It was nearly lights-out by the time Harry dragged himself out of the dungeons. He'd felt worse, no doubt, in his various encounters with Voldemort, but tonight he was aching in places he wouldn't have imagined possible. Every muscle in his body throbbed, his scar seared continuously, and his brain felt as though it was squelching back and forth against the inside of his skull.

To say nothing of how his heart felt after watching Sirius die over and over again. Or the way his soul felt remembering what he'd said to Snape.

Despite the fact that his entire body felt ready to quit working on him, Harry didn't want to go back to the dormitory. The thought of lying in the quiet surrounded by peacefully-sleeping friends filled him with a sense of dread that he couldn't quite explain. So he meandered, staying in the general direction of Gryffindor Tower in case any teachers saw him; he could realistically say he was on his way back to the common room. But he hoped he wouldn't run into anyone. He didn't want to explain himself or where he'd been or what he'd been doing. And he certainly didn't want to go back to the common room.

It wasn't until Harry wandered into the D.A.D.A. corridor that it occurred to him something he did want. "If you need to talk anytime, anytime at all, come to my office…"

But it was almost midnight, and Harry didn't want to bother Professor Lupin. Heaven knew Remus had enough to worry about as it was. Harry sighed, walking more slowly, and tried to talk himself out of it. After all, what had happened tonight was his fault—mostly.

Why had he let Snape get to him so easily, when it was he, Harry, who had insisted on stepping up the lessons? It wasn't as if he hadn't known Snape would go straight for Sirius. Snape always seized every chance to make him miserable—why did he even let it bother him anymore?

Because it's not fair, said the part of him that was still angry, but he brushed that thought aside. Since when had "Snape" and "fair" ever been heard in the same sentence? And Snape was right about one thing: Harry would get a lot worse from Voldemort if he didn't learn Occlumency. But what he did wasn't about teaching me Occlumency.

And what Harry had said wasn't about learning Occlumency.

His feet were still carrying him toward Lupin's office. Remus was probably not even there; he would have already gone to bed, or perhaps he was out investigating Harry's latest vision. Harry shivered; if Remus did so, he hoped he would be careful. The thought of losing one more person—anyone—to Voldemort made Harry shake inside. The thought of losing Remus…Harry had to steady himself against the wall.

Glancing at the floor, he blinked: there was light under Professor Lupin's office door. Harry wound up standing in front of the door so fast he couldn't remember moving his feet, and he stood there in the darkened corridor for an absurd length of time, trying to decide what to do. Remus had told him to come if he needed to, and Harry wanted to talk to him almost as badly as he'd wanted to talk to Sirius after seeing the memory in Snape's Pensieve. But he didn't want to bother him. And imagining Remus's face when he heard what Harry had said to Snape filled Harry with a shame so intense he felt ill.

But he was standing like an idiot in the dark in front of Lupin's door at quarter-to-twelve at night, and couldn't seem to walk away. He didn't want to bother Remus, he really didn't, after the catastrophes he'd managed to cause already. But Ron and Hermione wouldn't understand all this. If only Sirius were here, he was just the person Harry would be able to talk to about what had happened.

It was the thought of Sirius that made Harry remember something he'd seen in the diary: Remus weeping on the steps of Number Four, Privet Drive, clutching Harry's wand to his face like a sacred relic.

The next thing Harry knew, he'd raised his hand to the door and knocked. "Come in," said a weary-sounding voice that made him wince.

But he'd knocked, so he turned the knob and hesitantly opened the door. Professor Lupin was sitting in front of the fireplace in his office, looking very tired. He blinked at the sight of Harry, then smiled. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Come sit down, Harry." With lowered eyes, Harry did so. "Cup of tea?" Harry nodded and stared at the fire until Lupin brought the cups over. "A staffer for a senior member of the American Wizarding Congress has disappeared. I'm waiting for the ambassador to get back to me."

Harry took a slow swallow of tea, fighting his churning stomach. "So that means…this one could be real?"

Remus nodded, his eyes soft. "It appears so. Do you think you would recognize a photograph of Voldemort's prisoner?"

