The light looked odd the next morning when Harry sat up in bed. Frowning, he almost flicked his hand to cast Tempus, but at the last moment realised that he didn't want to fall into bad habits, so he grabbed his wand off the night table.

An image of a clock flew out the end of his fingers to hover in the air. For a moment, Harry just stared at it. Then, shaking his head, he rolled out of bed and padded off to have a shower, but all the while, he was really wondering only one thing:

Why had his father let him laze about in bed until nearly eleven?

It was well past eleven by the time he made it out into the living room, and then, it was to find that his father and brother had obviously had breakfast without him, since there was a plate of bangers and toast waiting on the table, the haze around it hinting at a lingering warming charm.

"What's going on?" Harry erupted, crossing his arms.

Draco looked up from the magazine he'd been reading. The Economist. He'd started borrowing Muggle magazines from the stacks at Marsha's office, but more often than not, he complained they didn't make any sense to him. "Well, well. Look who's finally awake. I was starting to think you'd sleep all day."

Harry glanced from Draco to Severus. "Any reason why nobody woke me for breakfast?"

For a moment, Draco looked startled, and then he laughed. "Yes, there's a reason, birthday boy!"

"Mind telling me, then?"

That only made Draco laugh all the harder. "Because it's your birthday, you dolt!"

Oh. That's right, it was. Harry felt himself colouring, and to cover it, he turned to glare at his father. "I never would have taken you for the type to let me have a lie-in just because it's my birthday."

"How well you know me," murmured Snape, raising one eyebrow.

"I had to cajole him into it," admitted Draco, setting his magazine aside as he rose to his feet. "I always got to sleep in, as long as I liked, every year on my birthday. That's how purebloods do things."

"Is it?" asked Snape sardonically.

Harry took that to mean that Snape had never been allowed a lie-in on his birthday.

"All right, so it's not a pureblood thing at all," said Draco, clearly exasperated. "It is, however, a consideration I always got on my birthday, and which all my friends got as well, at least until we went to Hogwarts and a certain Head of House told us no in no uncertain terms, though he couldn't do anything about those of us with summer birthdays, could he now?"

Harry had the feeling his brother had had to do quite a bit of cajoling, earlier. "Hey, don't pick a fight with Dad," he said, laughing a little bit. Hmm, didn't help much; Snape was still glowering at Draco. "Not on my birthday."

"Strange that you didn't remember it was."

"No, not so very strange," said Snape as he came to stand near Harry. A gentle tap on Harry's shoulder had him turning to face the man. "Birthdays for you have always been a solitary, late-night affair, haven't they? Come morning, there was never any acknowledgement of the date."

Oh. Maybe that was why he had been glowering so much.

"Yeah," said Harry thickly. He could have said more, but there wasn't really any point. All those years when his birthday had been ignored by everyone except him . . . he really should stop thinking about them. He had a family, now.

"Eating breakfast without you, we didn't mean that in a bad way," added Draco, sounding like he'd just then realised that it wasn't a joke, Harry forgetting it was his birthday. "I thought you'd like to sleep in, that's all."

"Well, I do feel rested," said Harry as he glanced doubtfully at the plate waiting for him. "Though I don't know that I want any breakfast, now. Bit late, really."

"An early lunch is perhaps in order," murmured Snape as he banished the breakfast plate.

"I think it's my turn to do the dishes, actually."

"It's your special day, Harry," said Draco, shaking his head. "You're supposed to enjoy it."

"All right, then, I will." Harry sat down at the table, grinning, determined to do just that.

It was a determination that was short-lived, however. Half-way through lunch, Snape's mark began to burn.

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An emergency Portkey took them straight back to Snape's quarters at Hogwarts. Snape fairly staggered as they landed, almost falling as he stepped towards his potions lab.

"Worse than usual, Severus?" asked Draco as he reached a hand out to steady their father.

"He must be . . ." Snape gasped and clutched his arm, just below where Harry knew the mark was. "He must be calling a great many at once, this time. Perhaps . . . everyone."

"Shite," swore Draco. And then, in tones of taking charge, "Harry, you get Severus as comfortable as possible. I'll start the stasis potion."

Harry got Snape settled into a chair in the corner of his potions lab, summoned the Lotion Potion, and tried to help the man apply it. Snape had other ideas, though, and batted Harry's hands away, practically growling.

"All right, all right," said Harry, backing up a little to give him some room. He remembered what it had been like to have Pomfrey fuss over him. Damned annoying, and being in a lot of pain only made it that much worse. "Does anything else help?" he asked when Snape set the flask of salve aside. "Ice, maybe, or a strong cooling charm, or--"

"Were you, or were you not, here the last time we had to do this?" barked Snape, not waiting for an answer. "Then you should remember that very little else can help!"

"Oh, yeah?" said Harry, his own frustration boiling over. His father shouldn't have to go through this, damn it! "Regular numbing spells might not do much for you, but I damned well think a wanded one of mine would, if you'd trust me enough to cast one--"

"Cut the crap, Potter," snapped Draco as he rapidly set out a row of ingredients, everything lined up in the proper order. "You aren't trying out something untested on Dad. If you have to play the hero so badly, then do it right and vivisect some rats or something, and cast your--"

"Draco, pay attention to your work," interrupted Snape, before swiveling his dark gaze back to Harry. "As for you, it's not a matter of trust. As you should know, since I insisted you be allowed to join the Order, you and Draco both. Now, conduct yourself as an adult and a member thereof, and contact Albus so that I can report this to him!"

Harry instantly felt ashamed. "Right," he said, nodding. "Send my Patronus to his office, then? What if he's not there? Will it know to search him out, or . . . are Patronuses like post owls and they can find people?"

"Patroni," muttered Draco as he tapped his wand to the counter to light a fire under a large pewter cauldron.

"Floo to Albus' office," said Snape in a weary voice. "If he is not present, write a message and give it to Fawkes. Then, wait. Albus will appear shortly."

"What if Draco needs help with the brewing--"

That had Snape looking even more annoyed than had the offer of wanded magic. "I am not an invalid, Harry. I am merely in a considerable amount of pain."

"Go, Harry," said Draco, stirring with one hand while he used the other to sprinkle mugwort into the cauldron. "Things here are under control. And you have your instructions."

Member of the Order, right. And an adult wizard, now. Time to grow up.

Harry spun on his heel and left without another word.

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He was back in less than five minutes, Dumbledore at his side. By that time, Snape was sweating even in the cool of the dungeons. Without saying anything this time, Harry brought him an iced drink, which Snape took with no more than a half-glower.

He sipped the drink as he gave his a succinct report to the headmaster, who listened to it all without comment, and then began shaking his head.

"It's been such a quiet summer that I had begun to hope . . ."

"What?" asked Snape caustically. "That Voldemort had reformed?"

"That his dabbling with Muggle medicine had permanently limited his ability to cause harm to others," finished Dumbledore calmly.

Snape's water sloshed in his glass as he made moved his arm sharply, the gesture screaming irritation. "Lupin's sporadic reports alone have put paid to that hope. You know as well as I that Voldemort is none the worse for the experience, though apparently none the better."

"Still, an old man can harbour a fantasy, Severus . . ."

Snape's expression alone said what he thought of that. Then it looked like a shutter had closed over his emotions. "Lupin will be in touch as soon as possible, I'm sure, to inform the Order as to what takes place at today's meeting."

"Isn't a daylight meeting a bit odd?" ventured Harry.

"Odd, but not unheard of."

Harry chewed his lip. "Has he often summoned his Death Eaters on my birthday, like this?"

"This isn't about you," said Snape, his voice suddenly a hard one that demanded Harry's full attention. "Whatever may happen, it isn't your fault."

Harry heard what his father hadn't said. Whomever may be killed, it isn't your fault.

"Your sons seem to have matters well in hand," said Albus, patting Snape's shoulder. Snape glared at the headmaster's hand as though offended, but he didn't shove it away. "Thank you for your report, Severus. I'll return as soon as I know anything."

Snape gave a curt nod; Albus replied with a kind smile as he left.

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It was nearing five o'clock before the headmaster made another appearance.

"Good timing," said Harry. "We just finished."

"How are you, Severus?" asked Albus, bending down a little.

Snape gave him a baleful glance, at which the headmaster straightened. "Tired."

Draco tucked his wand away after finishing restoring the lab to a pristine, ready-to-brew condition, and gestured toward the vat of Dark Marks. Harry had been trying not to look at it. The mere sight made his arms itch something awful, but with his father's sharp eyes on him--tired or no--he'd managed not to scratch.

Well, at least with the entire process finished, the marks were quiet for the moment.

"That lot's ready to be put in deep storage again," said Draco. "Though I suppose it can wait if you're not feeling up to it, Severus."

"Now is better." Snape drew his wand and cast a complex spell, sending send the vat into the hidden wizardspaced cabinets in his lab. Afterwards, he slumped in his chair, but only for a moment. It was as though he'd forgotten they weren't alone, but only for a moment. "You have news for us, Headmaster?"

"Ah, yes. I've heard from Remus Lupin. Voldemort was indeed calling all his followers, just as Harry mentioned as your suspicion, Severus."

Harry wished there were another chair in the lab, because his stomach suddenly swam so much that he felt ill. "It's going to be bad, then, whatever they're up to. Really bad. Some horrible attack, something huge to need so many Death Eaters involved at once."

Snape's gaze captured his, the message in those dark eyes one Harry couldn't miss. Not your fault.

"Actually, no," said Dumbledore, stroking his beard, his own eyes looking like he was calculating a chess moves. "Remus informed me that Voldemort has abruptly ordered his followers to distant places abroad. He toyed with overseas recruitment this past year, as you know, but now it seems that he's going to pursue it in earnest. Remus himself was assigned to France and was required to leave at once, as were the others."

Harry blinked. "Every Death Eater has left Britain, you mean?"

"That was Lupin's report, yes."

"Well, that's just strange," said Draco. When Harry glanced his way, the other boy's forehead was wrinkled. "In all the gossip I ever heard, there was never a contingency plan for anything like that."

Albus' hand paused. "Nevertheless, it is true that the Death Eaters are now fanned out across the Continent. Remus has confirmed it. The largest concentration seems to be in Eastern Europe."

"And Voldemort himself remains in Britain?" asked Severus.

"Yes, by all accounts in Little Hangleton."

"There wasn't any attack?"

