A fine, misty rain drifted down over the rooftops and gardens of Little Whinging, covering everything with tiny drops like delicate beads of glass. The low clouds hanging heavy overhead completely blocked the sun, putting a coolness in the air quite unusual for the month of July. Although the rain could hardly be called a downpour (it was really more like a thick fog), the residents of Privet Drive were doing their best to stay indoors, watching television and cooking dinner.

Here and there, a few cars passed by, off on various errands or returning home so the occupants could leap out with armloads of parcels and hustle into their houses to avoid getting wet. Even in the lightest rain, everyone in Little Whinging was highly averse to the visual effect of dampness.

Everyone, that is, except the boy seated on the back terrace of Number Four, Privet Drive. Covered with little rain-beads, his black hair clung wetly to his scalp and forehead above his wire-rimmed glasses, and his damp, too-large clothes clung to his skinny body. Completely motionless on the lowest step of the back terrace, he resembled nothing so much as a bizarre lawn ornament, with his bright green eyes staring at nothing.

Harry Potter was aware that the news was playing inside on the television, but he didn’t bother to go into the house. And this time, it wasn’t because his aunt and uncle had forbidden it. The Dursleys had in fact been almost tolerant of Harry in the week since they had picked him up from King’s Cross station at the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts. Instead of bellowing, “Boy! Come here and do such-and-such,” Uncle Vernon now muttered, “Got some chores for you. See to it they’re done by dinner.” And then Harry was usually left alone.

There was little doubt that the reticence of Harry’s Muggle relatives had to do with the greeting party assembled by the Order of the Phoenix to chat with them when they’d arrived at King’s Cross. A close encounter with Mad-Eye Moody was enough to give even the average wizard pause, and so naturally, Uncle Vernon had found himself a bit intimidated. Now the Dursleys lived with no greater fear that one or more of the bizarrely-dressed, mildly-threatening characters they had met at the station would turn up on Privet Drive and destroy their beloved “normal” existence if their nephew made any complaints about his treatment.

But all in all, there was little reason for the Dursleys to be worried: since coming back to Privet Drive, Harry Potter had scarcely uttered a word.

After a good deal of instruction from Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley had finally figured out how to use the telephone properly, and so Harry got either a telephone call or an owl from one or the other of them (and sometimes both) every day. Harry preferred the owls; all he needed to do was write that nothing new was happening and yes, he was staying on the Dursleys’ property, no, they weren’t mistreating him, yes, he was looking forward to getting O.W.L. exam results, no, he didn’t need them to owl or call every day.

But that didn’t stop them doing it.

When the phone calls came from Ron, Harry was usually able to get out of talking much; he just let Ron tell him all about his summer at the Burrow, practicing Quidditch with Ginny and whichever of his brothers happened to be home, helping the twins with the store, and making ready to run for Headquarters at a moment’s notice. Harry only had to make the appropriate noises in between Ron’s sentences and give a few one-word answers to convince Ron he was all right.

Hermione, on the other hand, wasn’t so easy to fool, and endlessly nagged Harry about how he was doing. Somehow in the past few weeks since year’s end, she seemed to have developed a little understanding about his usual reaction to prying, and avoided mentioning outright what she wanted him to talk about. But while she was very skilled at detecting subtleties in others, when it came to it, Hermione wasn’t very good at using them herself. And it was painfully clear to Harry that the one subject she wanted most to hear about was the one subject he wanted least to talk about.

It had barely been three weeks since Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather, had died in the Ministry of Magic’s Department of Mysteries, falling through a stone archway that led…well…nowhere. Worse still, his death had been caused by Harry’s precipitous rush to the Ministry that led him straight into a trap set by Voldemort and his followers. Harry had gone there to save Sirius, and in the end, that was the reason his godfather had died.

No, he did not want to talk to Hermione or anyone else about it. So he spent every minute trying to occupy himself, be it with the Dursleys’ chores or summer homework.

On the second Monday of summer holidays, Harry had finished all his chores by one o’clock in the afternoon, and spent the afternoon revising his N.E.W.T Potions essay. The previous Friday, O.W.L. results had arrived: Harry had received seven, and acceptance into the N.E.W.T courses that would keep him on the track to becoming an Auror, even Potions. He had scored far better than he’d expected in Potions, receiving an “O” in the theory and an “E” in the practical, and by some miracle (perhaps a little nudging from Professor McGonagall or Professor Dumbledore) he’d been admitted to N.E.W.T. Potions.

It should have made him happy, or at least a little smug, to have made it into Snape’s N.E.W.T class. But it didn’t. He should have felt excited, or at least a little encouraged, by the fact that he still had a chance of becoming an Auror. But it didn’t. In a strange way, since returning to Privet Drive, Harry had achieved what he had told Professor Dumbledore he wanted on the night Sirius died: he could no longer see to feel. Anything.

Even when the Daily Prophet had come yesterday with more news of Minister Fudge’s frantic efforts to recruit more Aurors to guard Azkaban prison after the dementors had abandoned it, he had felt nothing. No fear, no anger, not even vindication at Fudge’s feeble attempts to explain last year’s events (particularly why he had not listened to Harry and Professor Dumbledore’s warnings that Voldemort had returned.)

What was left inside of Harry was a silent apathy, leaning toward glum. But gray nothingness (kind of like the foggy rain falling on him now) was still better than the agony of grief and rage that had burned at his insides during the first days that had dawned in this horrible new World Without Sirius.

After finally deciding his Potions essay was as perfect as he could make it, Harry had gone outside. Maybe he could send it to Hermione for some corrections; it might set her mind at ease—or worry her that he was further ahead on his schoolwork than she was.

He’d been sitting on the front steps at first, until Aunt Petunia had come out and told him, “If you’re just going to sit about all day, kindly do it in the back garden so the neighbors don’t have to see you.”

So Harry sat in the rain from three in the afternoon until seven in the evening, silent and unmoving, and trying (and failing) not to think of Sirius.

Hearing Aunt Petunia’s call for dinner at seven, he got up and went inside, to her scandalized exclamation of, “You’re sopping wet! Get upstairs and change into some dry clothes before you ruin the carpet or get sick! What were you thinking?!”

So Harry trudged upstairs and put on some dry blue jeans and one of his jumpers from Mrs. Weasley (he was a little cold, he had to admit) then came back down to help set the table. He did all of this in his usual silence.

As they sat down to dinner, Uncle Vernon watched Harry picking idly at his roast beef and remarked, “Is skinny stylish among your lot, or’ve you lost your taste for normal food?”

Harry blinked and looked up, startled that his uncle had actually noticed his lack of appetite, then he just shrugged and pushed a fork full of meat into his mouth. Aunt Petunia bristled, “Young man, don’t think for an instant that your lot’s threats will allow you to get away with cheeky behavior!”

Harry swallowed his food, kept his eyes on his plate, and muttered, “Sorry.” His aunt, uncle, and cousin frowned at him, but he wasn’t surprised. His voice had sounded strange even to his own ears; he used it so seldom anymore. It just…wasn’t worth the effort.

Uncle Vernon cleared his throat. “I’ve been meaning to have a word with you,” he said sternly. Harry felt a brief urge to groan. “Your aunt and I have decided that whatever little state you’re obviously in, we don’t intend to let you continue this week like last week.” Harry scowled at his plate and said nothing. He would have thought they’d be thrilled by his silence. Uncle Vernon went on, “Whatever you’ve been sulking about, it’s no excuse for this lack of respect. So your manners are going to shape up or no matter what threats your lot makes, I’ll be taking away the privilege of letting you practice your tricks under this roof. Understood?”

Harry sighed, forcing himself to look up. “Yes, Uncle Vernon.” He held their gazes until they seemed satisfied, then looked down and half-heartedly continued eating.

Dudley rolled his eyes at Harry. “What’s eating you, anyway? It’s summer holidays, and you’re acting like somebody died!”

A lump of roast beef turned to ash in Harry’s mouth. It was several minutes before he could swallow, but once he did, he looked coldly at his cousin. “Somebody did. May I be excused?” Without waiting for Aunt Petunia’s reply, he picked up his plate and carried it into the kitchen.

---

Curled up on the floor of his room next to his bed, Harry sat over Sirius’s two-way mirror. He had shattered it when it hadn’t worked at Hogwarts, but repaired it with his wand the very day he got back to Privet Drive. And every night since then, he looked into it and called for Sirius.

“Sirius Black.”

Silence. One heartbeat. Then another.

Nothing.

Harry should have gotten angry like he had at Hogwarts. He should have been disappointed, or sad, or at least his heart should have sped up while waiting. But it didn’t. There was only his face staring back at him in the mirror, a little drawn from rapidly-lost weight, and little color except for the green of his eyes. His eyes looked empty and hopeless, which made sense, for that was exactly how Harry felt.

The prophecy that Voldemort had lured Harry to the Ministry to obtain—and failed, but with Sirius’s life as the price—told that only Harry had the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. And that one of them must die at the hand of the other. So Harry would either be murdered by Voldemort…or Harry would have to be the one to kill him. And Harry couldn’t even muster up the will to care anymore.

He heard the telephone ring downstairs. It was probably Ron; he usually called after dinner. Harry didn’t have the energy to get up and find out, but a moment later, there was a rap on the door. “Telephone.”

“Coming,” Harry said, and went downstairs to the kitchen.

“Harry? How are you, mate?”