Feeling the slightest little quiver of relief that the nightmare with Snape had not been a total waste, Harry nodded, then sighed to himself. No, the night hadn't been a complete waste—if he discounted that the only productive thing he'd managed to accomplish was the one thing he was taking Occlumency lessons to stop! He swallowed and forced himself to look up. "Professor…"

"Pretend we're not at Hogwarts just now, Harry," said Remus in such a kind voice that it made Harry's throat tighten. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Tell me what's troubling you."

Harry choked down another swallow of tea, then asked, "Did Professor Dumbledore…or Snape…tell you what happened before the vision?"

Remus shook his head. "No, but we suspected the vision was not the only complication. Tell me."

Harry took a deep breath. "He…I…we…it went badly." Remus nodded, watching him closely. He turned to watch the fire again. "The memories…they're bad, and I couldn't control my emotions. He was…well, not actually laughing…" he shook his head. Had Snape's actions really warranted the fit Harry had thrown?

But Remus said, "Severus has a way of doing that. Go on."

"I…in the end, I lost my temper, and I…started yelling. I said some things…" Harry closed his eyes. "I called him a Death Eater. And…what Sirius and my dad used to call him."

There was a flicker of movement in the corner of Harry's eye; Remus had winced. When Harry dared to look at him, Remus was looking at the fire. He was silent for a long moment, then asked quietly, "Why were you so angry, Harry?"

Rubbing his prickling scar, Harry said miserably, "I felt like…he wasn't making me see the worst memories because of Voldemort or training…he was going after them because it was fun." Suddenly desperate to explain himself, he looked at Remus. "He had this look in his eye…like he was laughing at me. At…everything that had happened."

Remus dropped his head into his hands and grumbled something that sounded like, "He…never…grows…up." At length, he sat up again, looked at Harry, and sighed. "Do you want me to speak with him?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed. "No, I don't—no. It wouldn't help anyway." He frowned, not exactly sure what he wanted. "I just…wanted to talk. I'm sorry, I'll—"

He started to get up, convinced he'd made a complete fool of himself, but Remus caught his arm. "No, Harry, it's all right. I told you no matter what, you could come see me."

Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead again, wishing his bloody scar would stop hurting. "I just…there's so many things I just wish…had never happened. I know I can't change them now, but I can't stop wishing it. I wish it so hard, and it's pointless." He looked at Remus helplessly. "Sirius, Uncle Vernon, the visions…what I said to Snape…I want to…take it all back somehow." He shut his eyes. "I want it to go away. I'd do anything to make it go away. I'd give anything to get Sirius back."

Now that he thought about it, Remus Lupin's hand on his shoulder didn't feel the same as that of Sirius. Remus's grip reminded Harry a little of Molly Weasley's: gentle but frantic, as if afraid Harry would disappear if he didn't hold on tight.

"You're not alone. Believe me. And feeling this way is normal. I know that doesn't help much, but it's true. I only wish there were some way we could go back and change what has happened." He tugged Harry's arm and made him look up. "What you must remember, what you must hold onto as tight as you can, is the fact that so many of those things were truly beyond your control. Don't blame yourself for the things Voldemort has done, Harry. That gives a victory to him. Sirius and your uncle were not your fault. In fact, the only thing that was in your control…well…I'm very glad you regret what you said to Professor Snape."

Harry cringed. "I was so angry at what he was doing, using my worst memories on me—then I bloody went and did the same thing."

To his surprise, Remus laughed. "You're not turning into him." Harry blinked. "Remember, I knew Severus when he was your age. You saw James and Sirius at their worst, but I promise you, Severus Snape was no saint himself." Remus sighed and patted Harry lightly. "But I am glad you regret what you did. He has a way of bringing out the worst in people—it would break my heart to see you become twisted by him."

"I won't," Harry promised. "I'll do better."

Remus smiled. "If it were any other person, I'd suggest that an apology might help, but in this case…" This time they both laughed.

A roar of green flame from the fireplace caused Harry to leap out of his chair and yelp. He had his wand half-out before Lupin exclaimed, "Calm down, Harry, I've been waiting for this call!"