"No, my boy," said Dumbledore, his eyes compassionate as he steadied them on Harry. "None of any kind."

Harry's breath hitched as something else occurred to him. "Maybe this is our chance, then." Once the idea sprouted in his mind, it seemed to grow and blossom on its own. "Yeah, it's perfect. You know how we heard that Voldemort hadn't reacted so well to having his bone marrow sucked out? Well, the operation must have addled his brains! Why else would he send all his Death Eaters out of the country and leave himself alone and vulnerable? He's like a sitting duck now, and we should be the ones to attack--"

"Just because Voldemort may be alone does not make him vulnerable," interrupted Snape.

"Well, he doesn't have my dark powers--"

"He might, you idiot child! Do you seriously believe that Lupin, Lupin, is so much a member of the inner circle that he is privy to Voldemort's every secret?"

"Calm yourself, Severus," said Dumbledore, very softly.

Instead, Snape practically snorted. "Calm myself. Calm myself! Not bloody likely, Albus. You know what trouble this boy gets himself into, how Harry lives to hurl himself into danger at the least provocation, how he decides on a course of action and damns the consequences--"

"Excuse me," interrupted Harry, raising his voice. "I'm not a boy, all right? Starting today, I'm an adult. A man, and you talk like you think I haven't grown up since the last time I damned the consequences and got Sirius thrown backwards through that Veil! Well, I have, so just fuck off!"

A faint tinge of colour splashed Dumbledore's cheeks. "Harry. Really."

Snape ignored the last part of Harry's outburst. "Yes, you have grown up. I know you have. But old habits die hard, and I simply cannot stand the thought that you may strike out on your own--"

"For God's sake! I'm not mental enough to go to Little Hangleton alone!"

"--and find yourself a victim of this trap."

That brought Harry up short. "Trap?"

Harry hadn't noticed until then, but Draco had moved to stand right alongside him. Now, he rested three fingertips on Harry's forearm, just for a moment. "It could be, Harry. It reeks of one. Why else would the Dark Lord do something so radically out of character, and leave himself without the phalanx of Death Eaters he usually keeps about? It sounds to me like he's trying to tempt the Order to attack."

"But if that operation made him lose his mind--"

"It didn't," said Snape, very gently. "He's trying to see if we will lose ours, and forget, in our excitement, that this information may be a deliberate plant to lure us in."

Harry gritted his teeth. "If he wanted to lure me in, wouldn't he start torturing somebody I care about, and taunt me with it? That's what worked last time."

Dumbledore began smoothing his fingers through his long beard. "I thought your Occlumency was strong enough to prevent that, Harry. Has there been a development?" He looked from Snape to Harry and back, as if he suspected that he wasn't being told everything.

Harry's nostrils flared. This was why the headmaster had been reluctant to let Snape and Harry form a family. He'd feared losing control of the flow of information.

Or control of Harry.

"No. Voldemort can't reach into my mind," said Harry, a little sharply. "But I'm sure he knows how to get me a message another way."

"Yes, and he'd expect you to be wary of any such message, after the last one was a fraud," said Snape, beckoning Harry with a hand. Only when Harry was closer did his father resume speaking. "Precisely why we should expect that if he were springing another trap, it would take a new form."

To the side, Draco nodded. "He's a Slytherin, after all."

Harry's shoulders drooped in defeat. "So, we aren't going to attack."

"Not when he might be expecting it. Certainly not," said Albus. "He can call his Death Eaters at an instant's notice. All of them at once. And there is no reason to suppose that Voldemort hasn't supplied them all Portkeys to return to him, should they be too distant to Apparate to his side."

"But wouldn't Remus know, if they had been given--" A lump seemed to settle in Harry's belly. "Oh. Oh no. If this is a trap for the Order, and Remus doesn't know it, that means he's been found out, and--"

"Voldemort may well be testing him, or someone else," said Snape. "The Order attacking would confirm that there is a spy in his ranks."

"Oh, well attacking is out for sure if it might get Remus killed." Harry sighed. "Now you've got me worried that he's not up to this assignment."

"Like you, he is an adult, able to make his own choices," said Snape softly, reminding Harry of things they'd discussed before.

It wasn't amusing, not really, but Harry still laughed a little. "Oh, I can make my own choices, can I?"

Snape tilted his head to one side. "You can, though being an adult, you would have to live with the consequences."

As if Harry hadn't been living with the consequences of his choices for a long time, now. Harry pushed thoughts of Peter Pettigrew, and Cedric, and Sirius from his mind. He had to. Some choices he'd made . . . the results had been too painful to contemplate for long. He needed to get off this topic, straight away.

"What if I want to drop Potions since it's no longer required to apply as an Auror apprentice?"

Snape's face darkened. "Are you daft? You want to drop Potions, you-- you--"

Harry couldn't resist. He'd so rarely heard his father actually sputter. "And just think, this time last year you were hoping I'd be forced to drop it. Now, you can hardly stand the thought. See how far we've come, Dad?"

"That's hardly funny, Harry," said Draco.

Snape rounded on him, his eyes narrowing still further. "You think he's joking, do you?"

"Oh, I know he is," said Draco easily. "We talked the whole thing over. Harry would like to drop Potions, sure, but that's only in the abstract. He knows he can't actually do it, no matter what the Auror requirements are. He knows you wouldn't stand for it."

"Yeah, and it's not like he's standing right here able to speak for himself," muttered Harry. "Look, I said if, you know. I was just kidding. Sorry."

Snape grimaced. "I would hope that you know you can't drop the subject not because of my reaction but because you're aware you may need the knowledge seventh-year Potions will impart."

"I do understand that." Harry smiled. "You just always assumed I'd keep taking it, and I guess I thought you should have, you know, consulted me."

Snape looked like he was trying not to roll his eyes. "Consulted you."

"Yeah, since my instincts are so good. Remember that?" Harry frowned. "Which brings us back to this Voldemort thing. I guess it could be a trap. I hadn't thought of that, which is, you know, nothing new. I wish I'd thought of it last time."

Snape reached out and patted his hand. "Try not to let it torment you. Particularly not today, on your birthday. Black would not have wanted that."

Harry swallowed to force back the tear that wanted to fall. "He wouldn't, yeah."

Dumbledore smiled. "Quite right, he wouldn't. So, to happier things. Why don't you go and chat with Hagrid for a bit? I think he'd very much like to see you."

Harry glanced uncertainly towards his brother. "Er . . ."

"I am perfectly fine," said Snape stiffly, standing up as if to prove it.

"I was just thinking that Draco had better come with me," said Harry, grimacing. "For appearances, you know. So I keep looking weak to anybody who might be watching."

"Yes, because Death Eaters in Eastern Europe can see Hogwarts from there," drawled Draco. "Everybody knows that."

"Well, somebody might see and word might get out," insisted Harry. "I don't like it any better than you do, but I'm not supposed to wander around alone, and you know it!"

"Go together," said Snape, suddenly putting out a hand to lean on the wall. "I do believe I'll have a short nap, and I'll sleep better without your squabbling voices."

Draco raised his wand. "I'll summon you a mild sleeping draught--"

"No," said Snape. "We'll be going out later, to celebrate Harry's birthday."

"Oh, really, Severus," murmured Dumbledore. "If that should need to be put off, I think everyone would understand."

"There's no such need." Snape levelled a glare at both boys. "Are you still here? I thought I told you to go so I can rest."

"Come on, Draco," said Harry, walking over to his brother and tugging on his sleeve. "Don't worry. The worst that'll happen is you chip a tooth on Hagrid's treacle tart."

"Ha. He'll probably sit on me," grumbled Draco, though he did follow Harry from the room, then.

Hagrid, of course, did no such thing. "'Arry!" he called, flinging his door wide. "Good ta see yeh, good ta see yeh!"

"Hey, Hagrid," said Harry, tugging Draco's sleeve again, this time to get him to come inside the hut. "Good to see you, too. How's your summer been?"

"Eh, little a' this, little a' that . . ." Hagrid gave a shrug that looked entirely relaxed to Harry, but Draco must have seen things differently, since he kind of jumped in place.

"Sit yerself down, 'Arry." A slight frown creased Hagrid's features, like he was trying to figure out what to say next. Harry soon found out why. "Eh, and you too, Draco. Been keepin' our 'Arry 'ere company this summer, 'ave yeh?"

"Yes," said Draco quickly, sitting down on the chair nearest to him. He started prattling on in his most polite voice, the way he did when he was nervous and trying not to show it. "We've had a lovely summer, truly. Harry attended a course of swimming lessons, and I had an opportunity to take in a bit of opera. Have you ever been?"

"No, I bleedin' well ain't ever been to an opera," growled Hagrid, looking like he thought Draco was a few cards short of a full deck.

"You aren't missing much," said Harry dryly. "But Draco likes it."

Hagrid didn't appear to notice the reference to the other boy. "And yeh liked yer swimmin' lessons, did yeh?"

"Yeah." Harry grinned. "And I learned to Apparate. Draco helped teach me."

"And yer seventeen today," said Hagrid softly. "Thinkin' a gettin' yerself licensed soon, then?"

"As soon as we can get an appointment to be tested, yeah. Draco and me both."

"Well, I'm right glad yeh stopped by, 'Arry," said Hagrid with a broad smile. He seemed to have settled on ignoring Draco's presence, but that was probably for the best, Harry thought. Draco's nerves were stretched thin already, after the day they'd had, and having Hagrid chat him up wasn't likely to help him feel better, considering. "Been 'oping I'd get myself a chance to tell yeh happy birthday."

Harry grinned. "Thanks, Hagrid. I always think of you on my birthdays, you know. Ever since you knocked the door down flat, trying to get into that little house on the rock."

Draco flinched a little.

"Feel a bit bad I can't be there later," Hagrid went on. "Yeh see, I got a pair a' nifflers that're real sick, and need special feedin' ever' hour, an . . ."

"Hagrid?" asked Harry, frowning a little. "Er . . . where would you be later, if you didn't have the nifflers to see to?"

"Eh, nowheres, 'Arry--" Hagrid cleared his throat. "It's jus, I knew yeh'd understand, but when they asked me, I didna know about the nifflers--"

"When who asked you?"

"Eh, nobody--"

"Just what is going on?" Harry demanded.

"'Arry, yeh can't blame a bloke fer not wanting to spoil yer party--" Hagrid's mouth turned down, his enormous jowls quivering a little as he suddenly looked stricken. "I shouldn't a said tha'."

