist anyway, as mad as he was about some things.

Then what he’d said sunk in. “Er, well, we haven’t had to practice for a while,” he said.

“Then they’ve already mastered it?” Mr. Weasley asked. “Good show!”

“Harry,” Mrs. Weasley asked, eying him shrewdly, “does this mean they already know?”

Harry made a face. “Yes, it does.” He hadn’t anticipated her grilling Ron and Ginny for the details.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said, laying his hand on his wife’s forearm. “We won’t press them to tell us, will we Molly? Harry is showing quite a bit of trust in us, giving us the final decision. We should show the same, shouldn’t we?”

Mrs. Weasley sighed. “Yes, I suppose we must, but I am not at all comfortable with all this secrecy. Harry, dear, is this really necessary?”

Harry thought about everything he was trying to prevent. He pictured her burning alive inside the inferno The Burrow had become and had to swallow back a sob that threatened to escape. He just nodded.

He hadn’t said or done anything unusual, but Mrs. Weasley’s face had suddenly gone pale.

“Very well, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said. “We won’t keep you any longer. Molly and I need to discuss some things, but you’d better escape before your friends send in a rescue party.”

Harry nodded again and slid off his chair. After the somewhat closed-in feeling he’d had in the kitchen, the sitting room air felt positively cool on his hot face.

Ron was playing chess with Percy, the twins were nowhere in sight, and Ginny was sitting with a book. However, Harry noticed that her eyes were glued to the doorway, and her smile faded to a concerned look as he stepped into the room.

He gave her a wan smile as he sat on the couch and began massaging his temples. The low buzz of voices from the Wizarding Wireless set was almost soothing, in a strange way, as he closed his eyes. He opened them again when he felt the couch shift. Ginny was sitting next to him, her eyes on her book. But her shoulder, resting against his arm, was a comforting presence. He let out a deep breath as his headache faded and he began to relax.

OoOoO

Of course, he had a nightmare that night. What else could happen on his first night back at The Burrow?

He sat up suddenly, biting back a scream. A quick look around verified that he was in the room he shared with Ron, and not the smoking ruins of Hogwarts. After he got his breathing under control, Harry shakily climbed to his feet. He wasn’t going back to sleep any time soon, but he didn’t want to wake Ron up. He crept toward the door as quietly as he could, plucking the sweat-soaked pyjamas away from his clammy skin.

He made his way down the stairs as silently as a wraith. He suppressed the sudden impulse to stop at Ginny’s door. Such thoughts were beyond inappropriate, even if all he wanted was some innocent comfort.

But as he left the last flight of stairs, he sensed someone in the sitting room. He wondered if Ginny was having nightmares herself, from when she’d been temporarily possessed. He turned toward the presence, but the half-formed smile slid off his face.

He hadn’t expected to find Albus Dumbledore in the Weasley’s living room, glowing in the moonlight that filtered through the windows. His face was grave and instead of the usual twinkle in his eyes, his eyes reflected the glow of the waning fireplace.

“Hello, Harry,” the old wizard said in a weary voice.

“Headmaster,” Harry answered politely.

Dumbledore’s voice grew even softer as he walked toward Harry, his face shadowed as he stepped out of the moonlight. “It took me considerable effort to realize what you had done, Harry, but in the end I was able to persuade the Sorting Hat to confirm my suspicions.”

Harry’s hand flashed toward the holster strapped to his forearm, but in an instant his body was frozen in place. He tried to speak, but his jaw was frozen as well.

“What you did was very foolish, Harry,” the old man said, his tone more sorrowful than chiding. “I can’t allow you to speak, for fear you might tell me things that I mustn’t know ahead of time. You have meddled with Causality, one of the pillars of reality, and you risk unmaking everything when you do that. Harry, I understand that Tom Riddle had been defeated… no matter what the cost, you should not have undone that. But even if you had lost, better a Dark Lord’s triumph than the utter destruction your actions have risked.”

Harry struggled to break the binding, much as he once had at the Astronomy Tower the night the man before him had been murdered. Though some books rattled on their shelves, it had just as little effect.

“No, Harry,” Dumbledore murmured, “what you’ve done is beyond foolhardy. I even consulted Madam Poliakoff, one of the most skilful European Seers, a Seer who can actually control her gift. I was forced to Obliviate her afterward, but she said that she could trace the effects of your… manipulations of fate, as she called them. Every single branching she could trace ended in terrible devastation and war, with Voldemort winning in the end.”