“All right, Ron. You?”

“I’m at Headquarters. Hermione’s here too—with her parents! Everyone’s really worried that the Orde—I mean, the Aurors’ families’ll be the first targets of You-Know-Who, so they’re all being moved into hiding.”

“Your family’s there too, then?” Harry asked, feeling a little whisper of relief at the news.

“Yeah, except Percy, but he’s been sent to a safe house. He sent Mum a letter telling her he’s safe outside work.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t really know if that’s good or not,” Ron went on, “I mean, he did stop Dad in the Ministry hallway on Friday to make sure we were all leaving the Burrow. I guess that’s something, but with the start of the war and all, we didn’t really get the chance to hear much from him.”

Harry made a neutral noise. He’d taken to doing that in lieu of talking. Hermione and Remus Lupin always pressed him to speak, but it usually worked on Ron.

It did, and Ron went on, “On the other hand, he and Mum were playing tennis all spring with that bloody jumper, but he hasn’t sent it back again. Could be he just didn’t have time and left it at his flat, but…never know, I suppose.”

“Mm-hmm,” Harry replied. This time, Ron seemed to be waiting for a longer answer. “Erm…how’s your mum?”

Ron sighed loudly into the receiver. “She’s a wreck. She wrote Percy at work, begging him to come here with us, but he wrote back that it wasn’t a good idea. At least he’s answering now, I guess.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Er…listen, Harry, you know, Hermione says she thinks you—what?” Harry heard another voice on the other end. No, several voices. All talking at once. Then Ron’s voice came back, and he sounded breathless. “Harry, the Or—everyone’s back, and Remus has to talk to you right now.”

There was a shuffle, then Lupin’s anxious voice came on. “Harry?”

“I’m here,” Harry said, sensing that whatever the news, it wasn’t good.

“Harry, Voldemort is attacking Azkaban, trying to spring his Death Eaters. Professor Dumbledore is on his way there now, but he said to tell you to be ready: it’s begun.”

“I understand,” said Harry, feeling emotions he’d thought were gone creeping back into him, with alarm at the forefront.

“He wants you to stay in your home, and tell your relatives to do the same. We’re going to increase your guard, but you’re safest within the wards.”

“All right—” Harry glanced automatically at the Dursleys in the living room and froze: Dudley was in the foyer, with Aunt Petunia nagging him to take his galoshes. “Oh no. Dudley’s about to leave.”

“Your cousin? Harry, stop him, he’ll be in grave danger!”

“Don’t hang up the phone; I may need you,” Harry said gravely. “I doubt they’ll take my word alone.”

“I’ll wait. Hurry!”

Harry set the phone down and ran into the hall. “Dudley! Aunt Petunia, wait!” His aunt and cousin hesitated in the doorway. “You can’t go out!”

Dudley folded his arms. “You can’t tell me what to do, Potter!”

“No, it’s not that,” Harry said desperately, hearing Uncle Vernon coming to see what was happening. “Aunt Petunia, something’s happened!”

“What the devil are you on about, boy?” Uncle Vernon demanded, appearing behind him.

Harry struggled to explain, but kept his eyes on Aunt Petunia. She at least would understand what he was talking about, even if she disliked it. “Voldemort is attacking the wizard prison. All the dementors left, and there’s not enough guards to keep his followers locked up. He’s getting them out now.”

To his relief, Aunt Petunia went pale and grabbed Dudley’s shoulders. “You’re saying that next, he’ll come…here?”

Harry nodded. “Professor Dumbledore thinks so.”

“What are you talking about?” Dudley whined. “I’m going to be late!”

“No, Bopkins, you can’t go. I’m so sorry,” Aunt Petunia’s grip on her son tightened.

“What?! You’re listening to him?!” Dudley bellowed.

“Dudley’s right, Petunia, since when does this ungrateful freak tell us what to do—”

“—Have you forgotten what happened last summer?!” Aunt Petunia suddenly shouted at her husband. Harry didn’t know who was more surprised: Uncle Vernon, Dudley, or himself. All three of them gaped. Then Aunt Petunia’s head whipped back to face Harry. “How do you know we’re all safe here?”

“Wards,” Harry explained. “Magic protections. Around the house. And the charm—you know which,” he said carefully. Aunt Petunia nodded gravely. “As long as we stay inside, Voldemort’s lot can’t get to us.”

“And those dementy-things, from last year? They can’t get in either?” Uncle Vernon asked.

“I…I don’t think so,” Harry said slowly. Would the wards and spells stop dementors?

“You think?!” Uncle Vernon shouted, just as Dudley yelled, “He’s barking! I’m going to Gordon’s!”

“No!” Aunt Petunia shrieked, grabbing for Dudley as he opened the door. “Dudders, wait, it’s not safe! Why don’t we call Gordon and invite him over here tonight?”

Uncle Vernon was still demanding more explanations when the telltale CRACK of an apparating wizard echoed down the street. Dudley and Aunt Petunia froze on the front walk. Harry whipped out his wand. “What was that?” hissed Uncle Vernon.

“Don’t know,” Harry muttered. “A wizard’s here.”

“One of Lord Whatsits?”

“Ssh!” Harry hissed. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were still motionless on the terrace.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

“I don’t like this,” Uncle Vernon growled but his voice was quavering.

“That makes two of us,” Harry replied, his heart now doing back flips in his chest.

Windows and doors were opening all along the street. “What the blazes is that noise?!” the next door neighbor yelled.

“I—aah—” Harry’s mind raced.

“Bank robbers!” Uncle Vernon suddenly shouted, waving his arms at the neighbors frantically. “Fugitive armed bank robbers are headed into the area! Police just reported it! Lock your doors!”

With shouts and curses, doors and windows slammed shut up and down Privet Drive. “Dudley, Aunt Petunia, please come back in,” Harry said nervously. “It’s not sa—”

“Avada Kedavra!”

Time seemed to slow down. A flash of green light erupted from behind a hedge down the street, acing straight toward them. Harry yelled, “Look out!” as Dudley and Aunt Petunia screamed simultaneously and Uncle Vernon tried to shove past him to reach them. Harry aimed his wand and shouted, “Protego!” even though he knew it wouldn’t block a Killing Curse.

The deadly green light flew across the street through the air over the edge of the Dursley’s green lawn—and dissipated against an invisible barrier.

“Get in! Quick!” Harry cried, leaping off the steps and bodily shoving his cousin and aunt back at the door. Then a chorus of yells through the street made him spin around, wand in front of him, in time to see a dozen black-robed, masked wizards charging toward the house from every direction.

As Uncle Vernon hustled the shrieking Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the house behind him, Harry raced himself for an onslaught of curses. If the wards didn’t hold, he knew he wouldn’t last long alone against this many Death Eaters.

“Impedimenta!” His own jinx flew across the garden and into the street, knocking down one Death Eater. “Stupefy!” Another one dropped.

“Uncle Vernon! Professor Lupin’s on the telephone! Tell him what’s happening! He’ll bring help!” Harry shouted over his shoulder, hoping Remus hadn’t hung up—and that Uncle Vernon wouldn’t be too panicked or stubborn to ask for wizards’ aid.

The door slammed shut behind Harry, and he yelled, “Expelliarmus!” The Death Eaters ducked. “Stupefy!”

Another dropped, but the rest kept coming, and now Harry could hear more cracks down the street and see more dark robes charging him, bellowing spells to bring down whatever was protecting the house. I’m about to die…

With a collective yell, the Death Eaters reached the edge of the Dursleys’ garden, but then seemed to stop, as Harry heard a noise like a stretching piece of rubber. He heard them grunting and straining, and then there was a brilliant flash of light, and black robed figures were flung out onto the street and into other gardens. Harry gasped with relief. They couldn’t get to him. The wards had held.

All at once, there was another CRACK, and a wizard appeared inside the wards. Harry let out a yell of alarm and heard Aunt Petunia scream from the window. “Close it!” he shouted, raising his wand. “Stupef—”

“No! Harry!” It was a familiar voice.

Harry froze, his heart in his throat. “Remus?” he gasped as the other wizard’s face finally registered.

Remus Lupin leapt up the steps, ignoring the removal spells and jinxes still being thrown harmlessly against the invisible shield around Number Four, Privet Drive. “Harry, thank heavens you’re all safe.” He yanked a box out of his robe. “Floo powder. The Aurors have sealed off the network so only residents of this house can get through. If the protections fail, get your relatives to Dumbledore’s office. You’ll be safe at Hogwarts if the wards go down. Help is on the way.”

In the street, there were more cracks, and the Death Eaters were forced to turn their attentions from Harry’s house to the brightly-robed Aurors and members of the Order of the Phoenix now racing to meet them. Within seconds, Privet Drive was filled with screams and shouts, fighting robed wizards, and streaks of colored light.

Behind Harry, the door opened, and Uncle Vernon stepped out, staring from Harry to Remus to the chaos on his street. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were wide-eyed in the doorway. Uncle Vernon looked at Harry again. “You…you…”

Harry’s heart sank, and he dropped his head. Then Remus put a hand on his shoulder and stepped forward. “I’m very glad to see your family is unhurt, Mr. Dursley. As long as you stay on your property, we believe you’ll be safe from that.” He jerked his head at the fighting wizards jumping through hedges and setting cars on fire with their hexes. “I’m very sorry about…all this. We had hoped it would never go this far, and I can assure you Harry didn’t want it either.”