"Oh, a party," drawled Draco, his fringe flapping as he tossed his head a little. "What a complete shock, Harry. There's a party planned. For you. A surprise party, because your birthday, at least, is clearly something to be fêted from one end of wizarding Britain to the other--"

"Look, I'm sure you'd have got a party too, if you hadn't mucked around--"

"But I did muck around, because you're the one who's the good son," snapped Draco, crossing his arms as he jumped up from the chair. "Except, it's not so good of you to announce my mucking to all and sundry, is it now? But then, it's only Severus you're trying to impress, I suppose."

"Don' tell yer father I tol' yeh," said Hagrid, biting his lip.

"I won't," said Harry, deciding that the best thing he could do about Draco's rant would be to ignore it.

"S'posed ta be a surprise--"

"Yes, we had gathered as much," said Draco, chin lifted about as high as Harry had ever seen it. He had to crush an urge to tell the other boy to get over himself. "Well, Harry, it wouldn't do for the guest of honour to be late to his own party, would it now? So, come along. We mustn't keep your public waiting--"

Hagrid began blinking, then looked like he was smothering a guffaw. "Tha's right. Yeh be sure to get Harry there on time, Draco."

Harry gave Hagrid a quick hug, and wasn't too surprised when Draco didn't even bother to say good-bye as they made their way out of the hut. So much for perfect manners . . . but Harry decided that mentioning the rudeness would be a waste of breath.

The other thing he felt like saying, though . . . there was no holding that back.

"Look," Harry said as they made their way up a sloped hill, "Dad's had a hard enough day, already. Don't let on that Hagrid spoiled the surprise, all right?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," said Draco, almost snarling.

"I mean it, Draco--"

"Yeah, well I mean it, too." Draco looked like he was gritting his teeth. "I'm fairly intelligent, you realise. It's your oh-so-special day and Severus has no doubt knocked himself sideways arranging things just for you, and whatever you may think of me, I'm not petty enough to ruin all that. Pity your great oaf of a friend didn't feel the same, but I suppose he's not got enough brain to match all that brawn--"

"Shut up, you jealous twit! I'm sure Dad has something brilliant planned for your birthday, too!"

"I'm not having this conversation again," said Draco, wrinkling his nose like something stank. "Except to say that you don't know Severus at all if you think he'd do something special for my birthday. Learn by experience, don't you know. And Severus thinks that won't happen unless we choke on our mistakes. Literally, and you know what I'm talking about. But I stand by what I said before: this wasn't a mistake, because Rhiannon is worth it."

For someone who didn't want to repeat himself, Draco was doing a lot of it, Harry thought, almost shaking his head. He didn't, though. He didn't want to set Draco off again.

"Let's just go see how Dad's doing," said Harry. "He might not feel up to going out, party or no party."

Draco gave him a disgusted look, but said nothing more as they made their way into the depths of the castle.

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"Change into formal attire, both of you," said Snape the moment they got through the door.

"Oh, are we going to a very formal restaurant, then, Severus?" asked Draco. "Something more exclusive than Merveilleuse, I expect? Perhaps a private room just for the three of us? We must do Harry's coming of age in style, you know!"

Harry gave his brother a pleading look. Draco just stared back, his chin lifted high.

Strangely enough, Snape didn't say anything about Draco's foul mood. That puzzled Harry for a moment, but then he remembered that the man was still recovering from the Dark Mark flaring earlier. If Hagrid hadn't let slip about the party, Harry would have suggested that they simply go home to Devon and have a quiet night. As it was, he didn't think that his father would agree to that.

Yeah, now that Harry thought back, he understood the headmaster's comments better. Dumbledore knew about the party and had urged Snape to call it off in favour of some much-needed rest. And Snape had refused. Categorically.

If Snape wouldn't listen to Dumbledore about what was best for him, was he likely to listen to Harry? No . . . in fact, Harry would only manage to annoy the man. Snape would probably start in on one of his, You-are-not-the-parent-here lectures, and Harry didn't want to have another argument on his birthday. Particularly not when they were headed out to a party.

"Dress robes, then?" he asked.

"Or the equivalent," answered Snape, moving down the corridor leading to his own room. "We'll leave in ten minutes."

"Oh, I'll need a solid hour, at the very least--"

"Ten minutes, Draco," repeated Snape without turning around.

Draco made a face, and when that didn't garner any reaction from Harry, he whirled on his heel and strode into their room, muttering something about how he wasn't at all certain that he'd left any dress robes down here.

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"I really must do something about this tatty old house," said Draco, sweeping his gaze around the parlour at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. "Those curtains look spun from cobwebs, and when was the last time anybody gave the rugs a thorough beating? Honestly, it's so hard to find good help."

Harry had had just about enough of his brother's awful mood. "Yeah, especially when you can't stand house-elves underfoot. I guess you'll have to clean the place yourself. Oh, and redecorate, don't forget--"

"There are other sorts of servants, and you can believe I'll be redecorating, all right--"

"When the war is over you may redecorate to your heart's content," interrupted Snape. "Until then, you'll leave well enough alone. The Order doesn't need its work disrupted."

"Oh, I like that, you telling me what I can do with my own house!"

"Shall we just go?" asked Snape, his eyes flashing in irritation. "We're running a bit late as it is."

Draco raised his chin. "Any establishment worth the name restaurant will wait the table for us. Especially as it's only a table for three. Or was somebody else meeting us?"

"Draco," said Harry in a warning tone.

"What?" Draco's nostrils flared. "It wouldn't shock me in the least if Severus has invited your friends to join us. Or your cousin, or perhaps all of them, just to make certain that you understand, on this, the occasion of your seventeenth birthday, just how important you are to him."

"Idiot child," muttered Severus. For once, it didn't sound much like an endearment. "Well? Take me by the arm, both of you, and I'll Apparate us all."

Harry took a step back, instead. "Oh, no you don't. Side-alonging one passenger is hard enough, but two, and after the day you've had?"

Snape began rubbing the bridge of his nose, exhaling a long sigh. "Most inopportune, but I must admit that you make a good point."

Draco spoke without a trace of sarcasm, then. "Take one of us first and come back, Severus," he urged, nothing but concern on his face. Harry couldn't help but think that it was about time his brother got over his snit. "Harry first, I suppose, since it's his birthday."

Snape was shaking his head before Draco had finished. "No, I do believe we'd best all arrive together. Harry, you've been to this location before, so perhaps you could Side-along your brother for me. At this point I think I'd do well to Apparate only myself. All right?"

"Isn't it on the Floo network, where we're going?" asked Harry.

"There isn't room for three to arrive at the same time."

"Not to mention the soot," added Draco, making a face as he gestured at himself. Silly gesture, really; Draco had cast a whole slew of cleaning charms over himself when they'd arrived at Number Twelve a few moments before. Harry didn't know how the other boy could be so fussy over his appearance.

"Side-along it is, then." Harry stepped closer to Draco and put a hand on the other boy's arm, holding on tightly. Draco would just have to bear it if travelling like this put a wrinkle in his robes. "Where are we going?"

Good question, Harry thought as soon as he'd asked it. Draco had been to the French restaurant, after all. Then again, they weren't going out to dinner, were they, but to a party. So . . . where had Harry been, that Draco hadn't, that might be a good place for a party?

"The Weasley residence," said Snape shortly. "Do try to act surprised."

With that, the man got a look of intense concentration on his features, and vanished.

Harry was about to do likewise, but Draco had yanked himself out of Harry's grip. "The Weasley residence? The Weasley residence? Ha!"

"Well, what do you expect?" asked Harry, exasperated. "He's my best friend, and--"

"Oh, best friend," retorted Draco, managing to sneer and raise his voice at the same time.

"And you're my brother," said Harry, shaking his head. How long before Draco got over this urge he had to compete with Ron?

"Don't you forget it. Where was Weasley when you were trapped in France, eh? Where was he when that casewizard tried to snatch you, or--"

Harry thought better than to mention that Lucius Malfoy had been responsible for both those situations. Instead, he smiled. "I won't forget, Draco. Friends can fall out, not that I expect to with Ron, but brothers? That's never going to change. And I want my brother at my party, Draco." He held out his arm. "Come on. Come to the Burrow with me."

"Should have known they would live in a burrow," muttered Draco. "Oh, fine. I'll tag along." He took hold of Harry's arm, shuddering a little. "Well, at least that oaf of a gamekeeper won't be there."

"Hagrid's all right," insisted Harry. "You ought to apologise to him for the whole Buckbeak thing, though."

Draco made a scoffing noise, shaking his head even as Harry began to melt them both away. "All right, is he? I don't think so. He really shouldn't have spoiled your surprise."

As it turned out, though, Draco was the one in for a surprise.

------------------------------------------------------

The Weasley's front yard seemed to shimmer as Harry came back into the physical, but that was easily explained the moment they finished Apparating.

Fireworks were gleaming, hovering in the air above them, raining sparks down onto the grass below. No, not so much fireworks, as letters rapidly forming themselves as though being written by a blazing wand.

Happy Birthday, Harry!!! spelled out one magical banner in blazing shades of red and gold.

But another one, just alongside, had a message burning in silver and green.

Happy Birthday, Draco!!!

Beside him, Draco almost stumbled. He might have said something, too, but Harry couldn't hear his words over the roar of voices that had begun shouting even before Harry and Draco had fully arrived.

"Surprise! Surprise! Surprise!"

Harry grinned, hardly able to take it all in. Sure, he'd known for a little while that a party had been planned, and when he'd heard it was at the Burrow, he'd figured that his father and all the Weasleys would be there. Well, all the Weasleys except Percy, he mentally amended as he glanced around. But so many other people were here, as well! Tonks and Shacklebolt, and Moody, and Dean and Seamus, and Padma and Parvati, and--

"Dudley?" gasped Harry.

"Happy Birthday, Harry," said Dudley, coming forward through the crowd. His smile faltered nervously when he got closer. "Um . . . Happy Birthday to you too, Draco."

"Thank you," murmured Draco, his voice a bit dazed. "Though . . . it's not really my birthday."

"Oh yeah, I heard," said Dudley, his shoulders relaxing. Huh. He'd probably wondered if Draco was going to be rude to him again, but that must not seem likely, not when Draco was still staring, slack-jawed, at his name as the fireworks faded away.

Dudley's remark, though, seemed to focus Draco's attention. "You heard? What did you hear?"