His heart in his throat, Harry realized it was just a fire call. The man in the fireplace raised his eyebrows at Harry before turning to Lupin. "Professor? We just confirmed. The missing guy's name is Alex Marshall, age twenty-four, staffer for Gabe Maury. Maury's on the International Relations Committee; someone could get a lot outta one of his people."

"Did you happen to find a picture of the man?" Lupin asked. The stranger—obviously an American—jerked his head at Harry. "Oh, pardon me, this is Harry Potter."

"No kidding? The Boy-Who-Lived, huh?" The man cocked his head at Harry as though sizing him up to the gossip; Harry was used to that look. "Good to meet you, Potter, I'm Greg Payton, U.S. Wizarding Embassy. Here's your photo. Recognize the guy?"

Payton slipped a picture through the fire, and Lupin picked it up, handing it to Harry. Harry's heart lurched at the sight of a broadly-grinning, handsome young man waving at the camera with his arm around a pretty blonde woman wearing a diamond ring. "Well…" said Payton, seeing Harry's face. "Guess that answers that question."

"Yes, that's him," Harry confirmed quietly. The smiling, cuddling young couple in the wizard photograph reminded him wrenchingly of his parents. He wondered what information Voldemort's lot had wanted from Marshall, and, once they got it, how long it would be before they killed him.

Payton was saying to Remus, "We'll have people in touch with you first thing tomorrow. You say this place is most likely in Britain?"

"Harry's seen it before; it seems probable."

"Okay. Let me know if anything else comes up. 'Night."

"Goodnight, Ambassador," said Remus, and Payton vanished from the fire. "The Americans won't take kindly to one of their people being used by Voldemort. This may be all we need to draw their full support against him."

Harry handed the photograph over sadly. "Too late for him, though. Right?"

Remus sighed. "Probably. Now you—" There was a sharp rap on the door. "Come in?"

Harry's heart dropped into his stomach with a surge of nausea as Snape marched in. "Lupin, did you—" He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Harry, and his eyes narrowed. "I might have known," he growled.

Springing to his feet, Harry muttered, "I'll go now."

"Harry. Sit down. Now."

Harry sat. He had never heard that particular tone in Remus Lupin's voice before. All he could do was watch dumbly as Lupin strode between him and Snape. "I'm sorry, Severus, was there something you wanted?"

Snape's furious eyes flicked from Harry to Lupin. "I was going to ask if you had received an answer from the Embassy yet, but now I see Potter has been here whining to you about my treatment of him. The boy's going to be easy prey for the Dark Lord if he cannot even survive Occlumency lessons without running to his father's pet werewolf for help!" he spat.

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but a flick of Lupin's hand in his direction made him pause—and no magic was involved. "So, Severus," said Remus, in a light-but-calculating way that reminded Harry of Hermione, "am I to take it you feel your methods of teaching Occlumency have merit?"

Instead of answering Remus, Snape sneered past him at Harry. "Potter still seems to think I should leave his memories of the demise of his bastard godfather sacrosanct, and cannot begin to repel attacks for all his blubbering."

What outrage Harry felt was overridden by shock—and no small measure of panic—as Remus slowly advanced on Snape in a fashion so much like Sirius that Snape dropped his sneer and began backing away.

In a quiet, yet highly-intimidating voice, Remus said, "You have one more reason to be grateful that Sirius is gone, Severus, because I assure you, if it were Sirius here instead of myself at this moment, he would not restrain himself from tearing your throat out with his bare hands."

Before Snape could reply, Remus went on, "And for your information, Harry was here identifying a photograph of a missing staffer of a Wizarding Senator. It appears this particular vision was both accurate and highly significant, although we'll all rest easier once Harry no longer has them." Harry hadn't realized until now that Remus was as tall as Snape; he usually slouched. He didn't now. "Of course, I imagine the Occlumency would make more progress if the instructor were not so hopelessly mired in his own personal difficulties."

"Are you calling me incompetent?" Snape hissed, drawing himself up.

Lupin did not move a muscle, nor did he raise his voice. "A teacher so blinded by schoolboy grudges that he takes them out upon innocent people? A wizard so incapable of foregoing revenge that he would allow the entire wizarding world to fall? Yes, Severus, I believe those are rather glaring signs of incompetence."