Daring a glance at his uncle’s face, Harry was startled to see a flicker of what might have been sympathy. “This lot’s all after you then?” Harry nodded. “What for?”

“It’s a rather long story,” said Remus, with his hand still on Harry’s shoulder.

Behind them, two other Aurors burst onto the garden. “Lupin! Cut the pleasantries; we need you! Potter, get your people inside!” bellowed Mad-Eye Moody, turning around and shooting hexes from within the safety of the wards.

“Right you are, Moody! Go, Harry. Mr. Dursley, keep your family inside, I must…deal with this.” Giving Harry’s shoulder a little squeeze, Lupin turned and headed for the edge of the garden where the other Aurors were following Moody’s example and taking shelter behind the shield.

“Remus!” Harry suddenly called. The last living Marauder paused and looked back. Harry gulped and said in a weak voice, “Be careful.” Remus smiled and gave Harry a thumbs-up before jogging to join Tonks on the driveway.

“Come on, get in,” said Uncle Vernon from the doorway. Harry knew bitterly that he would be more of a hindrance than a help if he joined the fight; the Aurors were too set on protecting him. Turning slowly, he walked into his mother’s sister’s house and shut the door behind him.

“What’s happening?” Aunt Petunia demanded as Harry went quietly to the living room window. “What are all of…those people doing out there?”

“Voldemort sent them,” Harry replied, rolling his wand in his fingertips. Even if he couldn’t do anything, he felt better with it in his hand. “The ones in red are Aurors. They’re here to stop him.”

“Why does this Lord Voldymore want you?” Dudley asked, coming to peer out the window next to Harry.

Aunt Petunia gave Harry a meaningful look, while saying to Dudley, “It’s a long story, dear.” As she clutched Uncle Vernon’s hand, Harry wondered just how much she had known about the first war before Dumbledore had sent Harry to her. He thought of the Howler the previous summer, and wondered how much she might really know about the second one.

Turning back to the window, he saw that most of the Aurors were behind the shield now, and Tonks and Remus were dragging one limp form behind the others. It was Kingsley Shacklebolt. They huddled over the man for a moment, then slowly rose, their solemn faces confirming Harry’s fear, and he groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

“What is it?” asked Aunt Petunia, hurrying to Dudley’s side to look.

“That man,” said Dudley, pointing at Kingsley. “Is he dead?”

“Yes,” said Harry numbly. Aunt Petunia gasped, clutching Dudley again.

Uncle Vernon joined them. “How much longer is this going to go on?” he asked dully over the muffled racket from outside.

“I don’t know,” Harry murmured. Kingsley…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! It’s not fair! How many more good people would die trying to protect him?

“What happens if those men in black get into the garden?” Aunt Petunia demanded, her voice shrill with fear.

Harry turned to the Dursleys and held up the box Remus had given him. “Floo powder. Remember how the Weasleys came through the fireplace two years ago? If anything happens, that’s how we’ll get out.”

“And where does the…fireplace take us?” Dudley asked, eyeing it doubtfully.

“Hogwarts,” said Harry. “My school. It’s the safest place in the wizarding world.”

“What?!” Uncle Vernon bellowed. “They’re sending us to hide out with that place with your lot?”

“Would you rather try your luck with that lot?” Harry shot back, jumping up and gesturing at the battle raging outside. Uncle Vernon gulped, and Aunt Petunia looked ready to cry. Harry took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said curtly. “Remus was right; I never wanted any of this. You have no idea what these past few years have been like! I want it all to go away too, but it won’t, and you lot can’t stick your heads in the sand any longer.”

“But we’ve got nothing to do with any of this!” Uncle Vernon cried, grabbing the sides of his head.

There was a burst of mirthless, bitter laughter that Harry suddenly realized was coming from himself. It was a strange sound in his own ears. “Believe me,” he said, turning away from the startled Dursleys to watch the battle again. “They don’t care. Not one bit.”

“If…” Aunt Petunia gulped. “If they get through…and come after you…what will happen to us?”

Harry kept his eyes on the battle for a few moments. The Aurors were now all behind the barrier and hexing the Death Eaters at will, as Voldemort’s followers renewed their efforts to shatter the wards. Dumbledore had said nothing could harm Harry while sheltered by his mother’s blood, but…he turned and looked at the Dursleys. Swallowing hard, he told them quietly, “The year before last, when I saw Voldemort come back, there was another student with me. Cedric,” he added, glaring at Dudley. “He shouldn’t have been there; it was an accident. When Voldemort saw Cedric he ordered his servant to ‘kill the spare.’ And he did,” he went on, biting off the words furiously. “Cedric had even less to do with it than you do. He just happened to be there. Wrong place, wrong time.”

“So,” said Uncle Vernon, “as far as Lord Voldything’s concerned, we’re…”

“Spares,” Harry finished bitterly. There was no point in trying to hide it. Dumbledore had tried to do that for Harry, keep the scary parts of the truth secret, and look what had happened.

“Mum…” said Dudley. “I’m hungry.”

If Harry hadn’t been so tense, he might have laughed. Aunt Petunia replied, “Well, we don’t know how long we’ll be trapped in here. Go on to the kitchen. Vernon, why don’t you go too. I’ll stay here.”

As Harry’s uncle and cousin shuffled off, Aunt Petunia came over to stand next to Harry at the window. Privet Drive was in ruins. There was smoke and fire and debris everywhere; Harry could see several houses burning, but couldn’t guess whether the occupants had escaped. They would not have known what was happening. A shudder escaped him. Aunt Petunia asked, “Why did Lord Voldemort kill my sister? Was she a ‘spare’ too?”

Harry’s throat felt painfully tight. He nodded. “He was after me. She wouldn’t step aside, so he…”

Aunt Petunia made an odd noise. He kept his eyes on the battle. After a moment, she asked again, “Why? Why is he so set on you?”

Harry closed his eyes and let his head rest against the window glass. It felt nice and cool against his burning, itching scar. “Because of…information. I’m the only one who can stop him.”

There was a hiss as Aunt Petunia sucked in her breath between her teeth. “Stop him? You mean…”

“Yes,” Harry said, keeping his eyes closed. He did not elaborate. Aunt Petunia’s silence told him he did not need to.

All at once, the window glass against his forehead got warm, his scar flared painfully, and the Aurors’ shouts outside took on frenzied tones. Harry jerked his head up and felt his heart freeze: a larger, dark-robed figure was moving slowly through the ruined street. As he wove through the greatly-diminished troop of Death Eaters, Harry could see the glowing red eyes, focused directly on him. “Oh no—”

Aunt Petunia yelped as he jumped to his feet. “Who—what’s that?!” she shrieked.

“Voldemort. It’s him,” Harry said, hearing his own voice shake. Remus and Tonks and Moody and the Aurors—Voldemort would kill them all to get to Harry... Dumbledore! Where’s Dumbledore?!

“Dudley! Vernon!” Aunt Petunia cried, and they came barreling back into the living room.

“What’s that?!” Dudley whimpered, rushing to his mother as he spotted the red-eyed creature coming closer and closer to Number Four, Privet Drive.

“It’s Voldemort,” Harry said, clutching his wand. He felt pulled in three directions: part of him wanted to Floo away with the Dursleys to Hogwarts, part of him wanted race out the door and join the battle, and part of him wished, pleaded with himself to wake up! Let it all be a dream. But it wasn’t; his racing heart and throbbing scar told him that. The Dursleys were all clinging to each other in terror, and Harry wished he had someone to hold onto just then. He remembered the way it had felt being held by Mrs. Weasley, his godfather’s brief, one-armed hugs, Hermione’s wild embraces whenever something happened that really excited her, Oliver Wood and the team after they won the Quidditch Cup—he’d take any one of them. Just a friendly pair of arms right at this second to wrap around him and tell him everything would be all right, even if that wasn’t true…Sirius! Sirius, why did you have to die! I need you!

“That’s what’s after you?!” cried Uncle Vernon. “That…monster?!”

“That’s Lord Voldemort,” Harry confirmed, as the Aurors began to back up. Remus spun around, saw Harry at the window, and began to shout frantically. His voice was lost in the crashes and screams, but Harry knew what he wanted. “I think it’s time to go.” He headed for the fireplace.

“But you said they couldn’t come in here!” exclaimed Dudley, trailing after him.

“No sense taking chances,” Harry muttered. “Reducto!” The fireplace blasted open.

Suddenly, yellow light flashed through the whole house, and there was a sound like an explosion. Harry felt a ripple of energy, like an electric shock through his skin. “Harry!” Aunt Petunia screamed.

He pushed past Dudley and hurtled back to the window. What he saw made him gasp, “No!”

Aurors had been flung like rag dolls in every direction. From the looks of them, so had the Death Eaters. The Dursleys’ garden was smoldering, and their car was on fire. It seemed the only thing still standing was Voldemort, right at the edge of the street. As Harry and the Dursleys watched, the dark wizard stepped up over the curb…and into the yard.

“How’d he do that?!” Aunt Petunia shrieked as Voldemort moved slowly, almost lazily, across the scorched grass.

“Blood,” Harry whispered. At their confused noises, he turned to Aunt Petunia and blurted, “He’s got my blood!” She covered her mouth, understanding what he meant.

Uncle Vernon didn’t. “What do you—”

“GO!” Harry yelled, shoving them toward the fireplace. “We have to go!”