"Bunch of confusing things." Dudley shrugged. "Are you older or younger than Harry? 'Cause I've heard both."

"I turned seventeen a short while ago--"

Dudley nodded, even though his eyebrows were drawing together like he was still baffled. "Headmaster mentioned that. But then, how come the letter inviting me here, from Ginny somebody, said your birthday wasn't for a few days, yet?"

"Unfortunate potions incident," said Snape smoothly as he appeared at Harry's elbow. "Draco managed to make himself some weeks older, in a manner which actually changed his official birth date."

Dudley goggled. "Magic can do that?"

"Thanks for the party, Dad," said Harry, giving his father a quick hug.

"Yes, thank you," echoed Draco, his voice sounding a little bit hollow again. "I . . . I never once dreamed . . . I mean, I thought . . . er . . ."

"You thought I was making a point, yes. I know." Snape patted Draco on the shoulder. "No harm done, you idiot child. Though I will say, it was difficult to keep my own counsel when you began feeling so very sorry for yourself."

"I didn't--" Draco sighed a little, looking away, and then met Snape's eyes again. "You're right. I did."

Snape's voice was very quiet. "You might at least have waited until your original birthday had come and gone, before assuming I intended to neglect celebrating it with you."

Draco gave a sharp nod, but Harry knew that the other boy wasn't as confident as he was trying to appear. It was all there in the way Draco had thrust his hands into the pockets of his dress robes.

Leaning over, Snape said something else to Draco, something Harry didn't catch, and then the man was smoothly gliding away, vanishing into the crowds of well-wishers.

"What was that?"

Draco's throat bobbed a little. "Er . . . that I ought to know he loves me as much as he does you, but apparently I had to learn by experience."

Harry smiled, the expression gentle. "Well, that all sorts, I suppose. Let's just enjoy the party, now. All right?"

Draco grimaced slightly. "I thought you were going to say that you'd told me so."

"Would I say a thing like that?"

"Yes, actually!"

Dumbledore stepped forward then, his blue eyes twinkling as he gave a laconic wave toward the party guests milling all around. "Squabbling, boys? Ah, but you are both men now, are you not?"

He looked at them, peering over the top of his half-moon glasses, his piercing gaze somehow critical and loving all at once. Harry didn't know about Draco, but for his part, he felt instantly ashamed. "Thank you for coming, Professor Dumbledore."

"And thanks for stopping by Surrey to bring me," added Dudley.

"My pleasure. And happy birthday to you both," said Dumbledore, smiling and nodding as he turned away, his cerulean robes fluttering slightly.

Dudley waited until the headmaster was out of earshot before speaking again. "But that Appear-a-ting thing? Not sure I want to try that again anytime soon. Made me right sick, it did."

To Harry's surprise, it was Draco who answered. And not to say anything rude, either. "You look all right, now."

"Well, I've been here for about an hour." Dudley's voice grew enthusiastic as bounced on his heels. "Mrs Weasley, she can make cheese sauce out of absolutely nothing, Harry. Did you know that? And the sweaters knit themselves and there's even some sort of creature that lives in the loo and keeps your, er, you know, from making things ronk too much in there, and--"

Harry didn't think he wanted more details than that. "It's good to see you, Dudley. And good to know you aren't the least bit afraid of magic, any longer."

"I'd be afraid of that loo if I were he," said Draco in an undertone, his voice laced with a strange mix of cynicism and good humour. "And as much as I'd love to continue nattering about the intricacies of the loo, duty does call."

For a second, Harry thought he meant a call of nature. Then he figured it was something else. "Huh?"

"Attempt a bit more eloquence later, when we have to give speeches," said Draco dryly. "For now, though, you and I should really be circulating, greeting the people who have been so kind as to appear-ate to help us celebrate our coming of age. It's really not the done thing for the two guests of honour to stand about conversing only with one another."

"Oh."

"So, I shall begin my rounds, and I recommend you do likewise." Draco glanced left and right. "Hmm. I believe I'll start with Kingsley Shacklebolt, and subtly remind him to be looking for my application to his programme, a few months hence."

Harry put a hand on his brother's sleeve as he tried to walk past. "Circulate, right. Good idea. But you were ribbing me, weren't you, about the speech bit?"

Draco's teeth flashed in a smile that was just the tiniest bit vindictive. "Perils of a surprise party, Harry. You don't get a chance to write out a speech in advance. But one will be expected, from each of us. It's traditional."

"Dad might have warned me," muttered Harry as Draco headed off. He didn't walk straight to Shacklebolt, Harry noticed, but stopped to talk with several people on the way, making it seem as though his progress across the lawn was random and unhurried, when really, he was making a beeline straight to the Auror.

A Slytherin sort of beeline, though.

"He's probably right," said Harry with a slight smile at his cousin. "I should start thanking people for coming. And, uh, figure out some sort of speech, I guess."

"Glad I'm not a wizard." Dudley coloured. "Oh. Um, I don't mean that in a bad way. I'd just hate to have to stand in front of all these people and get nervous and wait for my tongue to trip me up, and--"

"Trying to make me feel better?"

Instead of answering that, Dudley started backing up. "Er, speaking of my tongue, aren't those two the ones who . . . see you later on, Harry!"

Dudley scurried away.

Harry turned a mock glare on Fred and George, though it was only about half in jest. "No testing anything on him tonight."

"Harry!"

"As if we would--"

"I mean it." Harry narrowed his gaze. "He actually likes magic, now. And the two of you aren't going to scare him out of it."

Fred and George nodded in unison, looking about as sincere as they ever did. Which wasn't saying much, but Harry took it for what it was worth.

"Come on," said Fred. "Charlie's here, and he wants to hear first-hand about the First Task."

Harry didn't want to talk about it, but he couldn't really refuse. It was the sort of thing a dragon-tamer would be interested in, and besides, he hadn't seen Charlie in a long time.

Sighing a little, Harry let himself be dragged into the crowd.

------------------------------------------------------

"Wotcher, Tonks," said Harry a while later. Circulating, he was soon finding out, was a tiring business, even if Draco made it look easy. But then, it was second-nature to Draco, after all the Ministry functions he'd attended. And it wasn't as though all the people here were already his friends. A lot of them had brought dates, people Harry didn't know well. Or at all.

Harry was glad to take a breather from it, though he did have to wonder why Tonks had been out here all by herself, at the very edge of the Weasleys' property.

"Patrol," she said, shrugging a little when Harry asked. "Kingsley's doing the other side."

"Patrol? What for?"

Another shrug, but that one looked a little bit forced, to Harry's eye. His instincts instantly went on alert. "Tonks, you can tell me. I'm in the Order now, remember?"

"The Order's run on a need-to-know basis, as I'm sure you've already needed to know," she retorted, popping her gum.

Oh. Harry lowered his voice. "I also already know about what happened earlier today, with everybody being called, and what we found out about that. But they were all sent out of the country, I thought, so what's this about a patrol?"

Tonks stared at him for a moment, her eyes shifting from brown to purple to green to orange, and then she gave a much more relaxed shrug, and leaned on a rotting crate. "I guess I shouldn't forget who you live with, eh? Well, our best information is that they were all sent abroad, yes. But Albus still thought it wouldn't hurt to have a couple of Aurors keeping watch over the wards, here. We lowered them to let everybody in, earlier, but now I'm supposed to make sure they stay strong and tight during the party."

Harry hopped up on the crate, swinging his legs a little. "Thanks. Shame, though, that you have to miss the party."

"Well, at least I'm not stuck at work doing the month-end reports." Tonks swept her wand in an arc, then nodded as if satisfied. "Those are the pits. We all have to stay late until every last spell cast is accounted for, and that's not even counting the financials we have to make sure are tallied . . . let's just say, Harry, that being an Auror isn't all about field work. Unfortunately."

Harry thought that did sound unfortunate. "The Aurors have more important things to be going on with."

"So we do." Tonks popped her gum again. "But it's not just MLE stuck working late tonight, Harry. The Minister requires month-end report marathons from every department."

"Yeah, well . . . Fudge is an idiot."

"No argument there." Tonks shot him a look. "You might want to watch who you say that to, though."

"I will," promised Harry as he hopped down from the crate. "Good to talk with you, Tonks. And thanks for coming. Er, can I bring you out some punch or something?"

"That punch?" Tonks threw her head back and laughed. "No, because it throws quite a punch, considering that you and Draco are both of age, now. I can't drink while on duty."

Huh. She talked like she didn't know that Draco wasn't supposed to be seventeen quite yet. Well, there was no reason why she should know it, right? She might be Draco's cousin, but growing up, she'd never once met him.

"See you later, Tonks."

She gave a merry little wave. "Enjoy your party."

Harry did, even if a little while later he had to put up with Draco rolling his eyes. "Honestly. What did you do, find some hay and dive in?"

Harry didn't know what he was talking about, not until Draco cast a quick cleaning and unwrinkling spell on his robes. Oh, from sitting on the crate, probably.

"Come with me. I've been looking for you."

Harry hung back. "Not speech time, already?"

"No, and when it is, all you really have to do is thank people for their help during the last seventeen years," said Draco shortly. "For now, I need you to help me talk with Hermione."

"Why?"

Draco clenched his jaw, drew Harry away from the crowd, and cast a series of privacy charms before he answered. "Rhiannon asked me to attend her opera tonight. It's the premiere of the new one they've been rehearsing. And I knew I couldn't go, because I needed to attend your birthday dinner, but I promised to drop by the theatre by eleven, when the opera ends, and take her out for a little celebration of our own. And like a fool, I mentioned this to Hermione."

Harry didn't follow. "So?"

"So, when she began commiserating about what a shame it was that Rhiannon couldn't be at my celebration, I told her that Rhiannon couldn't have come here anyway, since I'm going to have to keep her a secret after all, and . . ." Draco actually winced. "She's not taking that very well. She's accusing me of being ashamed of Rhiannon."

"You care so much what Hermione thinks?"

"No." Draco lifted his chin. "But the way she was going on, it wouldn't surprise me if she started announcing all 'round Hogwarts that I'm in love with a Muggle. To make me face the truth, as she put it," he finished, sneering.

Harry almost said that Hermione wouldn't do a thing like that, but then he remembered her letter to Wizard Family Services. Not to mention, the way she'd had his Firebolt impounded when it had first come.