Harry’s rage spiked even higher. Madam Poliakoff wasn’t a Death Eater, but her son was, and she was certainly a sympathizer. After her son died at Durmstrang, she committed suicide. Her diaries revealed that she’d told Wormtail where he could find his old master, helping set the stage for that dark resurrection. He tried to open his mouth to shout this, but to no avail.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Dumbledore said, “but this is for the best. Obliviate.”

Harry couldn’t even cringe as the greyish beam of light struck his forehead with considerable force. Only the body-binding kept him from being knocked off his feet, or collapsing as he felt the future echoes of himself die away. Harry felt like half of his mind had been ripped away and discarded as his future history was wiped clean. He knew he shouldn’t even be conscious right now, but it was impossible to close his eyes as agony ripped through him.

The rattling became more pronounced and Professor Dumbledore stepped back, his eyes widening. Books flew from the shelves and the room’s furnishings began to shift around, moving faster and faster. The pain in Harry’s head and in his chest became even worse, making the Cruciatus Curse feel like a gentle caress. The body-bind snapped and he fell to his knees as the entire house began to rattle.  His chest felt as if it were on fire, fire that was ready to explode.

In the only part of his awareness unconsumed by the fiery torment, Harry heard doors open upstairs and voices call out in fear. ‘Get out!’ he tried to scream, but all that escaped was an agonized moan. This pain could only be his magical core coming apart. He had no idea how closely it was bound to the memories he’d received from his future self, but without whatever piece Dumbledore had just erased, the merger wasn’t stable anymore.

He opened his mouth to try screaming again, but no air escaped his closed-off throat. He heard Ginny’s voice calling his name as he looked up.

Dumbledore was raising his wand again, but slowly. Far too slowly.

A monstrous fireball of raging magical energy consumed the Burrow and its inhabitants.

OoOoO

Ten years later, as they lay dying in the burning wreckage of the Longbottom manor house, Neville Longbottom, and his wife Hermione Granger-Longbottom held each other’s hands to give what comfort they could before the end. They’d done what they could, rallying as many allies as possible, but it was all for nothing.

The Order of the Phoenix, the Goblins, the Aurors, even the Centaurs had answered their call when Voldemort and his forces finally came to kill the other child of the Prophecy. They came, they fought, and they died. And now the last survivors of the ‘Gryffindor Six’ admitted to each other it was all for nothing. Only the child marked by Voldemort could spell his end, and that one had died, along with most of their dreams, when the Burrow had been destroyed by Death Eaters.

“I just wish Dumbledore had been able to arrive in time to save them,” Hermione said as her vision grew dimmer. She still held half of her broken wand in her other hand, unable to let go of the tool that had served her so faithfully, for so long. It was odd that she could feel the smooth wood in her hand, but not the shattered bones protruding from her shins.

Neville nodded, but then began coughing anew, as the blood that filled one lung began to trickle into the other. “We never had a chance,” he said thickly after it subsided, “not without Harry.”

Their hands tightened, saying things that words could not. A falling beam crushed them, saving them from the agony of being burned alive.

OoOoO

Harry literally threw himself out of the bed, his back arched and his limbs flailing. He only partially caught himself with his hands, and lay there for a moment, the wind knocked out of him. He scrambled to his feet, wand in his hand as he looked around. Ron was still snoring, but otherwise the room was quiet.

Harry darted toward the door, eased it open, and then slipped into the hallway. He nearly ran down the stairs, slowing only enough to keep his footfalls quiet on the risers. His wand was trembling in his hand as he carefully peered around the corner at the sitting room. It took a moment for his eyes to recognize the familiar shapes of the comfortable furniture, but once they did, his heartbeat began to slow. No old wizards with long beards, no meddling Headmasters, no well-meaning Obliviators.

But just the thought of his unleashed magic destroying The Burrow made him want to vomit. He dashed across the room, barely avoiding an end table with his shin, and opened the door to the back yard.

Once outside, he ran until he reached the far end of the garden. The grass was mercifully soft under his bare feet, so he dropped to his knees, and rolled onto his back.  He stared up at the stars as his heartbeat slowed to normal and his breathing became more regular. He didn’t have to look at his hands to know they were trembling.