He opened the box of powder and faltered; the fireplace was not big enough for all four of them. Again, Aunt Petunia caught on. “Dudley, you go first! Quick now! Harry, get him out of here!”

“I’m not like him!” Dudley protested. “I don’t know how to travel in a fireplace!”

Harry didn’t think a Muggle could operate the Floo network, so that left only one choice. “I’ll be right back,” he told his aunt and uncle, and dragged his terrified cousin into the fireplace. “Just hold still! He threw down a handful of Floo powder and covered Dudley’s mouth to keep him from screaming. “Professor Dumbledore’s office!” They spun away.

---

Harry and Dudley tumbled out of the fire into the familiar Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts, startling several portraits. Dudley yelped, and Harry shoved him out. “Stay here and don’t touch anything! I’ll be back! Number Four, Privet Drive!”

---

He stumbled back into the living room to have a screaming Aunt Petunia thrust into his arms by Uncle Vernon. “Take your aunt! Go!”

“No! Vernon, no!” Aunt Petunia shrieked.

“Come on!” Harry yelled, yanking her back. Through the window, he could see Voldemort had reached the door. Throwing down another handful of powder, he shouted for Dumbledore’s office, but the green flames didn’t spin them away before he saw Uncle Vernon standing, frozen with fear, as the front door exploded in.

---

They fell back into Dumbledore’s office, and Aunt Petunia ran to Dudley, sobbing, “Get Vernon! Get Vernon!”

“I’ll get him! Hold on! Four, Privet Drive!” Harry cried, and the flames carried him back.

---

He landed in destruction. There was no light except for the flames outside, there was dust and smoke everywhere, and furniture was toppled. Harry coughed and shouted, “Uncle Vernon! UNCLE VERNON!”

Silence except for the crackle of flames and shouts outside. Harry saw light flickering from more than the windows: the Dursleys’ house was on fire. “UNCLE VERNON!”

He stumbled over rubble, coughing in the smoke, until he saw a heavyset figure lying in the kitchen doorway, covered with dust. “Uncle Vernon!” Harry rushed over and fell to his uncle’s side, shaking him. “Get up! We have to go, come on! Aunt Petunia’s waiting!”

Vernon Dursley did not answer. He lay still, staring at the ceiling with an expression of utter terror upon his face. Harry shook him weakly as a very cold, heavy feeling began to rise up from his stomach into his chest, up into his throat. “Uncle Vernon?” he whispered, fumbling for a pulse.

Nothing. Nothing at all. And the wrist in Harry’s hand was growing cold.

Another spare.

“No…oh no. Uncle Vernon? Uncle Vernon…you can’t…what’ll I tell them…no…” Harry’s breath was coming faster and faster; what was he going to do? Uncle Vernon’s wife and son were at Hogwarts, waiting for Harry to bring him to safety—he was just a Muggle, he had nothing to do with this! He couldn’t protect his family from someone like Voldemort, Harry needed to… “I’m sorry!” he wailed as cold despair erupted inside him. Uncle Vernon had never hugged Harry or been friendly to him in his life, but now Harry sank down and buried his face in his uncle’s chest, rocking back and forth. “I’m sorry! I tried! I’m so sorry!”

He couldn’t think. All he was aware of was the body of his uncle next to him, and the bitter guilt that yet another person was dead for coming between Harry and Lord Voldemort.

“Poor boy…” came a snake-like hiss from behind him.

Harry shot to his feet, bringing his wand to bear. “Voldemort, you bastard! He had nothing to do with this! Why kill him?!”

A horrible, cackling laugh rose above the voices without, and the flames within. “You ought to know by now, Harry Potter. I enjoy it!”

With an inarticulate howl of rage, Harry aimed his wand straight at Voldemort’s chest. “AVADA KEDAVRA!”

The green light flew at Voldemort and sent the dark wizard to his knees. Harry gasped in astonishment. He’d done it. He’d struck the Dark Lord with the Killing Curse. And I meant it…to kill…what am I?

He waited for the hooded figure to finally fall, but it did not. The hood lifted, and red eyes burning dark and furious met his. Harry put a hand to his throbbing scar. “Well done, Harry. For a first attempt, that was most impressive. Most impressive indeed.” Voldemort raised his own wand.

Harry readied his wand. “Maybe it just needs practice,” he said coldly. “But now we’ll just deadlock again if we hex each other at the same time.”

He really should have kept his mouth shut. Voldemort’s thin lips curved into a hideous smile. “Quite right, Harryyyy…” the words trailed off into a long hiss that suddenly changed tone, the pitch going up and down in a strange rhythm.

Harry stared, confused, until a wave of dizziness made his knees weak, and with a surge of panic, he realized what Voldemort was doing. He tried to shout another curse, to raise his wand, but he couldn’t. With a weak gasp, he staggered backward and turned for the ruined front door, fighting his unsteady limbs and the quiet-yet-loud sound of the rhythmic hissing in his ears. He had to get to the Aurors…he could hear a new voice—Dumbledore! Get to Dumbledore!

That hissing was trying to drag his attention away from everything…make him forget what he was doing…ten feet to the door…five…three—he lurched toward the noise outside…two ice cold arms robed in black slipped around his chest, pinning his own arms to his side and pulling him back “N-no…”

Voldemort’s face was right next to his, his breath cold and dry as he kept hissing the eerie incantation or whatever it was into Harry’s ear. It was as though a warm, heavy fog was settling over Harry’s mind, making everything slow down. His body sagged against Voldemort’s iron grasp, his head drooped forward, and his wand slipped through his fingers to fall to the floor. The hissing spell was going to put him right to sleep—it stopped. But Harry’s strength didn’t return; he just hung helpless in Voldemort’s grasp, hearing the crackle of flames in the house growing louder, and the shouts of the battle outside. Dumbledore’s voice rang above the others, shouting a Patronus charm. Dementors must have come.

With another hissing cackle, Voldemort now headed for the door, half-dragging, half-leading Harry along. His legs seemed to be stepping forward of their own accord, though they buckled often. Harry had never felt more helpless—or useless—in his life. Then he was dragged out into the garden to the cries of horror from members of the Order, with Voldemort’s wand pointed at his throat.

“Well, Dumbledore,” hissed Voldemort. “Not quite so powerful now, are we?”

The battle had gone silent. With great effort, Harry managed to lift his head enough to look. The view was bleary, but he could see bodies sprawled on the ground, some in black, some in red, Death Eaters now running to flank Voldemort, and the remaining Aurors watching him with expressions of panic. All except Dumbledore; in his eyes was an emotion that Harry could only identify as grief.

“Come now, Dumbledore. Why don’t you strike?” Voldemort laughed. “My wand is not even aimed at you. You could easily take me before I had a chance to raise my wand after killing the boy.” Dumbledore’s expression did not change, and Voldemort laughed again. “So unable to sacrifice your precious Boy-Who-Lived. You could kill me now, and you know it, but not before I kill him.”

“Harry!” cried a voice, and Harry was dimly aware of a dark figure struggling against two red robes. “Harry!”

“Remus, no!”

“Let go! Harry!” Remus was beyond all sense, fighting with all his strength to come to Harry’s aid. For some reason, Harry thought of that night in the Department of Mysteries.

“Remus, stay where you are,” said Dumbledore, not taking his eyes off Harry. “Very well, Tom, you have my attention. Name your terms.”

Voldemort cackled. “Perhaps you would be good enough to tell me the prophecy.”

Dumbledore shrugged. “As you wish. You may give Harry to me, and I will tell you.”

Voldemort laughed louder. The Aurors winced. “You are an amazement, Dumbledore, even now, you dissemble. With the boy in my power, do you truly think I would release him for anything? Morsmorde!”

Harry was jerked violently as Voldemort suddenly moved. A Death Eater shouted a spell behind them, and Harry could hear the cracks of wizards apparating away. Voldemort’s laughter filled his ears, and the last thing he saw before the world dissolved was Number Four, Privet Drive engulfed in flames, with the Dark Mark glowing green and mocking overhead.

The world re-formed in what appeared to be a large, torch-lit cave. Apparently seeing no more need for restraint on Harry, Voldemort dropped him to the floor as soon as they landed. On his hands and knees, Harry shook his head as the wet fog lifted from his mind. The stone was smooth and clean beneath him; from the looks of it, the Death Eaters had kept this place for some time. He was in a tunnel, large enough for four people to walk through side-by-side, and there were other passages branching off from it. A fitting home for a nest of snakes, he thought idly.

More important than the creepy setting was the fact that there were no less than ten Death Eaters surrounding Harry, with their Dark Lord standing directly in front of him. This was not good. Brilliant observation, Harry! he thought to himself, and swallowed hard.

Voldemort seemed to only be waiting until Harry came fully back to his senses, for once Harry sat back on his heels and looked around, the dark wizard walked away, ordering, "Bring him."

Hands grabbed Harry's arms, and he felt someone's wand poke him in the back of the neck. He stumbled to his feet, and the Death Eaters hauled him off down the passageway. He got a sharp jab with the wand anytime he tried to look around too much, and before long the tunnel ended in a very large underground chamber. Braziers burned all along the walls, and an enormous cauldron sent ominous green steam into the air over a blazing fire on one side.

Harry gulped. There were more Death Eaters in this room than he had ever imagined existed. Looking around this place, he felt distinctly silly for having called his little Defense group Dumbledore's Army. They were nothing more than a school club. This was an army.