Yeah, when Hermione thought she knew best, she didn't hesitate to do as she thought best. "All right." Harry looked about, but didn't spot her. "Where is she?"

"We'd found a place to talk alone." Draco shrugged. "I had a couple of Rhiannon-related questions for her, and I didn't want anybody overhearing. Maybe that's what set her off. But anyway, follow me."

Draco led Harry around the back of the house, through the garden, and out towards an old shed. Hermione was on the far side of it, tapping her foot impatiently. She said something the moment they came into view, but her voice emerged silently until Harry had crossed the wards Draco had obviously cast here, too.

" . . . and if you think that Harry's going to support you on this, then--"

"But I do," said Harry. "Hermione, Draco's not ashamed of being with Rhiannon. But Dad argued him out of telling anyone about her, and for good reason. Draco's my brother. He's shared a room with me, he knows all sorts of things about me. Don't you think Voldemort might try to get to him? And what better way than through the girl he loves?"

"Oh, my God." Hermione's hand flew up to cover her mouth. In the next instant, she was rounding on Draco. "Why didn't you tell me you were worried for her safety?"

"I tried," said Draco dryly. "You wouldn't listen."

"Sorry," murmured Hermione. "I thought you were . . . well, regressing."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Hermione lifted her chin, reminding Harry a little bit of Draco when he got his dander up. "You wouldn't be the first young man in the world to have second thoughts about a girl."

"When I love, Granger, it's for keeps."

Harry swallowed, not liking the sound of that. If Pansy hadn't died, would Draco still be stuck on her? Even knowing that she'd betrayed him? That she'd wanted him dead?

Of course, knowing the way Draco's mind worked, maybe he was saying that on purpose, in front of Harry, to get some other point across. Maybe he was talking about loving Harry and Snape?

Harry wasn't sure that was Draco's point, though it dismayed him to think that Draco would think Harry needed reassurance on that score.

"All right then, fine," Hermione was saying, her voice a little bit waspish. "You can tell people she's a witch and I won't say a word to refute you."

"I'm not going to tell people about her at all." Leaning down a little, Draco looked Hermione in the eyes. "She's safer that way. The Dark Lord isn't going to send his minions looking for her if he's no idea she exists."

"Right," snapped Hermione, clearly annoyed. Personally, Harry thought she didn't like the fact that Draco had thought of that before she had. "What about owls, then? Are you not using my parents, after all?"

"No, I have that covered." Draco explained his plan, the one that involved Rhiannon's letters to him being disguised as correspondence from wizarding shops, and explained how his own letters to her would be safe from prying eyes, enclosed inside Hermione's letters to her parents. "I just haven't had a chance to work the details out with your mother and father, but school doesn't start for a month, yet." Draco shrugged.

Hermione put a hand on Draco's arm, then, her voice much softer than before. "You've thought it all through. You really do love her."

Draco looked down at Hermione's fingers, white against the black fabric of his sleeve. "Yes. I thought you knew that already."

Hermione swallowed, something obviously occurring to her. "It's a good thing you talked to me. A really good thing. I might have said something . . . er, immoderate, when you opened the present I bought you."

Draco's eyebrows disappeared beneath his fringe. "You bought me a present?"

"Of course." Hermione sounded indignant, then. "This is your birthday party, isn't it?"

"It's really Harry's. I'm just . . . an afterthought."

That had Hermione practically sputtering. "How dare you! I've been planning this for weeks, I'll have you know, and it was always, always intended as a joint party for the both of you. I even tried to invite Rhiannon, but when I rang her she said she had a performance tonight. And I would have invited Greg here, if it wasn't for the fact that his parents really shouldn't know where Harry's going to be on a particular night. Is it my fault you don't have many friends we can trust?"

"I think you mean any," drawled Draco. "I didn't mean to offend you. It's news to me that you planned the party."

"Well, I did. Ron and I both," she retorted. "Snape was hardly going to be able to plan it out in that tiny cottage and still manage to keep the whole thing a secret--"

Draco gave Harry a slanting look. "She's forgotten he's Head of Slytherin, apparently."

"Oh, shut up," said Hermione crossly. "I don't doubt his stealth, but I haven't forgotten where the hat put you. It shouted 'Slytherin!' before it even touched your head."

"I didn't know you were watching so closely," said Draco, one eyebrow raised.

"Why wouldn't I? I was out of my element, as you've taken such pains to remind me in the years since. I was eager to learn all I possibly could." Hermione's nostrils flared. "And as for the party, I'm sorry it's come too late for your revised birthday, but that's what you get for messing about with--"

"Thank you," interrupted Draco.

That stopped Hermione cold. "What did you say?"

"Thank you." Draco was smiling as he repeated it, and not in any sarcastic way. "Thank you for arranging the party."

"Well . . . you're welcome."

Harry hadn't said much for a while, since he didn't think he should have to referee his friends all the time, but he couldn't stop himself from exclaiming something, then. "Hermione? Are you blushing?"

"It's the punch," she said, glaring at him. "God only knows what Ron's brothers put in it. Come on, we'd better be getting back."

"In a moment," said Draco. "You don't still feel out of your element, do you? You did tell me you were a Muggle at heart."

"Oh . . ." Hermione lifted her shoulders. "Well, that's true, but it doesn't mean I feel out of place at Hogwarts these days. That was only right at first. I quickly came to understand that I'm both."

Draco considered that for a moment, then gave a sharp nod. "Like Harry's both."

"Actually, I don't feel like a Muggle at heart," said Harry, wondering how Draco could have leapt to that conclusion, knowing what he did about the Dursleys.

But Draco hadn't, as it turned out. "I meant Slytherin and Gryffindor. Harry really is both, you know. It's not just a quirk of the school charter."

Hermione nodded too, smiling easily. The idea didn't disturb her now, apparently, and that gave Harry a warm feeling. Or it did until she spoke, at least. "Well, that would explain his great love of sneaking about and keeping secrets--"

"Hey!"

"Time to get back, you said?" inquired Draco smoothly as he waved an arm in the direction they'd come.

They were half-way to the house when Snape found them. "I've been looking for you. It's time to open your presents," he said, frowning. "I wouldn't think I'd need to tell you, Draco, that this party is an opportunity to make yourself better known to people you want to see you as an ally."

"Oh, never fear. I made the rounds. Had quite a nice chat with Kingsley, and then a somewhat more abbreviated one with my dear cousin Nymphadora."

Snape nodded, his dark eyes glittering in the moonlight. Harry had a feeling that the man wanted to ask why the three of them were out here, all alone. He didn't, though. Maybe he was remembering that both his sons were adults, now.

"Presents it is," added Draco, beginning to walk again. "I can't wait to see what Hermione thought I needed. Apparently it's something Mugglish?"

"Did I say that?" Hermione laughed.

Harry wasn't laughing, though. "I don't have a present for Draco," he said, angry now that he thought about it. "Surprise parties have some drawbacks! How was I to know I'd need his present so soon? I was waiting for his, you know, regular birthday--"

"If you think I need a present from you, you're sadly mistaken," said Draco, moving alongside Harry as they walked. "Though I wouldn't refuse one, certainly. Or three, as the case may be. But Harry . . . Merlin, I hardly even know what to say to you. Don't you know how much you've already given me?"

He wasn't talking about Number Twelve or the vault, Harry knew. "Well, you're still getting three. For the past, present, future thing. But I'll need to go shopping."

Draco flashed him a grin. "I like diamonds and emeralds. Oh, and racing brooms."

Harry almost rolled his eyes, until it occurred to him that Draco had actually got him all three of those things for his own birthday gifts. Well, sort of. The service certificate wasn't exactly a broom, and Harry's pin definitely had gemstones on it, though he couldn't say for sure what kinds.

"I remember," said Harry, and then there was no time for them to talk privately any longer. As they came back into the main part of the Weasley yard, the crowd more-or-less swallowed them. Harry got separated from Draco and was sort of swept forward to a table piled high with gaily wrapped presents.

"Speech! Speech!" called out several voices in the crowd.

"Now, now, let's let the boys open up their presents, first," said Molly Weasley, bustling forward. "And then dinner and dancing, and then speeches later, when we cut the cake. That's how we've always done it in my family!"

Draco joined Harry at the table, then. He had a slightly contemptuous look on his face, as if he didn't think that was the proper way to go about things at all, but to his credit, he didn't say anything rude. In fact, he gestured grandly towards Harry. "Why don't you choose a present to begin with?"

Harry plucked one from the pile, and read the tag on it in a loud voice. "To Draco Snape from Ron Weasley!"

"One for yourself, I meant," murmured Draco.

"Go on."

Draco tugged on the silver ribbon and made short work of the wrapping paper. Then, an awful look crossed his face. It was gone in an instant, too fast for anyone else to catch it, Harry thought, but he'd seen it. Probably, Snape had noticed as well.

"It's a gag gift," said Draco, not revealing enough of it for Harry to know what the joke was. He waited a moment. Harry wasn't sure why, but it did seem like Draco was trying to flash a message with his eyes. A message someone had evidently got, since in the next moment he was holding the present aloft. "A magician's bag of tricks. I suppose this is Ron's way of saying I need to study a bit harder during my last year at school."

"No, it's my way of--" Ron abruptly stopped talking and glared at Hermione, who had come to stand next to him. "Hey! That hurt."

Well, she'd stopped Ron from saying anything about Rhiannon. Obviously, Hermione had mentioned the magic show Draco had put on, but Harry had no doubt that now, Hermione would set Ron straight about keeping Rhiannon's existence a secret.

"Good save," said Harry under his breath.

Instead of replying, Draco thrust a package wrapped in blue paper at Harry. "To Harry Potter from Hermione Granger!"

Harry grinned and unwrapped it, but when the present was revealed, he felt absolutely floored. It was a book whose title he couldn't hope to read, and a set of three spiral-bound notebooks, all of them filled with Hermione's precise writing, page after page of it. But the neatly centred title on the first page was what had caught his attention.

Translation: Middle Bulgarian to English

He glanced up from it, and met her eyes. "You translated the mirror book for me? The whole thing?"

"With the help of the rod." She came forward. "It was attached, as was a mirror."

"A mirror?"

"You're going to need one. And Viktor said to tell you that he needs the book back when you're done using it. Oh, here's the rest." Spotting a small rectangle wrapped in blue, she handed it to Harry. "In case you want to check my translation at some point."

Harry leaned forward to drop a kiss on her cheek. "I don't know how to thank you. You're the best."