Harry's mouth was hanging open. Neither Lupin nor Snape noticed. "I suppose," Snape snarled, "the boy came running to you last year after I discontinued his lessons. Did he mention how utterly incapable he was of not invading my privacy—or the fact that tonight he could not seem to resist flinging that invasion in my face once again?"

"Yes, yes, I know all about it, Severus." Lupin half-turned and mockingly waggled a finger at Harry. "You behaved very badly, Harry, very badly indeed. But then, sixteen-year-old boys sometimes do behave badly, as I am forced to admit, having been James Potter and Sirius Black's friend. But you are not sixteen anymore, are you, Severus? Yet you still behave in this fashion. Tell me, what is your excuse?"

Snape's jaw was working, his eyes blazing with fury, but he could not seem to form words. "That…arrogant…"

"I know James was an arrogant boy. We all were, in our own ways." Lupin's stance softened ever so slightly, but Harry still did not dare make a sound. "But James grew into a good man, an honest adult, as did Sirius." Then he advanced again, and Harry held his breath. "You are an adult as well, Severus, and it is high time you began acting like it!"

Lupin hadn't yelled—he didn't need to—but Harry jumped anyway.

Snape did not move a muscle. Lupin held his gaze for several moments, then slowly turned to face Harry. "Now, Harry. I realize you missed a birthday this summer, but you're sixteen years old, and there is a war on. Sirius and I both told you last year there is nothing as important as your learning Occlumency." Harry nodded, feeling his face starting to burn. Lupin's face softened. "I know this has been a painful experience for you. But you must concentrate all your efforts on clearing your mind and closing it to Voldemort."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Snape flinch. But he looked Professor Lupin in the face and nodded again. Giving Harry a quick smile, Lupin turned back to Snape. "Now, Severus, may I presume Harry will be permitted to continue Remedial Potions tomorrow night?"

Snape's face had gone from infuriated to utterly blank. Harry could not begin to imagine what was going on in the Potions Master's head. But Snape gave a curt nod, turned on his heel and stalked from the room.

Once the door swung gently closed, Remus's shoulders visibly relaxed, and he leaned against the nearest desk and let his breath out in a whooping sigh. Looking at Harry's face, he began to chuckle. "Whew. My word, I've wanted to do that for a long time. I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to come across so harshly—I was far more aggravated with him than with you. But it is essential that these lessons continue, and our side can ill afford childishness from anyone—certainly not from an adult who ought to know better."

Harry remembered to breathe then, and let himself smile back. "I think…Sirius would have loved that."

"Lord, they both would," said Remus, sitting on the edge of the desk. "I never told them to lay off Snape, but I seldom stood up to Snape either, preferring to let James and Sirius sort him out. They obliged, of course, but always said I should learn to handle him."

He smiled, and for a moment his eyes were far away. Then he looked at Harry. "You know, something else you ought to keep in mind, Harry, is that Sirius and James lived in a time of war as well. Of course, they were not nearly so central to it as you, but they faced their share of darkness, believe me. But still, even in the darkest of times, they remembered to live, and how to laugh. And I know they would want you to do the same." He glanced at the clock. "Well, I don't know about you, but I think that is quite enough unpleasantness for one day. You should be getting to bed."

On cue, Harry yawned, and got up. "Good night, then. And…Remus…thanks. For everything."

Remus gave him a parting pat as he went by. "Sleep well, Harry."

The following morning, of course, was N.E.W.T. Potions, and while Harry suffered a good deal of trepidation while actually walking to the classroom, Snape had obviously decided to stick with the invisible treatment and pretend Harry did not exist. Which was fine with Harry. He knew he would get more than enough attention from Snape that evening—and every evening until he could manage to get Voldemort out of his head.

And as far as motivation went, Harry sometimes wasn't sure whether his desire to master Occlumency was due to the need to close his mind to Voldemort or get away from Snape for good.

In any case, that afternoon, Harry was able to keep Professor Lupin's advice about remembering to live, as N.E.W. was getting interesting.

"Good afternoon, class!"

"Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall!"