He knew it had been just a dream, but it felt so real. He could still recall the indescribable agony as he exploded, and that detached awareness he’d had as he watched Neville and Hermione die. That horror stirred something from his future memories, perhaps from the timeless period that his awareness had passed through between the Avada Kedavra curse and its insertion into the mind of its younger counterpart.

Was this a warning? He didn’t think he was a seer, but could he be getting echoes of warnings from his future self? But that never happened the first time around, how could his future self even know about it? Maybe the accumulation of temporal energy his spirit had acquired passing through the transit field was making him sensitive to possible fates?

Harry sighed. Or maybe he was becoming hopelessly paranoid. He’d almost had a panic attack after he agreed to let Mr. and Mrs. Weasley make the final decision about telling Dumbledore. He had a very bad feeling about that, but… they have the right to make up their own minds. If he refused them that, or tried to trap them into a binding agreement, was he any better than those he opposed? He suspected his own judgment was becoming warped, distorted by his knowledge of future events. He was responding to people as they would be, not as they were.

In Neville’s case, that had been a blessing. He saw what no one else could yet, and because of that, his friend was far more capable than he’d been at this point in his prior life. But with Draco he’d brought things to a head far faster than before. He didn’t really think there was any way of redeeming the spoiled Malfoy heir, but it unnerved him that he’d escalated things without really intending to. It made him wonder if his judgement was distorted in other ways.

Dumbledore scared him. That much was plain. At this point, if they got into a confrontation, Harry had no doubt he would be the loser. The man had the advantage of both power and skill over him, not to mention almost unquestioned authority within Wizarding society. Harry didn’t think it was so much childish jealousy that kept him at odds with the man as the fact that he couldn’t predict what he would do. His portrait in the future had been very dubious about the whole concept of travelling back in time to ‘fix’ things. It was only Harry’s determination and the fact that it couldn’t do anything to stop him that seemed to begin breaking down resistance to the notion. His past counterpart would likely have similar motivations and no limitations.

On the other hand, being at odds with the Headmaster was also severely limiting his actions. He knew the man was becoming increasingly suspicious of him, and his reaction to the altercation with the Slytherins only underlined this. Working with the Duelling Association was a minor point in his favour, but if the man thought he was just using that to recruit followers or something…

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and muttered something that would likely get his mouth washed out by Mrs. Weasley. The old man probably thought he was trying to become another Voldemort. His close group of friends, his precocious magical knowledge, even his aggressiveness toward Malfoy and Snape, they all must have been ringing alarm bells in his mind…

“Is there a reason you’re sleeping on the squash?” a voice asked.

Harry’s eyes snapped open and he sat up, pointing his wand at the source of the voice, Ginny. She was wrapped up in a dressing gown and her hair was a tangled mass flowing over one shoulder. He noticed her wand protruding from her pocket.

“Watch it,” she warned with a small laugh. “I did beat you in the tournament, after all.”

Harry lowered his wand and smiled sheepishly.

“So why are you out here anyway?” she asked.

Harry’s smile slid right off his face. He let out a sigh.

“Damn, that must have been a bad one then,” she said as she sat down on the grass.

“How did you know?” he asked dully.

“Harry,” she said in a tone of mild exasperation, “the clock said half past three when you hit the creaky step just below my landing. I get up and find you’re in the backyard instead of your bed. When I asked you about it, you looked like I’d just kicked you in the stones, and you weren’t looking too well before you went to bed, for that matter.”

“You are too bloody clever for your own good,” he said in a rueful voice.

“I am a girl, Harry,” she said. “Do you expect me to be as thick as my brother?”

“No, not really,” Harry replied. “But he is getting better, you know.”

“Between you and Hermione working on him, how could he not be?” she asked in a playful tone.

Harry laughed and then let out a sigh. “Yeah, it was a bad one. Dumbledore and I got into it, and we managed to kill each other, plus all of you as part of the bargain.”

Ginny let out a gasp, “Harry, how did this happen?”

With the look on her face, there was nothing Harry could do but recall all the gruesome details.

Her expression was troubled. “This isn’t one of your memories, is it?”

“No,” he replied, picking a blade of grass and rolling it up between his fingers, “this was an original bit of horror to brighten up my evening.”

“Stop that,” she said absently, “you’re not old enough to sound sardonic without it sounding like whinging.”

“Thank you, Madam Propriety,” Harry said in an unctuous tone, “By the way, where are your shoes?”