"We'll talk a little later. Mirror magic is a tricky, but I found something you should start with, I think."

"I stand corrected." Harry kissed her other cheek. "You're better than the best. But for now, I think we have to keep going . . . no, don't move back, here's one… to Draco Snape from Hermione Granger!"

Wow, the box was a lot heavier than Harry had expected. He almost dropped it when he slid it off the table and the full weight of it fell into his hands.

"I know about your gifts," said Draco to Hermione as he took the box from Harry and set it back onto the table so he could unwrap it. His voice could have been cutting, but it was mildly amused, instead. "You give people what you think they need, not what you know they want."

"I think what you need is what you want," said Hermione.

"Oh, really. Well, this should be interesting." By then, Draco had got the box open. When he peered inside, he slowly blinked.

"Books for all the years of Muggle Studies you missed. Since you told me you wanted to take the seventh-year course. You might as well be prepared, I thought."

"Thank you," said Draco, his voice warm, for all it was quiet. "I'd kiss your cheek too, but I think your boyfriend might take it amiss. We can't ruin the festive party spirit you worked so hard to arrange for H-- . . . er, for us, I mean."

Hermione merely smiled, and stepped back into the crowd.

"Muggle Studies textbooks!" announced Draco in a loud voice, plucking a couple of them out of the box and holding them up.

"You don't take Muggle Studies!" shouted a voice Harry would recognise anywhere. Seamus.

"I'm starting this year, and I'm earning a N.E.W.T. in it, just see if I don't," Draco called back. "It'll help me become better prepared to enter the Aurors' programme. After all, not all our wizarding citizens were raised in a magical environment!"

Harry hoped Kingsley had heard that, wherever he was. But if not, then maybe word would spread about how much Draco had changed.

They kept unwrapping presents, taking turns, the pile growing steadily smaller as they worked their way through it. Arthur and Molly gave each of them a pocket-watch. Ginny got Harry a set of cufflinks which he thought looked like more money than she should have spent, especially when he realised she'd bought an identical set for Draco. Harry was even more surprised when he saw that Hagrid had sent along presents for both Harry and Draco. Harry got a new perch for Hedwig.

Draco got a ferret.

Harry burst out laughing, as did several Gryffindors in his year.

Snape glowered. He obviously hadn't found the incident amusing in the least.

Draco looked like he was angry and trying to hide it behind a casual shrug. "Seems tame enough," was all he said, setting the cage back on the table.

"Are you going to keep it? You don't really have any sort of pet--"

"I'll think about it." Draco changed the subject by grabbing the gift nearest him. "Ah. For Harry Potter, from his best friend, Ron Weasley."

Harry was a little surprised that Draco had called Ron that, but then he saw that Draco had only read out loud what was written on the tag. Harry almost sighed. He was more than a little sick of Draco and Ron fighting over him. Couldn't he like them both?

He hurriedly tore off the wrapping to reveal a book. Not about Quidditch, either. It was an advice book, of all things. Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches.

Not much use to Harry, was it? He nodded in Ron's direction to thank him, then dropped the book on the table and promptly forgot all about it.

"Looks like there's only one present left," said Draco, picking it up and reading from the tag. "To Harry, from Dudley."

Harry beckoned his cousin closer, then began tearing the Muggle paper off a small box. After all the wild wizarding designs he'd been looking at for the past half-hour, the simple black-and-white checked paper was soothing to his eyes.

Popping open the box, he drew out what seemed to be some kind of ornament. Oh, a brooch. Sort of a big one, shaped like a pear, and covered with what looked like little bits of amber. It sparkled when he turned it this way and that, so much so that it struck Harry as horribly gaudy. Definitely, in much worse taste than the small, elegant pin Draco had given him the day before.

"Uh . . . thanks, Dudley," said Harry, trying to sound more enthusiastic than he felt. So what if the brooch was hideous? It was the thought that counted, after all.

There was a lot more thought in the gift than Harry knew at first, though.

"Yeah, weird, I know," said Dudley, laughing a little, like he was nervous and trying not to show it. "But see, I wrote your dad, asking him what he thought you'd like, and he said it was traditional for family members to give heirlooms for a seventeenth birthday. And, well . . ."

Harry's breath caught. "This was my mum's?"

Dudley winced. "No, sorry. I don't think my own mum had anything that was, Harry. And even if she had, it would have been destroyed along with the house, you know. But when I had to go through all Mum and Dad's papers, after . . . after everything, there were a few pieces of jewellery in the safety deposit box, along with some old letters and photos and such. As far as I could tell, that belonged to my great-great-grandmother, Rose Anna Evans. Our great-great-grandmother, I mean. It's from the 1890's."

"Oh . . ." Harry felt his own touch on it grow more cautious. "Thank you, Dudley. Thank you very much."

"It's nothing special, that's just glass decorating it, I think--"

"It's very special." Harry brushed his fingers across the brooch, wishing he was one of those wizards who could touch items from the past and glean memories from them. Even though he had no such talent, he still felt some sort of . . . of connection, holding this. Maybe it was a connection to Dudley. "Thanks," Harry said again, his voice catching that time.

Harry didn't think he was about to blubber, or anything like that, but his father must have sensed how very much the gift meant to him, because he chose that moment to step forward, distracting Harry and everyone else.

"My own gifts to my beloved sons," Snape said, his wand flashing as he summoned two boxes from inside the house.

Beloved sons? That didn't sound much like Snape to Harry. Well, that he felt that way, sure, but that he would say it, in front of a crowd of people, a lot of them relative strangers?

Harry saw from the look on Draco's face that the words must be part of a traditional ceremony. A ceremony Draco had thought wouldn't happen, not to him. Whether that was because Lucius was dead or because of the way he'd changed his birth date, Harry wasn't sure.

Snape deftly caught both boxes. They were identical in size and shape, though one was wrapped in silver and one in gold. Instead of passing them out, though, he set both on the table, then picked up the silver one and turned to Draco.

More ceremony, Harry realised, just as soon as their father began speaking, his words formal and loud enough to carry. "Draco Alain Gervais Malfoy Snape, my son in truth, it is my pleasure to present to you a portion of your family history upon this hallowed day, your coming-of-age. Remember your past, honour your present, and recognise that your future will be what you make of it."

Snape bowed, and then Draco did as well, and Snape handed him the box in his hands. Draco didn't open it, though. He stood ramrod straight, patiently holding it as Snape repeated the ritual with Harry.

"Harry James Potter, my son in truth, it is my pleasure to present to you a portion of your family history upon this hallowed day, your coming-of-age. Remember your past, honour your present, and recognise that your future will be what you make of it."

Harry bowed after Snape, trying to make the movement look as much as possible like Draco's had.

"And now . . ." Snape took a step back, and gestured left and right for Harry and Draco to open their boxes at the same time.

Harry was expecting a Snape family heirloom, of course, and at first he thought that was what he'd got. Inside, protected with a cushioning spell that tickled Harry when he reached through it, were three goblets. They didn't match, though. One was made of silver, one of bronze, and one, as far as Harry could tell, of gold.

Pulling them out, he lined them up on the table so he could get a good look at them, and that was when he understood. The three goblets bore different crests, and more than that, different names.

SNAPE.

BLACK.

POTTER.

Harry blinked, his eyes stinging just a bit as he picked up the golden goblet, the one that bore a crest with a lion and three plumed horses. "Potter? Where did you find this?"

Snape smiled at him, the expression reaching his eyes. "Albus has kept it safe for you, all these years." Snape's hand ghosted over the rim of the silver goblet. "This one was in Sirius Black's house, and I suppose isn't properly mine to give, but for a span of time he was the only real family you had, I think?"

Harry nodded, biting his lip a little when he thought of Sirius falling through that horrid Veil.

"And this was my great-great-grandfather's wedding cup," Snape finished, "which I received from my own father when I came of age."

Harry nodded again, carefully not asking anything. He knew that his father didn't like to talk about Hostilian Snape.

"The point is this, Harry," said Snape softly. "You've been deprived of family for much of your life, I know. Despite that, though, you have had people who cared deeply about you, and each of them is a part of you, now. You're their legacy. Carry that proudly. All of it."

That Snape could say all that, and include Sirius in it . . . Harry didn't know what to say in reply.

Well, maybe sometimes, words weren't needed. Harry set down the golden goblet and taking a step forward, gave his father a brief, fierce hug.

He felt Snape's arms come around him and tighten for just one moment.

Then Snape was moving away, turning to his other son.

Harry deliberately focussed his attention on the three goblets he'd received. Whatever Snape had to say to Draco, it was private.

"Not a bad haul," joked Fred as he came over and started sifting through the presents. "Oh, watch out for that box of candy that was from George and me. The red ones in there? They're experimental."

"Only the red ones?" Harry laughed. "And they do what, exactly?"

"Make you speak a foreign language. But only languages you already know, of course. And considering we're talking you, I thought I'd better mention that you might end up speaking nothing but Parseltongue. Only for about ten minutes, though."

That didn't sound so bad to Harry, a thought which made him realise how at-ease he was, these days, with being a Parselmouth. It didn't bother him at all.

As Fred moved off, Draco beckoned Harry to show him what Snape had given him.

Three goblets, two of them just like Harry's, but instead of a golden Potter one, Snape had given Draco a second silver one that bore the name Malfoy. Or maybe it was made of platinum. That seemed likely, considering.

"I'm instructed to take the best part of that and move forward," said Draco, in a tone that said he'd got a bit of a lecture on the point. He leaned a little, peering around Harry. "Oh, I see you got a Black one just like mine. That's odd. You aren't a Black, really."

"Yes, I am," said Harry. "In a way. Sirius loved me. And besides, heritage isn't only about blood. I know you know that."

"Yes, I do know that." Draco smiled. "Let's have a toast to it. No shortage of goblets to use."

Draco reached for one of his, and Harry did the same, and when they were facing each other again, they both laughed. They'd both chosen the simple brass goblet that bore Snape's own name engraved in block letters beneath a crest featuring a coiled snake.

"To family," said Draco, lifting his goblet high and gesturing for Harry to do the same.

Harry did, though he smirked a bit. "Um, aren't you forgetting something? Like punch?"

"Oh, ye of little faith." Draco drew his wand, then incanted something long and French.

A shimmering arc of reddish liquid surged up from the punch bowl a short distance away, flowing gracefully through the air to splash in Draco's goblet. When he moved his wand a little, it moved to aim at Harry's goblet, though Harry had to move quickly to catch some of the stream.