Professor McGonagall nodded briskly at the sixth-years from all four Houses assembled in front of her. "Now then. Today we will be starting a unit on Animagi." She gave a thin smile at the murmurs of excitement from the students. "I am very glad to hear you are interested, but just to be sure," she picked up the stack of parchments at her desk, "you will now be receiving a short, but thorough, examination on the written material."

Harry sighed to himself with the others. It was a good thing Hermione had insisted on going over the readings with him and Ron as they were assigned. "If we want to become Animagi, we'd better make sure we know this information backwards and forwards!" she had insisted at the first sign that Harry and Ron were not giving the material their full attention.

"Really?" Ron had sighed crossly. "And since when did written material help us in Defense Against the Dark Arts? At least then you have to know curses! I don't see how becoming Animagi can be learnt in a book; I'll bet Harry's dad and Sirius didn't need—" he had broken off in horror then, glancing at Harry, who in turn had quietly agreed with Hermione, that they should learn everything they could about it.

Professor McGonagall's short examination still managed to last nearly until the end of class. Harry wracked his brains to remember all the assorted facts he had read in the Animagi chapter, When Man Meets Beast, as he answered the various questions. When they had finished, Professor McGonagall looked over several of the parchments, giving the occasional nod of approval. "It appears that almost all of you have applied yourselves to the material."

Harry and Ron grinned at each other in anticipation as she went on, "However, there is one point which I must stress now, before we continue. It is possible that none of you will be able to become Animagi. This does not reflect in any way upon your ability to perform magic, or even your non-magic physical strength. The ability to become an Animagus requires a certain predisposition that is still not entirely understood by even the best wizard scholars. Last year, our own Lee Jordan became the first Animagus produced by Hogwarts in eleven years. However, you may find it possible to perform human transfigurations upon yourselves with the aid of wands, potions, or other wizards."

Hermione's hand went up. "Professor, is there any connection between the ability to become Animagi and wandless magic?"

"A sensible question, Miss Granger, but no. Wandless magic is directly linked to a witch or wizard's level of innate magical ability, while it is possible for the most powerful wizard to study for years and fail to transfigure their own body at will." The class-ending bell rang, and Professor McGonagall smiled. "Next class, I would advise you to dress in your most worn robes. You may find that a constant hazard in human transfiguration is the tearing of one's clothing. Class dismissed."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione hustled to the door. "I can't wait!" exclaimed Ron, practically dancing in anticipation. "What sort of animal do you think I might be?"

"Perhaps a cat?" suggested Seamus, walking past them.

"I think a sea cucumber," added Harry, ducking to avoid a clout.

Hermione looked troubled, "I just wish I would be able to become one. It would be so fascinating to turn into an animal!"

"Cheer up, you've got as much a chance as any of us," said Ron. "Didn't you read what the book said? Five of the eight registered Animagi this century were taught by McGonagall—she's really good at turning them out."

He and Harry were walking briskly toward the Great Hall for lunch, but they were forced to pause and glance back when they realized Hermione was not with them. Looking back down the corridor, they saw that she had stopped dead in her tracks, open-mouthed. "What's wrong?" demanded Harry.

With an expression of utter and complete incredulity, Hermione said slowly, "Ronald Weasley. Did you…just…quote…a BOOK?"

"I…" Ron faltered.

Harry slowly turned his face from Hermione to Ron and then, feigning absolute terror, began backing toward Hermione.

Hermione's mouth twitched once before she whipped her wand out, pointing it with an exaggerated wobble at Ron. "Don't make any sudden moves, Harry!"

"What is it?" exclaimed Neville, coming out of the boys' bathroom and seeing their faces.

Leaning toward Neville while not taking his over-wide eyes off Ron, Harry said in a stage-whisper, "That…that…thing quoted a book at Hermione! At Hermione!"

"Bloody hell!" Neville didn't miss a beat, but raised his fists. "Just stay back, you! What've you done with Ron!"

Ron folded his arms, mock-glaring at them. "Very funny!" They all shrank back and cowered in terror.

"Do you think he's possessed by You-Know-Who?" gasped Seamus from behind them.

"Not funny, Seamus," Hermione muttered, but Ginny had arrived from her class and came to the rescue. She dropped her wand, book bag, and a pineapple to the floor and charged.