In the center of it all was a large stone chair, its arms carved into the heads of hissing snakes whose stone tails twined over the back. In that chair, with a huge live snake curled over his shoulders and down at his feet, was Voldemort.

The Death Eaters hauled Harry down an aisle through the center of the room to a smaller ring of torches directly in front of their Dark Lord's throne. Harry instinctively resisted, pulling back in sheer revulsion, but the black-robed wizards dragged him into the ring and forced him to his knees. Voldemort's thin lips curved into a cruel smile. "Welcome, Harry Potter. I'm very pleased to show you the hospitality of my humble abode at last."

Some of the Death Eaters laughed. Harry spat at the throne. "Get on with it, Voldemort." There was a little rustle of robes, and the laughter stopped at hearing Harry say the Dark Lord's name. "What do you want?"

Voldemort hissed a laugh. "Right to business, I see. Very well, though I fear you will soon wish that I had dallied." The dark wizard rose and advanced on Harry. "I have no doubt Dumbledore was fool enough to tell you the prophecy. Tell me, and I will grant you a relatively painless death."

Harry retorted, "Even if I did know it, you don't really think I'd tell you, do you?"

"Now that you are in my power, little boy, I assure you, you will tell me. It is only a question of how much pain is required to persuade you. And I am unlikely to believe that that old fool did not give in to your pathetic grief after the Department of Mysteries and tell you."

"Dumbledore never tells me anything!" Harry spat, and found it easy to say so with feeling. There was a little part of him that still felt angry at Dumbledore, that wondered what delay had prevented the Hogwarts Headmaster from reaching Privet Drive in time to save Harry and his uncle. Apparently, he was convincing, for many of the Death Eaters shuffled and exchanged glances.

Voldemort eyed Harry, and he dropped his eyes and frantically began reciting the properties of dragon's blood in his head. He doubted it would work, but it was the closest thing to Occlumency he could think of, although thinking of the dragon's blood essay he'd been working on made him think of Hogwarts, and thoughts of Hogwarts made him think of Sirius. After a moment, Voldemort said softly, "I see Dumbledore has taught you to guard your thoughts, Potter. Not that it will take me much effort to reach them. But perhaps you are indeed telling the truth, and Dumbledore did keep the prophecy from you…to protect you." Harry doubted it would be wise to consider this a reprieve.

He was right. Voldemort went on, "In that case, I shall simply have to make certain it is so, and then run the risk of killing you." Harry braced himself as Voldemort's wand came out. "Crucio!"

A scream burst from Harry's mouth as agony ripped through him, and he collapsed on the stone floor. He could hear the shouts and jeers of the Death Eaters as he writhed helplessly in front of them. When Voldemort lifted the curse, he lay gasping and shaking, but in his mind, cursing the Dark Lord with all his heart. "What is the prophecy, Potter?"

Harry stuffed the cuff of his sleeve into his mouth; it wouldn't do to bite his tongue. Then Voldemort cursed him again, and he screamed through his clenched teeth.

And so it went. The Death Eaters laughed and slapped each other heartily on the back as though watching a sporting event, the pain kept coming, and Harry kept screaming. It started to feel almost good to scream, as if he could force all the pain and misery and fear of this place and everything that had hurt him over the past five years out with the strength of his cries. In a way, the agony of the Cruciatus Curse almost helped him, because he could concentrate on the pain and on yelling, rather than let his mind bring up memories that Voldemort might see.

Eventually, the world around Harry seemed to get smaller as agony roared on through him, and black edged his vision. Then it closed in, until Harry found himself falling down the darkest tunnel yet…

Merlin's beard, he hurt. Harry's eyes felt scratchy as he dragged them open. He was still lying on the floor of Voldemort's meeting chamber, judging by the cold hardness beneath his back. Forcing his head to turn so he could look around—ow—he decided it must have been some time since he'd lost consciousness. There were far fewer Death Eaters in the room, and Voldemort appeared to be half-lounging in his chair, stroking his snake. It was Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, no longer wearing their masks, who had awakened Harry. "Master?" called Lucius, seeing Harry's eyes on him.

Voldemort waved a careless hand. "Continue."

"Yes, Master," said Bellatrix gleefully. "Crucio!" And the world exploded into pain again.

Time lost all meaning as Harry became acquainted with all the fine points of torture devised by the Dark Lord and his followers. Bellatrix soon grew bored with the Cruciatus Curse and asked her master's permission to "try a few other methods." She received it, and happily scampered from the room like a third year on her first trip to Hogsmeade. Harry was left on the floor to wait, his throat raw from screaming, his face damp with sweat and tears of agony. He felt too weak even to lift his head. All too quickly, Bellatrix returned with a small vial in her hand. Harry flinched and buried his face in his sleeve to keep from being forced to drink it.

It was in vain, of course. Bellatrix held up the bottle—its contents glowed an ominous green like the Dark Mark—for Voldemort's approval. Voldemort paused from petting his snake and said, "What does the prophecy state, Potter?"

Harry was silent, glaring at the Dark Lord from behind his arm. Voldemort looked back at Bellatrix, and at his nod, she bowed mockingly, uncorked the bottle, and simply dumped it over the back of Harry's head.

It was like acid. In fact, Harry was certain that was exactly what it was as he writhed on the stone, screaming himself hoarse and vainly trying to wipe the stuff off. Where his fingers touched the wetness, they also burned, and Harry screeched, staring at his hands, fearing he would see them melting before his eyes. To his astonishment, they were not; he could see the translucent green of the potion, but other than that, his skin was unmarred.

Eventually, Harry's voice failed completely, and he lay moaning on the stone, squirming in pain, but (to the astonishment of all, including himself) still glaring at Voldemort. He had never imagined it possible to hate someone this much. The pain was monstrous, but Harry knew that even giving them the prophecy would not end it. He'd seen enough of the Dark Lord's mind to know; Voldemort enjoyed causing pain to much to pass up the chance with Harry, even after he'd gotten what he wanted. So Harry would give him nothing.

Voldemort in turn was at last growing irritated at Harry's resistance. Apparently, neither he nor his Death Eaters (nor Harry) had thought that Harry could last so long without breaking. Why he hadn't tried harder to read Harry's mind, Harry didn't know. "I tire of this, boy. If I cannot have the prophecy from you, I shall at least have your pleas for mercy before you die."

You won't get either from me! Harry wanted to shout, but his voice was long gone. So he settled lying silent on the floor, defiant. For all that this was the longest stretch of time he had ever been hurt, Harry had felt worse pain in his body when Voldemort had possessed him—and worse pain in his soul at seeing Sirius fall through the veil. Sirius…what could Voldemort do to him that compared to that?

Voldemort's lips curled. "Perhaps it would be unwise for me to end your miserable life without knowing what the prophecy states. But I can be sure that success in destroying you would eliminate one threat, and throw all others who oppose me to their knees."

That's what you think! And even if you do kill me, you'll still have to deal with Dumbledore! Harry tried to shout, but all that came out was a raspy, "Dumbledore…"

Voldemort gave another hissing laugh. "Do you believe that old fool still poses a threat to me? Just what do you suppose it will do to him to learn his precious Boy-Who-Lived is dead?"

No!

But Voldemort had obviously decided that the benefits of killing Harry outweighed the risks. Even if he had been holding his own wand, Harry doubted he could have put up much of a fight. So he just lay there, resigned, waiting for death to come for him. This isn't quite the end you read about in battles between Good and Evil. I hope Dumbledore can still get him afterward, he thought idly as Voldemort approached and several of the Death Eaters clustered in to watch.

Oddly enough, Harry wasn't frightened. He'd seen the Killing Curse; compared to what they'd been doing to him, a quick end wouldn't be so bad. He was too tired and too hurt to care about surviving anymore, lying here surrounded by Death Eaters and their Dark Lord. He wanted out, any way possible. I'll see Sirius again. And…Mum and Dad. Uncle Vernon, even. I never thought I'd be looking forward to that In a funny way, it made him want to smile. I'm only sorry for…Ron and Hermione. And Remus. I wish I could tell them it's not so bad. Maybe then they wouldn't be upset when they found out.

But it was clear he would never have the chance to say goodbye. Voldemort raised his wand, Harry sighed and closed his eyes—at least it's finally over—and—

"NO! My lord! You cannot!"

Harry's eyes flew open as commotion erupted in the entrance to the meeting hall. Voldemort stepped back, furious at the interruption, and motioned the Death Eaters to drag Harry out of the way as another one pushed through the group. "What is the meaning of this!"

The newly-arrived Death Eater awkwardly knelt and set a large object on the ground before kissing the hem of Voldemort's robes. His voice shook, "Forgive me, Master. Forgive me! I had to warn you not to kill the boy! It would spell your downfall!"

Voldemort, who had looked on the verge of punishing the Death Eater, paused. "Rise and explain yourself."

The Death Eater scrambled to his feet, stepping back from his master and keeping his head down. "Master, I have obtained information vital to you! I have the conclusion of the prophecy!"

The rest of the wizards murmured amongst themselves as Harry realized, with icy horror, what the object on the ground was. Dumbledore's Pensieve. How had a Death Eater gotten it? The only other person who knew was—

"My loyal servant, I think introductions are in order," Voldemort purred, mollified by the new arrival's information. "Let us see how young Potter reacts to the identity of my informant."