"It's flashy, but it does the trick."

"It's splashy, I think you mean," said Harry, looking down at his sleeve.

"All right, it needs practice. I'll clean your robes after our toast."

Harry smiled. "To family," he said, clinking his goblet against Draco's before taking a sip. The punch really was strong. "Where's Dad? We should have a toast with him, too."

"Last I saw, he was heading inside." Draco cast a series of quick charms that not only cleaned Harry's sleeve, but made his robes look fresh-pressed once more, falling in a straight line from collar to hem. Harry could even swear they had a slight, pleasing fragrance now. "Why don't we toast Severus during our speeches? That's how it's usually done, although we were supposed to give our speeches before we opened the presents, not when everybody has cake to eat, for Merlin's sake--"

"Different family tradition," said Harry. "That's all right. I'm sort of part-Weasley, in a way."

"Well, at least you don't have the goblet to prove it." Draco glanced around. "Time to mingle again, I think. Hmm, it looks as though Mrs Weasley is about ready to sit people down at those long tables over there." Draco waggled his eyebrows. "Well, serving isn't usually my style at all, but in this case, I suppose I'll lower myself to ask for a plate of food that I can bring to Kingsley Shacklebolt on duty."

"Good thinking," said Harry. "I'm going to find Hermione so I can have her show me what she found out about the mirror."

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Harry ended up sitting across from Hermione and Ron for dinner. He knew for sure that Dobby had had a hand in the party when the food arrived all at once, Hogwarts-style, blinking into existence on the tables arranged on the lawn.

Draco was nowhere to be seen, but Harry figured that meant he was off with Kingsley, so that was good.

Harry was in a hurry to talk mirrors, so he pretty much gobbled down his roast chicken and asparagus, even though he didn't much like the asparagus. It was in some kind of fancy sauce that was much too lemony. He was tempted to ask Hermione what she'd found out, but it didn't seem like such a good idea with so many other people nearby. He didn't really want word about the mirror to get all around the school. His real friends, they'd understand what was going on, but once rumours started to fly?

Harry had had enough of being called a dark wizard. If people heard, third or fourth-hand, that he was trying to find a way to talk with his dead parents, he'd probably end up accused of necromancy.

As soon as his food was polished off, Harry pushed his plate and cutlery to the side and headed over to the gifts table to get what he needed. He soon wished he'd summoned the book and notebooks instead, since on the way there and back he had to stop several times to have short conversations with people who wanted to wish him well. He was itching to get back to Hermione so they could find some out-of-the-way spot and get down to business.

At least this time, it was a good sort of itch.

"Come talk with me," Harry said, the minute he'd made it back to the table.

She took one look at the spiral-bound notebooks piled in his hands, and nodded.

Ron was engaged in a furious debate with Charlie. Something about the Montrose Magpies. Harry didn't think that Ron even noticed Hermione and him leaving. They went inside and found a seat in the corner of the living room. It wasn't exactly secluded, but nobody much was paying attention to them, either.

"The first third of the book was basically background information on mirrors. You'll need to read it, but the real key to what you want to do is actually here," said Hermione, flipping through the second notebook of her translations until she found a well-thumbed page. She started reading out loud.

"Mirrors as magical artefacts are nortoriously temperamental. Even Borislav Bogdan himself, right up until his sudden death by --" Hermione shook her head a little bit. "See this is one of many places where the translation rod failed. When it couldn't translate a word I just copied down the Bulgarian, but I've no idea what it means. Neither did Viktor. Well, of course not. He doesn't speak Middle Bulgarian . . ."

Harry peered over her shoulder. "All right, Even Borislav Bogdan himself, right up to his sudden death by something-or-other, had to rely upon the mirrors he had mastered each time he attempted to manipulate or repair one that another wizard had created. "

"Bodgan is considered the foremost authority on magic mirrors, even though he died hundreds of years ago," explained Hermione.

"But he knew how to repair them, that says." Harry grinned. "Now we're getting somewhere. What's the process? What do I have to do?"

"You have to read the rest of my translation. The whole book, before you try any kind of repair spells. I mean it, Harry. And you have to talk the whole thing over with your father. There are a lot of dangers you'll need to avoid. But--"

"But?"

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. "I almost don't want to tell you. I know how you get, Harry. I know how much this means to you."

"But what?"

Opening her eyes, she fixed him with a glare. "I'll tell you, but only if you swear to me, swear, that you won't do a thing to the Mirror of All Souls until you have Snape's blessing and approval."

Harry hadn't planned to, so that was no bother. "Sure. I swear."

"You mean it?"

"Yes, of course I mean it!"

Hermione smiled, then. "All right. Well, it's just that a lot of the book is about how mirrors are so difficult to manipulate because it takes a lot of magic to affect them. Only the most powerful wizards have been able to manage anything beyond the standard sort of talking mirror, and even getting to that point requires quite a process. This Borislav Bogdan discovered new ways to spell mirrors, but only because he was fantastically powerful. It talked about him having control over his dark powers, earlier on. So . . . I was going to say, but if anyone can make this work, it's probably you."

Harry grinned. "Oh, I can't wait, I can't wait--"

"You have to. You swore."

"It's an expression, Hermione! I'll read the whole book thoroughly, I promise, and so will Snape, and we'll decide on everything together."

"Good," said Hermione, nodding. "Now, the part we were reading aloud, it talked about how Bodgan had to rely on mirrors he had mastered, remember? That's the very first thing you have to do, Harry. Master a mirror of your own."

Harry's euphoria dimmed a little. "Come again?"

"Mirrors are odd, Harry. It's like they communicate with each other magically, and they know whether or not you have any business messing about with them. Which means you have to become the master of one, first."

"Wait, you lost me."

"That's why you have to read the whole book. But basically, you have to start with a regular mirror and change it into a basic magical one, first. All by yourself, mind, so the mirror will regard you as its master. But that part has been done loads of times; it's safe enough. Then there's a spell progression that you have to work your way through, learning how to control spells and such on the mirror you've mastered. Once you've done all that, then you can try repairing what they call a 'foreign mirror,' meaning, one will regard you as a stranger."

"All right, mirrors are very weird," said Harry, sighing. He hadn't counted on anything like this. Making his own magic mirror from scratch? It sounded like quite a project to him, but then again, the end results would be well worth the trouble. "So how do I start?"

Hermione flipped open another spiral-bound notebook and pointed. "There. That's the first incantation. You use that to begin working with your regular mirror. The first step is sort of giving it the ability to hear you. Even that's supposed to be quite challenging."

Harry stared at the instructions, then flipped open the Bulgarian book to look at the diagram Hermione had written a reference to. She hadn't copied those out into the notebooks, which puzzled Harry, since he knew how good her duplication charms were. But then again, they did take time, and she'd had more than enough to do to complete the translation for his birthday.

A warm feeling stole all through him. "I really don't know how to thank you, Hermione. All this work."

She grinned. "Oh, there's loads left for you. You have to figure out Parseltongue versions of everything, after all."

"Oh, yeah." Somehow, Harry had forgotten about that. Suddenly, the task ahead seemed even more daunting. Sighing, he closed the book and set it atop the notebooks he'd already laid to the side. "Well, I'll figure it out, I guess."

"This probably isn't the right time to mention that mirror-repair isn't explained very well. The book goes into a lot of detail about how Bogdan took his secrets to the grave."

"Don't suppose his ghost has been spotted, either," said Harry glumly.

"Well, if it were simple, the Mirror of All Souls would have been repaired long since," said Hermione in a reasonable tone. "But you do have access to the kind of power he's reputed to have wielded. It's not a hopeless case."

Harry nodded. "Well, I'll never know unless I try. So, step one, master my own mirror. Thanks for giving me one to work with, Hermione. I'd like to get started straight away."

"Oh, not quite straight away. It's a party, after all." Hermione stood up, turning a little bit to the side. "They've got the wireless on now, I think. Dance?"

When Harry stood up to glance out the window, he saw that a few people their age were doing just that. "Er . . ."

"Come on," said Hermione, grabbing his hand and tugging it. "You know Ron's not much for it, but if he sees me dancing with someone else, he'll cut in."

Harry tried to protest, but before he knew it, he was outside and Hermione was practically dragging him into the thick of the crowd. Memories of the Yule Ball rose to the surface of his mind, the terrible sensation of being stared at. Sure, he'd danced with Celeste at that club, but that was different. There hadn't been anybody there that he knew, except Draco, and he'd been so obsessed with Rhiannon that Harry hadn't felt like he was being watched.

He felt it now, though.

Maybe it was the fact that the adults weren't dancing, but were just looking on, his father included.

Or maybe, Harry would feel better about dancing in front of everyone if he'd just had more of that punch, earlier.

Damn it, where was Ron?

"Harry, dance," said Hermione, doing a neat little move that made her mauve dress sort of twirl around.

He couldn't. He felt glued to the spot, certain that if he moved at all, he'd find out he had two left feet.

When Draco ambled past, Harry darted out a hand and yanked him over. "Dance with Hermione," he said, desperate to escape.

"Oh, that'll go over well," drawled Draco.

Hermione was rolling her eyes by then, but to Harry's surprise, she did that little skirt-twirl thing again and put a hand out toward Draco.

He only lifted an eyebrow. "You're trying to ruin the party? Your boyfriend'll take one look and start throwing hexes--"

"In front of his parents?" Hermione laughed, a sultry sound that said she'd thought of that, already. "No, he won't hex you. What he'll do is figure out that he should have found me when the music started."

"So it's like that, is it?" Draco smiled, the expression devious and tinged with something that looked suspiciously like admiration. "A plot, eh? Are you sure the hat didn't want to put you in Slytherin?"

He took her hand, then, and started moving to the music. Damn . . . they looked pretty good together. Harry got out of there before he had to see firsthand how Ron was going to react to the sight.

------------------------------------------------------

Just as well that everybody was busy outside, Harry decided. He'd felt a bit discouraged earlier, when he'd realised that the mirror project was such a massive undertaking, but now he was eager to get started on it.

No time to waste, right? There was just one month of summer left. If he worked hard, perhaps he could master his own mirror before term started. That would leave him the task of figuring out the actual repair process, but by then he'd have read the mirror book through. Several times, probably. He didn't exactly think he was going to find something Hermione had missed, but he did think that she wasn't the one living with dark powers. Harry was. He might see something that meant a lot more to him than it had to her.