"All right, you bloody imposter, I want to know where my brother is and what you've done with him!" she cried.

"Aaugh!" Ron was caught off-guard as Ginny knocked him into the wall and began beating his head against it.

"Where's-my-brother? You book-quoting, studious phony! Where-is-he!"

"Geroff! All right, all right, you've had your fun—ow! Gin, stop, that hurts! Eow!"

"Very well, very well!" Someone clapped their hands together, and the students turned to see Professor McGonagall, watching their antics with a veiled smile. "If you must insist on this level of rowdyism after lunch, kindly confine it to the grounds outside, if you please. Now then, clear the hallway."

"Yes, Professor!"

"Sorry, Professor."

"Oy, Professor! Weasley quoted your Animagus book!" said someone, vanishing into the dispersing crowd.

Professor McGonagall's eyebrows arched up as she turned to glance at Ron, who blushed scarlet and glared at his retreating tormentors. "Indeed, Mr. Weasley? I'm very pleased to hear that my class material is the subject of your out-of-class discussion."

Still blushing, Ron muttered, "I just thought it was promising that so many Hogwarts students become Animagi."

McGonagall nodded, "Well, I would not start casting wagers just yet, as you have undoubtedly read. It is too early to tell how many, if any, students from class will succeed." Her smile became a little less veiled as she added, "All the same, it is a pleasant surprise, since you seldom grace your studies with full attention, Mr. Weasley. Five points to Gryffindor, I think." With one more small smile, she turned and walked away.

Hermione let out a little squeal and hugged Ron's shoulders. "There! Maybe now you'll spend more time in the library!"

Ron was still red in the face, but he looked a little less perturbed. "Aww, well…let's go." He turned and swiftly headed down the hallway with Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Ginny giggling in his wake.

By dinner time, Harry had decided that Sirius and his father's approach to the hardships of life as Remus described it did indeed have its merits. He, Ron, and Ginny got in an hour of Quidditch practice before Hermione got out of Ancient Runes, then they were in a good enough mood to let her talk them into doing some homework. So they all sat at a table in the back of the library working on their essays for International Magical Cooperation, which had turned out to be a very interesting class.

"Honestly," Ron said as they worked on their essays. "I always thought International Magical Cooperation'd be like the stuff Percy did—cauldron bottoms and such. But this is actually…"

"Relevant?" laughed Hermione. "I knew it would be. And it's even more important with the war on."

Harry had told them that morning about the vision of the American wizard in Voldemort's clutches. Ron and Hermione noticed his attention wandering then and knew he was thinking about it. "Don't fret on it too much, mate," said Ron. "Maybe they'll find him yet."

"I wouldn't count on it," Harry sighed. He turned his quill over and over in his fingers. "I saw his picture last night. His name is Alex Marshall, he's about Bill's age, and he's got a fiancée. Voldemort didn't even want him personally—he just wants information about the Wizarding Congress."

Ron winced. "Poor Yank."

"But look at it this way," said Ginny, pushing her Transfiguration book aside. "At least now the Americans know Voldemort's not going to leave them alone. And they've got lots of Aurors and power to add to the war."

Hermione nodded, seizing on the subject. "I skipped ahead in the book to the war with the dark wizard VanHoosenfeffer in 1904—the one where the entire German wizarding government was overthrown. Everyone thought VanHoosenfeffer would win until the Americans got involved, and it was the same sort of thing—a group of their wizards were murdered, causing them to come in force."

"Obviously old Tom Riddle skipped that chapter in his history books," said Ron cheerfully. "Ornery lot, those Yank wizards." He made a face at his essay. "Wish I could say the same for the Australians. Why didn't they want to get into the International Magical Standards Treaty?"

"Isolationism," said Hermione.

"Gesundheit."

"Ronald!"

Ginny grinned at Harry and rolled her eyes. "What's the pineapple for?"

"Charms, we were making them tap-dance."

"That's first year stuff!" said Ron.

"It was a review for O.W.L.s, you prat!" she retorted, and threw the pineapple at him.