The Death Eater bowed again. "As you wish, my lord." Harry frowned; now that it did not shake, the voice was familiar. The Death Eater turned to face him and pulled off his mask, to reveal a large, hooked nose and greasy black hair. With dark, hating eyes, his sallow face was pulled into a sneer that every Hogwarts student knew. "Well, Mr. Potter. I am pleased to finally have a chance to meet you outside of my day job."

White hot fury ripped through Harry, making his scar burn. Until now, he had never imagined himself capable of hating anyone more than Voldemort. He had never imagined himself capable of hating anyone this much! If there was anyone else responsible for Sirius dying than me… "I knew it!" he rasped out.

The meeting chamber erupted into laughter, from both Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Severus Snape, mask in hand, was in fact the only one who did not laugh, though his sneer grew. "I do beg your pardon, Master," he said mockingly while not taking his eyes off Harry. "I appear to have been lax in my disguise."

That amused Voldemort still more, and he replied, "I will excuse it, Severus, for we can only hide our true natures so much. I will not punish you for failing to pet Potter like the rest of Dumbledore's pathetic lackeys." Now it was his turn to sneer. Harry gritted his teeth. "Perhaps now you will reveal to us the prophecy."

Snape turned and picked up the Pensieve. The Death Eaters tightened their grip on Harry's arms as he wriggled instinctively. Perhaps he could smash it…it was no use. Lucius Malfoy conjured some ropes and tied Harry up. "Dumbledore trusted you, you bastard!" Harry shouted hoarsely. Why didn't he see what you were, the way you treated people—that idiot!

His face never losing that awful smirk, Snape tapped the Pensieve. "You're quite right, Mr. Potter. Dumbledore did trust me, enough to reveal the one other location where the prophecy was kept in its entirety."

Voldemort frowned, and Snape cringed. "Am I to take it you looked already, Severus?"

Snape bowed low, making Harry maliciously hopeful that a punishment might still be in store for him. "I did not want to risk the Pensieve being lost or damaged in my escape, Master."

Slowly, the Dark Lord nodded, though Harry could not tell whether Snape had escaped his wrath. Judging by the way he was sweating, neither could Snape. "Does the boy know?"

"That I cannot say, Master. Dumbledore did not tell me, but my experience with him suggests not. He's most protective of the children, Potter above all."

"Lucius, Bella, and I have attempted to find out for some time now. Potter said nothing."

"Indeed?" Snape raised a mocking eyebrow at Harry. "I suspect then he does not know. The boy is not so strong as all that."

With that, Snape waved his wand, and the silvery figure of Sybill Trelawney floated into view. All the Death Eaters leaned forward.

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…Born to those who have thrice defied him…Born as the seventh month dies…And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…And if either should die at the hand of the other, one cannot live if the other dies…the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…

Harry's mouth was hanging open. Fortunately, so was almost everyone else's. Voldemort was staring at Harry. Snape said from behind the Dark Lord, "You are irreversibly connected to him, Master. To kill him would destroy you."

"But the boy still has the power to kill him," protested another Death Eater.

"It said 'vanquish,' not kill," said someone else. "What does that mean?"

Bellatrix Lestrange smirked, ruffling Snape's hair. "Then we shall have to find another way to keep the boy under control, obviously."

"You can possess him, can you not, Master?" suggested Lucius. "Surely that would neutralize him."

"That's dangerous," Snape said. "And what is this 'power the Dark Lord knows not?'"

Bellatrix aimed her wand at Harry. "Why not ask him?"

Snape snorted. "For all his Potter arrogance, I doubt he knows. He's really rather dense when it comes to understanding magic."

Another Death Eater threw up his hands. "Something must be done, Master. If we cannot kill the boy, he must be kept where he can do us no harm and Dumbledore's followers cannot reach him."

"Silence." Voldemort waved a hand at the arguing wizards, and then the only sound was the leathery slide of Nagini moving on the now-empty chair. Harry watched, confusion overriding all other emotions. What had happened? What did the proph—he caught himself and cut off that line of thought. Fortunately, Voldemort was still contemplating the Pensieve. But was he necessarily lucky that Voldemort no longer intended to kill him? Harry doubted it. "Severus," said Voldemort. "Your planning has served me well today. What do you think?"

Snape took a casual step in Harry's direction, eyeing him thoughtfully. Harry spat at him. The Death Eaters sniggered. After several moments, he smirked. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry went rigid. No…oh no… They wanted to keep him alive, but trapped, and out of the way—NO! He knew what Snape was getting at, of course. He'd never forgotten that question.

Or the answer. The Death Eaters began to laugh as Harry attempted to squirm away once again, fear naked on his face. Voldemort's red eyes flicked from Harry to Snape. "A good suggestion, Severus."

"We would need a place to hide him, Master," said Lucius Malfoy, though he was nodding in agreement. "Where Dumbledore's Order cannot get to him." Harry squirmed harder, and Rookwood came to wrap a burly arm around his neck from behind.

Voldemort pondered the ideas, and finally said, "Lucius, find a place where the boy may be…kept out of the way…" he smiled at Harry, "permanently. Crabbe, Goyle, obtain the asphodel and wormwood for Severus. Severus, you and Bella will come with me, to prepare an additional safeguard. Keep the boy here."

And so they left, leaving Harry still tied up and held by three Death Eaters, with his heart sinking faster and faster. If they couldn't kill him, they would lock him up somewhere that he couldn't be found and force him to sleep…forever.

Harry had no idea how much time passed while he and the remaining Death Eaters waited for Voldemort and Snape's plan to be put into action. The fact was, he fell asleep. It struck him as rather silly that he'd feel tired enough to sleep now when it was possible he'd spend the rest of his life asleep. Snape had made the first year class write a detailed essay on the Draught of Living Death during their second week.

Some time later, he was jolted awake and the Death Eaters jerked to attention by a loud crash in a side corridor. The sight of the cloud of dust and running Death Eaters set Harry's heart racing with anticipation, but Lucius Malfoy emerged, dusting himself off. His cold smirk told Harry all too clearly that there was no rescue to be had.

Harry glared as Snape and Bellatrix trailed into the chamber after Voldemort, Snape carrying a tall and ornate torch. "Report, Lucius," said Voldemort.

"All is prepared as you ordered, Master, The Draught is ready."

"And your assignment?"

"Finished, Master," Malfoy gestured to the corridor where the dust had not quite settled.

Snape was standing with Crabbe and Goyle, inspecting a vial of jet black potion. Harry forced himself to relax. If he struggled, they'd only hold him tighter, and he knew he would have once chance to make a break for it. "The Draught, Severus?"

"Perfect, Master. The torch awaits only your charm. And Potter's blood."

Always my blood, Harry thought.

Voldemort drew his wand and strode to the unlit torch, beckoning Rookwood to bring Harry. Bellatrix handed the Dark Lord a knife, and roughly pushed Harry's arm out to him. Voldemort turned Harry's palm upward, then drew the knife across it in a sharp slash, making Harry hiss as blood welled up from the slice. Then Voldemort, to Harry's surprise, cut his own palm. Harry noticed that for all the Dark Lord looked more monster than human, his blood was still red.

Voldemort circled the torch to stand on the opposite side of Harry, then told Bellatrix and Rookwood, "Now."

The two Death Eaters shoved Harry's bleeding hand against the bowl of the torch just as Voldemort pressed his own to it. The Dark Lord shouted an incantation, and the torch burst into flame. Harry stared in surprise at the fire—it was emerald green, like a Floo fire, only darker.

Voldemort's red eyes went from the green flame torch to meet Harry's. "Yet another magic now unites us, Potter. With the torch, you shall always be bound to me. Even when you are sealed away for all time."

"Is it safe to keep the torch here, Master?" asked Snape, almost meekly. "If Dumbledore's people were to find it, it could lead them to Potter."

"We will close it in with him," Voldemort replied. "I will not need it to know if he awakens. Your potions have made sure of that."

Snape bowed, looking relieved. "They have, my lord." Obviously, making suggestions to Voldemort was a chancy business. Harry only wished he'd gotten to see Snape foul up and get punished.

But now he had a bigger problem. Voldemort smiled cruelly as he turned back to Harry. "Now all that remains is to say goodnight, Potter."

Harry knew it was now or never. He sagged in Rookwood and Bellatrix's grasp as if in defeat. They laughed, leaning forward to pull him upright again, and he rammed his elbow into Bella's stomach as hard as he could. Caught off balance, she doubled over with a wheezing gasp, and Harry yanked his arm from her grasp, twisted, and slammed his fist into Rookwood's neck, forcing the man to also release him.

He was free! Harry whirled, grabbed the staggering, retching Bella's wand, and threw himself toward the tunnel as Voldemort shrieked, "Stop him!"

"Impedimenta!" Harry yelled, aiming the stolen wand over his shoulder, and kept running. He dodged a stunner from Snape that hit Wormtail instead, and ducked a disarming spell, shooting every curse he could think of off in every direction. Glancing behind him, he saw that one of his randomly-thrown hexes must have hit Snape, and he'd fallen in front of the charging Death Eaters, tripping up more than half of them.

I hope Voldemort hexes you into oblivion for it! Harry thought spitefully, and raced down the tunnel. Seeing several more black robes charging toward him, he swerved into the nearest side corridor and careened down it, desperate to find a way out. "Point me!" he hissed at the wand.