“Hush,” she said. “I’m going to go through all the reasons why this can’t be real, so pay attention.”

Harry frowned, but otherwise didn’t say anything.

“First of all, how would he get inside The Burrow?” she asked.

“Through the Floo, or Apparating, I suppose,” he answered.

“Wrong on both counts,” Ginny said, shaking her head. “Remember the wards?”

“Surely your parents have keyed him in?” Harry asked.

Ginny shook her head. “No, they haven’t. I overheard them discussing it at Christmas. Mum was all for it, but Dad isn’t so sure. He thinks Professor Dumbledore’s judgment is a little queer where you are concerned.”

Harry remembered Mrs. Weasley’s reactions after dinner and winced. “I bet she didn’t like that,” he said.

“Not one bit,” Ginny confirmed. “She reminded him that Professor Dumbledore’s letter of recommendation was one of the reasons he was able to get a job at the Ministry. Dad said that Weasleys weren’t bought off, by anyone, and that pretty much ended the discussion right there.”

“Ouch,” Harry said, wincing. He hated the thought of causing an argument like that, but it was reassuring to know the dream couldn’t have happened.

“It wasn’t a bad row, Harry,” Ginny assured him, “not like when Charlie moved to Romania. They didn’t talk for nearly a week after Dad helped him move. Mum was dead set against it, but Dad said he needed to do what made him happy. I think Mum burned everything she tried to cook that week as well. Dad made a lot of sandwiches, as I recall.”

Harry chuckled in spite of himself. Ginny always seemed to be able to get him out of a bad mood. “All right, I believe you. It wasn’t something that could happen. Not here, anyway.”

“Or anywhere else, Harry. Merlin, what about the rest of us? Five of your best friends know Occlumency, so it would be obvious that you’d told us as well. Is he going to Obliviate all of us?”

“I think he would if he thought it was necessary,” Harry said darkly, “’for the greater good’, you know.”

“Well,” she said, “it wouldn’t work. We’d know he’d done something. And if you want to recover a memory bad enough to risk damaging your mind, a mind healer can overcome a memory charm. At least that’s what Hermione said ‘after a bit of research’ at the end of the term.”

“But how would you know you’d been charmed?” Harry asked, curious.

“I still keep a diary, Harry,” Ginny said, looking down.

“A diary?” Harry gasped. “You wrote down what I told you? What if someone finds it? Ginny-“

“I didn’t write that, you silly prat,” Ginny said, cutting him off. “But I did leave a few clues. I re-read sections of my diary when I get bored. Suppose I read a sentence in the middle of a paragraph that says: ‘If Harry doesn’t remember why he has nightmares, then Dumbledore erased his memory. If you don’t remember, then he did the same to you.’ Knowing what I know now, I just keep reading. But if I was Obliviated, I’d know something was wrong. Hermione has similar statements buried in her old revision guides, and Luna wrote some in the margins on old copies of The Quibbler that she’s collected.”

“And no one else would be able to understand the significance,” Harry said slowly. “At least, not in any way that could hurt us. Ginny, that’s utterly brilliant!”

She flushed. “Luna and Hermione actually came up with it,” she protested.

Harry gave her a disbelieving look. “I can’t believe they cooked up something that devious without any input from you.”

“Well, maybe just a little,” Ginny said with a smile.

Harry let out a heartfelt sigh. Even if the worst happened, all of his information wouldn’t necessarily be lost forever. The part of his dream about his core exploding was probably just his imagination going into paranoid overdrive. He’d never heard of such a thing happening before, but it did make for a very dramatic ending.

He’d think back, later, on the irony of such a thought.

OoOoO

Mrs. Weasley narrowed her eyes the moment she entered her kitchen and found breakfast already well under way.

Harry looked up from the bacon he was frying. “Good morning,” he said.

“Morning Mum,” Ginny added as she set some flowers in a vase on the table.

She looked them up and down and Harry felt a little self-conscious in his dressing gown and bare feet. “Did you both sleep well?” she asked dubiously.

Harry decided to be blunt for a change. “Not at all,” he said shaking his head.

“I’ve gotten used to rising early at Hogwarts,” Ginny said breezily. “The showers are almost freezing if you get there too late.”

“I’d think you’d want to cool off after running three miles and beating me and Neville about the head and shoulders with your feet,” Harry said, laughing.