That evening, Harry was already concentrating on clearing his mind on the way down to Occlumency—but it was more out of a desire not to lose his nerve and run back to Gryffindor Tower than actual practice. But when he arrived, he got a start to find not only Snape, but also Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, Lupin, and the American Wizard Ambassador he had met in the fire the previous night.

"Ah, Harry, come in. Close the door," said Dumbledore. Harry did so, eyeing them all curiously. "I understand you've been introduced to Ambassador Payton?"

"That's right," said Payton in his American drawl. He held out a hand, and Harry shook it. "Good to meet you in person, young man, whatever the circumstances. And thanks for your help."

"I…you're welcome," said Harry awkwardly, looking at Lupin.

"Why don't we sit down?" suggested Dumbledore.

They sat at a round table that had not been in Snape's office the previous night, with Remus Lupin on one side of Harry and Dumbledore on the other—which prevented Harry from accidentally looking him in the eye. Still, it felt good that he was right there. On the other hand, that left Harry facing Snape.

"We have some good news at last, Harry," Dumbledore said. "A search team of American and British Aurors believes they have found Lord Voldemort's stronghold." Harry saw Snape wince, and even Professor McGonagall and Ambassador Payton shivered. "It was empty by the time our forces were ready to enter, but at least Tom has lost the use of it. Professor Snape has already identified it, and the Ministry asks for your confirmation as well."

Across from Harry, Snape was scowling furiously at the tabletop, obviously irked that his own word was not enough, but Harry was too busy trying to control the churning of his insides to notice. "My confirm…how? Do I have to go back there?"

"Certainly not, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall sharply. "Even the Ministry bureaucrats are not so inhuman as to force you to return to that place. We have means of showing it to you here, if you feel comfortable now."

The thought of seeing it again at all, in any fashion, still left Harry just slightly nauseated. Nonetheless, he swallowed and nodded. "Let's get it over with, then."

Professor Dumbledore and Ambassador Payton stood up and aimed their wands at the wall. "Genero locmenti."

One entire wall of Professor Snape's office seemed to fog over, making Harry squint and rub his eyes, and then the wall shifted, changing to form the image of a large, torch-lit cave, with walls and floors of smooth stone. Dumbledore waved his wand, and it seemed as if they were traveling down the tunnels until they reached a giant, underground chamber, its walls lined with braziers, and a stone chair carved with snakes at its center with a circle of torches just in front of it. The image kept moving until they went through a side entrance to a smaller, curtained room lit by a single row of candles, containing one chair.

Harry's mouth was very dry. "That's it," he whispered.

"That is the place you were taken?" Dumbledore asked gently.

Harry nodded. "And…that smaller room…I've seen it…in the visions. It's where Voldemort had that man last night." Then something occurred to him in a rush, and he asked, "Did you find him?"

Payton's face fell, and he nodded. "He's dead, son." Harry flinched hard, and felt Lupin's hand rest lightly on his shoulder. "Don't worry. Your Dark Lord's gonna wish he'd never brought an American into this by the time we're done with him."

"This brings us to our next question, Harry," said Dumbledore. "The Ministry is sending a number of Aurors and Ambassadors to the United States to discuss cooperation in the fight against Lord Voldemort. In particular, many members of the American Wizarding Congress would like to hear from you."

Harry blinked. "What? But…why me?" As he looked from Dumbledore to Payton, he saw Snape roll his eyes.

Payton laughed. "That oughtta be obvious. You're the foremost expert in the wizarding world on the old bastard!"

"Ambassador! Mind your language, please, Mr. Potter is still a student," Professor McGonagall scolded.

Payton just grinned. "Pardon, ma'am."

Harry was still confused. "But…what do they want to know? What more can I tell—half the things I barely even remember!"

"It's your celebrity, Potter," Snape said in a low voice. "Now that the Americans have finally decided to involve themselves, they wish to behold the face of the Dark Lord's arch-nemesis in person."

No one missed his sarcasm, but Payton said cheerfully, "That's more than half-true. We may not have fought in the last war, but we know about the Boy-Who-Lived. All the reports in the world won't have half the impact of someone who can put a human face on what we're up against."

For the first time in living memory, Harry found himself agreeing with Snape. "If all you want is a human face," he said tightly, "why not tell them about Alex Marshall? Or the woman in the picture with him."