It led him down the corridor to another turn, opening into an even narrower tunnel. This one was quiet, and Harry slowed to a cautious walk, tip-toeing along with one hand on the wall, listening for any approaching steps. Nothing. Exhaling softly, Harry crept on, and the wand pointed him around another bend.

Merlin's beard, this place is like a maze! he thought, completely confused now as to where he was. Did this snake nest have a way out? The wand turned him again, and he found himself in another of the wide open tunnels. He edged along the wall, barely daring to breathe. Then there were footsteps, and he dove into a smaller side passage.

This one was the most narrow yet. Stone snakes adorned the walls and ceiling until the tunnel ended in what appeared to be a pitch black nothingness. "Lumos," Harry whispered, aiming his wand at the opening.

The light revealed nothing more than a claustrophobic chamber barely large enough to stand up in. Harry frowned to himself—what was this dead end he'd found? It looked like a…tomb.

"Ohhhh…damn!"

"Language, Potter, language!"

Harry spun around, but Snape's disarming spell sent Bellatrix's wand flying from his hand. "Take him," he heard Voldemort say, and no less than six Death Eaters charged Harry as Snape brought out the vile of black potion.

"Never trust an enemy's wand, Potter!" Bellatrix hissed in his ear as she and the others wrestled Harry toward the opening.

"Get off me! Get off!" Harry yelled, and fought harder than he ever had in his life. He kicked and punched and scratched and even bit, and Death Eaters simply piled on top of him until they bore him to the ground.

"Take the torch!" he heard someone yell, and caught a fleeting glimpse of it passed over his head, but he was too busy struggling to think about that.

"Hold him!" Snape shouted, and Harry clamped his mouth shut. "Get him over!" Hands grasping his head forced him to turn his face toward Snape.

No! No! Harry didn't dare open his mouth, but grunted and squirmed against the efforts to pry his jaws apart. But there was a pile of Death Eaters holding him down, and even in his desperation, he simply wasn't strong enough to throw off the weight of so many determined adults. Little by little, they began forcing his mouth open, and though he bit several fingers, there were simply too many of them.

No! Please, no, please…let someone come…Aurors…Dumbledore…anyone…please, help me!

Harry couldn't see; the grasping hands all over his head had obscured his vision, but with a wave of incredible despair, he felt liquid slide past his teeth and tasted something vile on his tongue. He coughed and choked, trying to spit it out, but it kept flowing, and suddenly his jaws were forced closed again, around a whole mouthful of the stuff! "Mmmf!" he squirmed and wriggled, but couldn't get his mouth open again to spit it out, and couldn't hold his breath much longer.

"What is the delay!" he heard Voldemort say.

"Any moment now, Master!" Snape replied.

Gulp! His body had taken over for him, and Harry's heart sank in despair as the Death Eaters roared triumph. "How long?" said someone.

"Less than a minute," said Snape.

"Nighty-night, baby Potter!" cooed Bellatrix.

The Death Eaters piled off him, but before Harry could even think of trying to put up a fight, the exhaustion hit him, making him feel so weak he nearly fell over. It was almost over. Hands grabbed his arms and propelled him into the chamber, which was lit only by the eerie green light of the torch. "No," he moaned at the thought of being shut in here forever.

"Once he's under, we'll seal it off, Master," said Snape from somewhere behind him. The voice began to echo very strangely in Harry's ears. "Between the protection spells and concealing charms, even if Aurors penetrate this place, they'll never find him."

"He's nearly there," said Lucius Malfoy's voice, sounding as if it were coming from a long tunnel. Harry lost the strength to hold his head up. The green flames seemed to be darkening.

"Won't your son be heartbroken not to have Potter's company at school?" said a woman's voice.

"Devastated, poor boy!"

Laughter echoed in the distance, and Harry felt himself lifted and laid down on his back next to the torch. He couldn't seem to see the green light from the flames anymore, but there was some brighter light coming from the opening of the chamber. His whole body felt so very, very heavy…

"Good night, Potter! Sleep well!" The grinding of heavy stone being moved into place was the last sound Harry heard as he sank into an endless well of velvety black.

"Pt. Pr. Ptr."

It was like an insistent buzzing in Harry's ear. He wished it would go away.

"Pttr. Pottr. Potter!"

As Harry slowly rose out of the blackness, the first thing he became aware of was a furious, hissing whisper in his ear. "Potter! Damn it, boy, wake UP! Potter!" In spite of Harry's desire to sink back into the dark, the litany did not let up, and the next thing he perceived was an absolutely horrid taste in his mouth. And more kept being added so that he swallowed instinctively, too groggy to wonder what it was.

"Come on, damn it! Wake up, Potter! Do you hear me? Wake up!"

There was someone vigorously rubbing his arms and legs, and his unused limbs were tingling as blood was forced through them. Harry wanted to tell whoever it was to leave him alone, but he couldn't even manage to make his lips move, so all that came out was a low moan.

"Merlin's beard, it's about time. Wake up, boy!"

Now they were slapping his face—hard—and his whole body was being shaken. Whoever it was, they were breathing heavily, and there was a tremor in their voice, of urgency or fear. The surface beneath his head and back was incredibly hard and cold. Awareness continued its slow march back into Harry's mind, and he managed to make his mouth work. "Wha—"

"Damn it, Potter! Open your eyes! There's not much time! For the love of—Potter, wake up!"

Whoever it was, they were not going to leave him alone. Harry groaned in protest and, at length, managed to get his leaden eyelids open. There was light coming from a lantern sitting nearby—far too much light, in Harry's opinion—and something flickered green. There was a dark-robed, dark-haired figure kneeling over him, still chafing his arms and legs and muttering furious oaths at him. Harry blinked weakly, completely disoriented, and peered toward the source of the green light.

It was the sight of the green flame torch that made him remember.

With a grunt of panic, Harry lurched away from Severus Snape, but his unused body protested the motion violently, sending him flopping to the floor of the chamber with a groan. Snape grabbed him. "Get away—" he gasped hoarsely.

"Quiet!" Snape hissed, holding Harry still with humiliating ease. "Do you want to get out of here or not?"

In surprise, Harry stopped struggling. "You're here to—"

"No time!" Snape hauled him out of the tomb and set him on his feet, catching him when he started to fall and slinging one of Harry's arms over his shoulders and wrapping his own arm around Harry's waist to support him. "Move!"

The next thing Harry knew, they were moving in a lurching walk down the tunnel. He stumbled over what felt like a large sack as they staggered into the main passage, but Snape refused to slow down. It was slow going, no doubt with great risk of discovery, but what terror or hope Harry would have felt at this escape attempt was overridden by the fact that staying conscious required most of his concentration, let alone putting one foot in front of the other. Snape was practically dragging him.

"How did—"

"Shut up, Potter!"

Voldemort's lair was strangely quiet. Harry staggered dizzily along, leaning heavily on Snape, as what alertness he had gained in the chamber began to leave him. "Can't…see…"

"You don't need to see, Potter, you need to move. If we're caught, it's over!"

So Harry struggled on, stifling cries of misery from the pain in his incredibly weak body. Every muscle was screaming in protest, his head throbbed, his eyes stung, and now his scar was adding to the litany. "Think…he…knows…"

"Of course he knows by now. The torch—" Snape suddenly growled a curse and threw Harry into a wall, drawing his wand and tossing Harry another. Fumbling for it, he managed to pick it up as the sound of pounding feet warned him they were discovered.

"Snape! What the devil—"

"Avada Kedavra!"

The recipient of Snape's curse had no time to do more than yelp before Harry heard the thud of something heavy hitting the stone floor. Immediately, Snape grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet, dragging him on. With a rush of nausea, Harry realized that the heavy sack he'd stumbled over at the entrance to the tomb had been a body. Snape had killed those Death Eaters.

One of his legs buckled, knocking them both off balance. Then as Snape scrambled to get Harry back to his feet, they heard many shouts ahead of them. Above all the noise was a hissing shriek of rage: "Severussss!"

"Oh shit," Snape growled, and hauled Harry sideways into another passage. "Potter, if you can't run, we're both dead."

"Trying," Harry gasped as Snape yanked him faster and faster through the tunnels.

Snape shouted a spell over his shoulder, there was a deafening crash behind them, and Harry heard Voldemort shrieking, "Find them before I make every one of you suffer!"

Snape kept going, practically lifting Harry off his feet. "We've got minutes until they're back in this passage, Potter. Move!"

Harry could barely hear anymore for the roaring in his ears, nor could he always stifle his groans. He felt so dizzy, exhausted, and sick; he didn't think he could stay upright much longer. Something exploded into the tunnel just ahead of them.

The supporting arms let Harry fall to the ground, and he lay there, unable to move. Curses were shouted, and someone yelled, "Severus, of all people—do you have any idea what the Dark Lord has in store for you?"

From somewhere in the distance, Snape's voice responded, "The same thing he's always had in store for me, Lucius. This day has been long in coming. Reducto!"

CRASH! "After all the honors he showered on you these past weeks! What a fool you are! Stupefy!"

With all the energy he could muster, Harry forced his head up. Snape and Lucius Malfoy were dueling amid clouds of dust from whatever Snape had blasted. They were moving too fast for his sluggish mind to track, but suddenly Snape's wand flew from his hand. Malfoy advanced. "I won't be killing you yet, Severus. Handing both you and Potter over to the Dark Lord alive to be made an example of will return me to the position that you were given and scorned."