Ginny shrugged. “I’m not fond of cool water, unless I’m wearing a swimsuit.”

“Are you lot still doing that?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

Harry nodded. “Every morning, which reminds me…”

“I’ll go wake Ron,” Ginny said with a wicked grin, “you mind the bacon. I hate it burned!”

“I’ll do that,” he agreed. “Don’t splash any water on my bed!” he called after her.

“You seem very cheerful this morning,” Mrs. Weasley observed.

Harry shrugged. “Ginny talked to me a little. I was a bit tetchy, at first, but she talked me down and made me realize how what I dreamed about couldn’t happen.”

Mrs. Weasley frowned. “What did you dream about?” she asked in a hesitant voice.

Harry sighed. “Dumbledore killing all of us, if you really wanted to know.”

“Harry!” Mrs. Weasley gasped, shocked.

“It was an accident, of course,” Harry continued, “but he meddled with something he should have left alone and it backfired, badly. And all of us paid the price, along with him. It was kind of disturbing.”

“I should say so,” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. “Professor Dumbledore would never do something like that!”

Harry gave her a long look before he began plating up the bacon. “He might if he thought it necessary… and he has made mistakes before. You can ask him yourself, he’ll be the first to admit it. I have personal knowledge of one, you might say.”

“Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said quietly. “I can understand some of what you are feeling, but you shouldn’t let bitterness drive you in a direction you don’t want to go.”

Harry reigned in his first response to her words, which was anger. He could rant that no one could possibly understand what he’d been through, which might be true, but would also sound like typical adolescent angst. “I don’t hate him,” he said quietly instead. “But I don’t necessarily trust him, either. And I don’t think he trusts me, either.”

“What makes you say that, Harry?” Mrs. Weasley asked, frowning.

Harry paused, trying to speak forcefully without sounding bitter.  “He never asked where I wanted to live before he planned to stick me back at the Dursleys, and then with the Diggorys. He didn’t do anything to curb Snape’s excesses, until the man set me up to be attacked and nearly murdered. Despite what he claimed about ignorance of Draco’s intentions, I doubt Snape would have cried to learn that the last Potter passed away. Then, right at the end of the year, the six of us were attacked by a group of Slytherins. We successfully defended ourselves, but afterward his first reaction was to punish me, personally, even though the Slytherins threw the first curses.  He finally removed me from restriction so I could fly against Ravenclaw at the last game, but I should never have been on restriction in the first place. Professor McGonagall told me she talked to him, to reassure me, but I wonder if he’d ever have come around if she hadn’t said something to him. No, Mum, I don’t think his first instinct is to trust me or treat me fairly at all.  His first thought is that he’s got to strike hard, to keep me from turning Dark like Voldemort.”

“I wasn’t aware it had gotten that bad,” she murmured, dismayed.

“It’s worse than Harry lets on,” Ron said as he entered the kitchen. Harry noticed that his hair was slightly damp, and Ginny followed him in with an impish smile.

“Those snakes were out to maim or cripple him, preferably for good.”

“We don’t have solid proof of that,” Harry said as he placed a large platter of bacon and another of fried eggs on the table.

“But you know it’s true,” Ron said. He smiled as he took in the steaming food laid out on the table, and then he looked at Harry, who was buttering a stack of toast. “You know, if we move out after finishing Hogwarts, I want to make sure I share a flat with you,” he said, grinning.

“Prat,” Ginny said, cuffing his shoulder, “you just want him to cook for you, as if anyone could fill a bottomless pit like that.”

“What’s wrong, Ginny?” Ron smirked, “Jealous?”

Despite the fact that Ron didn’t know what he was talking about, Harry nonetheless wanted to hex him thoroughly. Ginny’s glare seemed sufficient to boil tea with, so he concentrated on buttering the toast.

Mrs. Weasley frowned at the sudden, awkward silence.

The tension eased as Fred and George came galloping down the stairs, followed by Percy. A row was already going on between the prefect and the miscreants. Ron, of course, joined in with the twins, but Harry raised his eyebrow at Ginny and cocked his head toward Percy, who was growing steadily more red-faced as he was triple-teamed. She nodded, narrowing her eyes at Ron.

Harry distracted Fred and George, telling them that if the best prank they could manage to start off the summer consisted of glue on a doorknob, then their reputation was vastly overrated.