When he unwrapped the square package that she's said was a mirror, his heart caught a little. Damn. Hermione couldn't have known, but this mirror looked quite a bit like the broken one Snape was keeping for him.

Memory stole over Harry, sharp and potent.

Sirius, falling through the Veil.

Harry, thinking for one moment that he could use the mirror to contact him and tell him how sorry he was.

And then the awful truth: that he'd never hear Sirius' kind voice again.

Harry swallowed, blinking quickly against the hot feeling pooling in his eyes, and scooped up all Hermione's work, piling it on top of the mirror as he quickly made his way to the ground floor toilet. Once inside, with the door firmly closed, he took a couple of deep breaths, trying to get himself under control. He was an adult now, damn it. Tears shouldn't be pricking his eyes, and certainly not at his own party, which so many people had worked hard to arrange.

Another deep breath, and then one more, and then Harry nodded.

The past was past, and he couldn't do anything to change it. All he could do now was try to make the right decisions, day to day. The kinds of decision that Sirius and his parents, could be proud of.

And if he could get the Mirror of All Souls working . . .

Harry swallowed again, remembering that night in the cemetery, when he'd spoken briefly with the shades of his parents. It had all passed by so quickly, and he'd been in pain, and deep in shock from the horror of everything that had happened to him there . . . what would he have said to them if he'd had more time? Damn it, he wanted to talk with them when he wasn't in danger! He wanted that so badly that he could taste it.

He'd long thought it impossible, but now, it was hovering just out of reach.

All he had to do was master one mirror and repair another, and then he'd have what he'd longed for since the day he'd first understood what an orphan was.

And what would he say, exactly?

Did you know how much your sister hated magic, Mum?

Or maybe even harder . . . Say, Dad, I don't suppose you remember a classmate of yours, name of Severus Snape? Um . . .

Harry winced.

Well, there would be time enough later to decide what to say to them and how to say it. The important part, for now, was to take the first step of what might be a very long journey. Master a mirror of his own.

Time to try the first incantation and see how it worked.

Harry studied the diagram in the book again, then drew his wand and looked at it a little doubtfully. Best to start with wandless magic, as this was an untried spell and all, so he laid his wand on the bathroom counter, and flexed his fingers, sweeping his arm in the motion shown in the book.

A few repetitions of that, and he felt like he knew the motion well enough. Now, all he had to do was add the right words and direct the spell at the mirror, which he'd propped up on a folded towel on the counter.

The words were in Bulgarian. Middle Bulgarian, probably, but Hermione had translated the incantation: Stretch forth your ear and hear, oh wondrous silver mirror.

Harry chuckled a little, wondering if it all rhymed like that in the original. Not to mention, the idea that mirrors had one ear instead of two. Well, it was all figurative, anyway.

The real question was how to render it into Parseltongue. Snakes didn't have ears, at least not visible ones, and Harry didn't have Sals to ask; he'd left her back in Devon.

Still, she must have ears of some sort, since she could definitely hear him.

Actually, mirror might be the more bothersome term . . .

Hit or miss, Harry thought. All he could do was try a few versions of the incantation and see what happened. He was pretty well used to that, after all the time he'd spent working on his spell lexicon, recently.

Taking up the stance shown in the book, Harry stretched out his fingers, aiming them at the mirror, and swept his arm in the wide, swirling arc he'd practiced a few moments earlier. Then, carefully glancing at the snake etched into his glasses lens, Harry tried to speak.

"Stretch out along the ground and feel, hard grey looking-back at me . . ."

Well, that was kind of interesting.

Harry tried a few variations, but hear kept coming out as feel. Maybe that was how snakes perceived sound, through vibrations that were more like feeling than hearing? Harry wasn't sure.

He did know that the mirror wasn't reacting in the slightest. The surface of it was supposed to shimmer and look more liquid if the mirror was struggling to develop some capacity to hear him.

Sighing, Harry sat down on the toilet lid and read the instructions for the incantation again.

One must apply the charm using full and complete faculties of mind directed toward the mirror . . .

Harry set the book aside and tried again, this time making sure not to think about the vague noises he could hear drifting in from the party. He concentrated fully on the mirror, willing it to wake up and listen to him, but it remained as deaf as before.

Which could only mean that his incantation was off somehow, right?

When the answer came to him, Harry almost slapped a palm against his forehead. Full faculties of mind . . . he wasn't using that. He never did, these days, since part of his mental energy was always directed toward maintaining his Occlumency. There were walls of fire guarding his mind, every minute of every day.

The practice of Occluding his thoughts had become so second-nature that Harry could go days or weeks, now, without really even being aware that he was doing it. The mental discipline was just part of him now, like breathing.

But he could drop it when he needed to.

Anxious to see if his incantation actually was correct, Harry focussed his energy inward, and felt the fire flickering, dying, burning down to embers and then vanishing completely.

Standing up once more, Harry grabbed the mirror in his left hand and held it at arm's length. The book hadn't said that the wizard should be holding the mirror, but Harry thought it might help to be physically connected to it as he tried to establish a mental connection. Raising his hand and readied himself to begin the incantation.

The needed words never passed his lips, though. Instead, words began resounding deep inside his mind, the voice one he recognised from his nightmares.

Harry Potter, it whispered, a malevolent hiss that seemed to expand until it filled the inside of his skull, pressing into every crevice, then expanding still more, making his temples ache.

Voldemort, Harry thought, horrified, so shocked that he dropped the mirror.

It shattered against the bathroom floor, breaking into a thousand tiny jagged fragments.

Why, yes, the voice answered, oozing through his mind like slow-moving poison. And it's your special day, isn't it, Harry Potter? I've a present for you . . . Happy birthday, Harry . . .

Gritting his teeth, Harry yanked his wall of fire back into place. He knew better than to chat with Voldemort inside his mind!

He also knew better than to keep something like this to himself.

One wandless charm and he'd banished the broken glass from the floor. Grabbing his wand, Harry yanked the bathroom door open and rushed to the backyard to find his father.

Harry looked left and right, but didn't spot Snape anywhere. Draco was standing at the far edge of the yard, though, standing and talking with Bill Weasley.

Harry broke into a run, skidding to a halt when he'd reached them. "Where's Dad?"

"He said something about wanting to talk with Mrs Weasley--"

"Mum's probably in the kitchen," said Bill, tucking his long hair behind an ear. "What's wrong, Harry?"

"Something, I don't know, something bad--" Harry grabbed Draco's hand and tugged. "Come on. You should know, too. Come talk to Dad with me."

"All right . . ."

They found Snape leaning against the doorway between the kitchen and living room.

"Oh, it's my pleasure indeed," Molly Weasley was saying, her wand whipping through the air as she sent piles of dishes sailing into the cupboards. "So nice to see him coming along so well, and--"

"Dad," Harry interrupted, "I need to talk to you. Voldemort's planning something, he told me happy birthday in the creepiest god-awful voice inside my head, and--"

Snape's brows were drawing together, his face taking on a thunderous expression, and he was opening his mouth to say something--something scathing about Occluding better, Harry figured--when another voice cut across Harry's frenzied words.

"Attention, please, your attention. We interrupt the Celestina Warbeck hour with an urgent announcement," said a high, scratchy voice on the wizarding wireless, the noise streaming in through the open kitchen window. "The Ministry of Magic has been . . . has been . . ."

The voice broke, and a noise something like a sob echoed across the yard and into the kitchen as everyone at the party fell silent.

Another voice, this one a smoother, deeper one, took over the broadcast. "Breaking news bulletin. A few moments ago, several massive underground explosions were reported to have occurred in the heart of London, not too far distant from the Leaky Cauldron. Though all indications would suggest that the matter is serious, we must emphasize that little is known for certain at this time--" A sound like a flurry of parchments overlaid the announcer's next words. "Correction. We have now received confirmed reports about the scale of the destruction. The Ministry of Magic has been utterly annihilated. A section of Muggle London has caved into the crater that is all that is left of the Ministry. It is not known for certain if Minister Fudge has been killed--" A gasp, and then another flurry of parchments. "Correction. It is known for certain. Minister Fudge's ghost has appeared at his ancestral family home in Dorchester. He appears deep in shock and has offered no explanation for the destruction of the Ministry. An emergency election will have to be called although with the entire Ministry destroyed, one must wonder how that will be arranged. I repeat, the Ministry of Magic has been annihilated by as-yet-unexplained underground explosions . . ."

As the announcer began to repeat his information, Harry turned to his father. The truth was there in Snape's eyes, but it slipped from Harry's lips regardless. "Voldemort."

"Oh, sweet Merlin, Percy," gasped Molly Weasley, whirling away from the window to face the doorway leading to her living room. She seemed to be looking past Snape, looking for something specific.

Harry followed her gaze to the grandfather clock in the living room, and then, his own breath caught. All the hands but one pointed at "Home," but Percy's was pointed at "Lost."

"He had to work tonight, he had to attend the Minister during month-end reports at the Ministry," babbled Molly, her face paling. "He'd have been here at the party except he had to work, he's got an important post he can't neglect, but he must have left the Ministry before the explosions, and he doesn't know quite where he is now, poor dear--"

The grandfather clock made a whirring noise, and then, as they watched, Percy's hand moved from "Lost" to "Mortal Peril."

"Arthur!" shouted Molly, but she had no more time than that to react, for in the very next instant, Percy's hand vanished entirely.

Molly Weasley's features crumpled, her wand clattering to the floor as she raised her hands to cover her mouth. The scream she was trying to hold in, though, still emerged. "Oh, Percy, no! No, no, no, no, no!"

Harry realised then, what had to have happened. The clock face had places for "Work" and "School" and even "Hospital," but Percy wasn't in any of those places. He wasn't even in mortal peril, any longer.

Arthur Weasley appeared in the kitchen. "Molly?"

"Percy's hand disappeared," gasped Molly, fat tears rolling from her eyes as she threw herself at her husband. His arms came around her, his own face a picture of grief.

Harry was still holding out hope that Percy's hand vanishing might mean something he didn't understand, instead of the most obvious conclusion, but that hope was dashed to shreds when Molly next spoke, her voice wracked with pain, her whole body shaking as she hung onto her husband, the two of them embracing so tightly that they might have been one person.

"Oh, Arthur! How are we going to tell the children that their brother's dead?"