At least it got Payton's attention. His face turned hard, and he told Harry, "Believe me, kid, they'll hear about that too. Marshall's funeral is tomorrow. The girl in the picture's Anita Green, his fiancée. She's addressing Congress the day after that."

Harry saw honest sorrow on the man's face, which made him feel badly. He hadn't meant to rub Payton's nose in Marshall's murder. "So…what is it you want me to do?"

Professor McGonagall leaned forward, folding her hands on the table. "This is the reason I recommended that you take International Magical Cooperation, Potter. The time has come where the wizarding forces of many nations join together against the Dark Lord, and you have already shown yourself capable of…uniting persons behind a cause." She gave him a sly half-smile.

"But that's just a club!" Harry protested weakly. "And everyone knew Umbridge was incompetent."

No one corrected him to say "Professor" Umbridge. Professor McGonagall was undaunted. "Yet now everyone knows the Dark Lord has returned, Mr. Potter. And as unfair as it is to someone of your years, you are and have always been the most powerful weapon our side has against him." Her face was solemn, but her eyes never left his, and Harry knew she was speaking to him as a member of the Order. After all the time he had spent being kept in the dark, her kind-but-blunt words meant a great deal.

Payton also leaned forward. "The bottom line is, people'll listen to you. If there're any doubters after what happened to Marshall, your coming to ask for support'll make the whole country look up and take notice."

Harry couldn't help but notice that next to Payton, Snape was slouching in his chair, his scowl getting darker and darker as Professor McGonagall and the American Ambassador spoke. He was the spy in Voldemort's ranks for years, he realized. But it's still me everyone wants to hear it from.

Harry found that he could not feel the least bit smug about that fact. Maybe it was the sight of those tunnels so fresh in his mind again. He forced his mind back to the questions at hand, and nodded slowly. "All right. If it'll convince them to get involved, I'll go."

Payton reached across the table and gripped Harry's hand. "We appreciate it, son, believe me. And I promise—unlike your countrymen last year—" he grinned at the Professors, "we'll be very receptive to what you have to say."

Professor McGonagall snorted quietly behind her hand. "How soon would you require Mr. Potter to go?" she asked. "He has unfortunately missed a good deal of class this term already."

"So I heard," said Payton with a grimace. "This Saturday okay? After the Green girl says her piece to Congress, I'd bet anything they'll be in session straight through the weekend. It'd give Potter a chance to chat with a few senior members informally—no chamber speeches or anything like that—and we'd get him home by Monday."

"But Albus," said Professor McGonagall, "there is still the question of protection. It would be wise if we draw as little attention to this trip as possible while seeing to it that Potter is kept safe."

"Hmm," said Payton, leaning back and rubbing his chin. "An Auror escort'd be one thing, but that's not exactly subtle, is it?"

"And I fear there are still questions as to the trustworthiness of some in the Auror ranks," said Dumbledore. "Perhaps I will be able to persuade the Minister to allow me to see to Harry's safety."

"He'll want people from his office to go with them," warned Lupin. "Maybe we can convince him to limit the number. And no reporters, or at least not until they're safely back." Something in his voice made Harry look at him. He had the distinct impression that Remus was not at all happy about this trip.

"It's a shame it cannot be you, Remus," said Dumbledore, making Harry's heart sink. He'd been about to suggest just that. Seeing Harry's expression, Dumbledore explained, "I fear the restrictions on travel for individuals with Lycanthropy would render all our efforts at stealth useless."

Harry turned sharply toward Payton. "What have Americans got against…"

The Ambassador hastily raised his hands. "Hey, it's not us, it's your people! The restrictions on werewolf travel got tightened by your Ministry last year."

Umbridge, Harry thought. Snape smirked.

Dumbledore put a hand on Harry's shoulder to forestall the disgusted retort he'd been about to deliver, and said, "All the same, it would be wise for Harry to be accompanied by a Hogwarts Professor. Moreover, in this case I believe the best person for this task is one who knows Lord Voldemort's methods well." In his brief pause, Harry made the connection, and his mouth opened in horror as Dumbledore finished, "We will send Professor Snape."