OoOoO

While that was happening, Ginny started in on Ron, reminding him that he shouldn’t make too much fun of Percy for being a Prefect. Hermione was sure to be one when she reached her fifth year. If he didn’t want her wandering around the castle at night with some strange bloke, one they might not know, he’d better ask Percy for tips on how to impress the professors.

Percy and Mrs. Weasley both blinked as the scrubbed-wood table erupted in a bedlam of voices.

“But Harry or Neville can-“ Ron sputtered.

“Harry’s on the outs with the Headmaster, and Neville is too nice to become a Prefect. How much do you trust Dean and Seamus, anyway?” Ginny asked slyly.

OoOoO

“We are more than capable of vastly more elaborate pranks, Mr. Potter!” Fred snapped.

“Indubitably so! Our reputations are more than earned!” George insisted.

“Deeds, not words, you uninspired bookends!” Harry thundered in a theatrical voice, but then broke down laughing.

“Uninspired Bookends?” George asked chuckling himself, “that’s pretty good, Harry. I think he could hang with Lee Jordan’s cousin, couldn’t he?”

“I think so,” Fred said, then grinned at Harry. “His cousin is a Muggle comedian, one of those blokes who gets up on a stage and tells jokes. We got to see him when we visited them at the beginning of the summer. Anyway, he loves it when someone in the audience tries to interrupt his act, because then he can tear into them. He’s actually funnier when he’s insulting someone a mile a minute, and everyone’s laughing, except the bloke getting called rude names.”

The other argument had pretty much died down by the time Fred finished his explanation. Ron was glaring down at his eggs with a red face, Ginny was looking smug, and Percy and Mrs. Weasley just looked bewildered.

The meal concluded in relative silence, and Mrs. Weasley insisted on collecting the dishes as they finished. Ginny and Ron left first, no doubt to get changed for the morning run Ron had slept through. Fred and George exchanged glances and followed them out of the room.

“What was that all about?” Percy finally asked.

“All what?” Harry asked.

“Er, what you and Ginny were doing,” Percy said.

“Oh, that,” Harry replied. “Well, three on one is hardly sporting, even if you are smarter, is it now?”

Harry stood up, stepped past a somewhat stunned Mrs. Weasley,rinsed off his plate and glass in the sink, and then kissed her on the cheek as he walked by her, following Ron and Ginny.

The silence behind him was thunderous as he walked toward the stairs.

A/N:

Welcome to Year 3: The Dementors of Azkaban.

Many thanks to my Betas, the comely Runsamok and the brilliant, if twisted Kokopelli! (Funny how my author notes seem to get edited, isn’t it?)

Sorry for the delays, my home computer was in the shop for a couple of weeks, and it’s the one I do ninety-five percent of my writing on.

I was tempted to end the chapter after the scene with Hermione and Neville dying, but I really would get tired of the death threats I’d receive if I did that. *grin*

Yes, reviews inspire me to write more often and for longer, and the ‘meatier’ the better. What did you like or dislike? What made you laugh out loud or gasp (if anything).

A couple of issues seem to pop up every so often that I will address:

Maturity level of the students: First, keep in mind that Wizarding children are born into a society where they are given access to deadly weapons at the age of eleven. Also, despite Wizarding life-spans, James and Lily getting married right after graduating from Hogwarts was not seen as anything unusual. Those two facts highlight that (well-adjusted) children grow up rather quickly in the Wizarding world.

Second, Harry acts more mature than his apparent age for obvious reasons. When you have a group of children when one member acts much more mature than the others, one of two things will happen. The outlier will regress to match the cohort, or the cohort will progress to meet the higher standard of behaviour. When the abnormally mature outlier is also the social dominant of that group, the second outcome becomes far more likely. This is why you see Ron and the others act more mature the longer he’s been friends with Harry. (With the occasional backsliding, of course.)

Romance/shipping: Yes, I am aware of the ages of the characters. Keep in mind the points raised above regarding Wizarding society, but relax for now. Harry hasn’t even definitely finished going through puberty yet. (He notices Cho Chang is pretty during the match in his third year, and that’s the first strong indicator of interest from canon-Harry. It also surprised him a bit.) So, while some characters are very aware of other characters, they haven’t forgotten what age they are either.

Well, maybe in Luna’s case, but she’s a little odd.

For most of them, call it “good friend for now, let’s wait and see what happens later on.”

And of course, that doesn’t mean that other parties might not make assumptions…