Snape was backed against the tunnel wall, and there were sounds of grinding, crashing rocks in the tunnel he had just brought Harry through. "Unlike yourself, Lucius, I don't find Chief Lapdog a very fulfilling position."

Gritting his teeth, Harry aimed the wand Snape had given him at Malfoy's back. "Expelliarmus!"

With a grunt of surprise, Malfoy crashed into Snape, and a brawl ensued over the fallen wand. In the end, it was Snape who seized it, rolled onto his back as Malfoy loomed over him with a large rock, and bellowed, "Imperio!" Harry blinked in astonishment. "Drop that stone," Snape ordered. Malfoy did. Snape picked up his own wand and said, "Take your wand, return to the others, and warn them we've doubled back in their direction. Insist that they set up an ambush at the main entry."

Without a sound, Malfoy took his wand back from Snape and hurried away. Harry tried to pull himself up, but his limbs simply collapsed under him. His whole body was shaking. "How…far…"

"Perhaps a hundred meters. On your feet, Potter, come on!" Snape pulled Harry's arm over his shoulders, got his own arm around Harry's waist and tried to haul him up, but this time Harry's legs simply refused to obey. "Potter, up!"

"Trying…" Harry gasped, gritting his teeth. He felt so weak. His heart was skipping like mad, and every limb was shaking. He felt sick to his stomach. The tunnel walls were closing in—he fell again, winding up on his back on the floor with Snape pulling fruitlessly at his arms. He stifled a sob. "Can't—sorry—can't—"

"Fine. Stop struggling!" An arm suddenly swept under Harry's knees, another under his shoulders, and he felt himself lifted off the ground. Then he was being bounced painfully as Snape broke into a full run. "Stay awake, Potter."

"Trying," Harry sighed, his head lolling against Snape's shoulder. He was so very tired…

Snape must have felt him going limp. "Potter! Stay awake!" The arms carrying him began jostling him back and forth, trying to keep him conscious.

But it simply wasn't working. That heavy feeling was coming over Harry again, and he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. The sound of Snape's voice, calling his name, grew fainter and fainter, until the pain melted out of his body, and he drifted away into the dark.

"Headmaster, I think he's coming round."

"Thank goodness. Severus, you should get some rest."

"I'm fine."

"Professor, is he waking?"

"Please say he's all right—"

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, hush. Harry needs no more excitement."

"Harry? Open your eyes for us, dear. I know you're tired."

There was a deliciously soft bed beneath his back, and his head was cushioned by a pillow. The smell of this place was very familiar, but Harry couldn't make his mind work enough to identify it yet. The voices around him were soft, coaxing him to open his eyes, and someone's hand was smoothing back his hair. "He looks horrible."

"That was one hell of a gamble, Severus."

"Dealing with the Dark Lord always is, Lupin. Count us all lucky he made it out alive."

"But the asphodel-wormwood draught! Look at him!"

"Do use your head, Lupin, Living Death has no effect on the body! The boy looked precisely as he looks now when he first showed up in the Dark Lord's den."

"Severus, Remus, please!"

The memories of what had happened came back to Harry. He struggled to open his eyes. Could it be…was it possible…was he at Hogwarts? Was he home? What had happened? He tried to ask the question aloud, but it didn't get any further than a low moan in the back of his throat.

"Shh, it's all right, Harry. You're at Hogwarts."

Oh! What a way to wake up! Harry dragged his leaden eyelids open, feeling relief in such a rush that it was painful. Maybe it had all been a dream! A confused blur before his eyes slowly focused into the faces of Madam Pomfrey, Professor Dumbledore and Remus Lupin, and at the foot of the bed, Ron and Hermione. Harry squinted in the light of the hospital wing, and Professor Dumbledore said softly, "Perhaps we could dim the lights, Poppy."

Madam Pomfrey disappeared from Harry's view, but behind where she had been standing, he saw Professor Snape. Snape seemed startled to see Harry looking back at him, and quickly walked from the room, but not before Harry noticed that his black robes were filthy and that there was dried blood on his face. He turned his face toward Dumbledore, who had also seen Snape leave. "Wha…happen…"

"What's the last thing you remember, Harry?"

Harry swallowed thickly. His mouth was dry. "Tunnel," he murmured. "Voldemort." Several people in the room flinched at hearing the name. "Snape…"

Dumbledore came closer and patted Harry's hand. "All of us owe Professor Snape a great deal of gratitude, Harry. It was he who ventured into Lord Voldemort's stronghold to save you."

Now that was a bizarre thought. Harry wanted to ask exactly what had happened; he couldn't seem to separate dream from memory, but his eyes were falling closed, and he couldn't pull them open again. "I guess…tell him…thanks…"

When he awoke next, voices drew near to the bedside, and he opened his eyes to find Madam Pomfrey bending over him. He tried to speak, but his throat was too dry. "Are you thirsty?" she asked. Harry closed his eyes and nodded. "Molly, would you mind?"

Harry heard a sniffle, then Mrs. Weasley was helping him to sit up as Madam Pomfrey gave him a glass of water. It felt wonderful on his throat, even if he was mortified to discover he couldn't get his hand around the glass, which meant Madam Pomfrey had to hold it for him. When he was done, Mrs. Weasley sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Harry gently into her arms. "Oh Harry," she choked out, obviously struggling not to burst into tears.

He leaned against her and let his eyes drift closed. "Sorry," he murmured. "Dunno why…so tired…think I slept a long time…" The sound of several stifled sobs made him force his eyes open again. Trying to keep them focused, he looked hard at his friends.

Every single person surrounding the bed looked pale and tired, but now that Harry thought about it…Ron and Hermione just looked ragged! Their faces were pale, eyes red, and they looked a good deal thinner than he remembered. They were practically hugging each other in relief. Remus Lupin looked more haggard than Harry had ever seen him. Even Professor Dumbledore looked weary. Mrs. Weasley's face was very drawn, as if some of her had been worn away. Harry tried and failed to sit up on his own, so he settled for leaning against Mrs. Weasley. "How long…how long was I gone? I remember the Draught…how long did Voldemort make me sleep?"

He was too tired to be annoyed by the apprehensive looks they all exchanged. Remus came to sit down on the other side of the bed and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Quite awhile, Harry. You'll need rest to get your strength back."

"How long?" he asked again. Mrs. Weasley tightened her grip on him.

The bed shifted, and Harry managed to focus his eyes on Hermione. Ron was behind her, his hands on her shoulders. "Voldemort took you July first," said Hermione softly, smoothing the bedcovers. "The Monday after term's end. It's September now. Saturday, September the third. The start of term feast was two days ago. That's when Snape got you out." She smiled weakly, though her already-red eyes were welling up with tears, and her lips were trembling. "So…I guess that's about two months. Felt a lot longer, though." Her voice was gradually rising in pitch, and behind her, Ron's eyes were very red.

Harry was dismayed, not even so much by the time that had passed as by his friends' reactions. Mrs. Weasley was still holding him to her with one hand, but she'd raised the other to cover her mouth to stifle her sobs. Remus could no longer look at him, but his shoulders were shaking.

"Sorry!" Hermione squeaked, her breath hitching badly. "Was just…hard." Then she gave up and dissolved into tears, and Ron sat down on the bed next to her and pulled her into his arms, giving Harry a weak smile.

Professor Dumbledore came around the bed and put a hand on each of their shoulders. "We'd best not tire Harry out too much. He will need some time to recover." Seeing the rebellion on their faces, he added, "And many of Harry's friends back in the dormitories will be waiting for news."

With simultaneous sighs, Ron and Hermione got up. Harry watched them with his head still on Mrs. Weasley's shoulder. He heard Professor Dumbledore say, "Harry needs to sleep now. He's been through a terrible time." Dimly, he was aware of Mrs. Weasley and Remus easing him back onto the pillow. The worst part was, Harry wanted so desperately to ease their minds, tell them he was all right, beg them all not to cry…but his head felt heavy and he couldn't find the strength to lift it anymore. It seemed so strange…the thought of having missed so much time. He remembered dreams, though…he'd thought Snape was a dream. Was the part about Snape being a Death Eater real? He couldn't be sure. And there were other things, things he wasn't sure were memories from real life or dreams.

Squirming against the pillow, he forced his eyes open a little longer. "Remus?"

"Yes, Harry?" Lupin came quickly back, taking his hand. "What is it?"

Harry swallowed. "Sirius." Lupin's face fell, telling Harry the answer, but he asked the question anyway. "Wasn't…dream…was it?"

Remus shook his head, squeezing Harry's hand. "I wish it was, Harry. I wish it was."

It had been such a wonderful hope, a way to end the entire nightmare once and for all, to see that black dog come bounding in, barking and whining and poking Harry's hand with his cold nose…Harry closed his eyes. It was a painful thought to go to sleep with, but he just couldn't stay awake a moment longer.

Peace and quiet never seemed to stay with Harry for long. When he woke up some time later, the hospital wing was quiet and dark. He wasn't sure what had awakened him, but he felt a little better, more refreshed, like he'd been asleep instead of comatose. He was just trying to muster the energy to stretch a little when he heard footsteps coming towards his bed.

Furtive, stealthy footsteps.

Harry closed his eyes quickly as the feet drew nearer, and crept his hand toward the table next to the bed, praying his wand was there. What if Voldemort still had it? But then his fingers closed around its smooth wood, and he nearly gasped with relief. He slipped it under the covers and pretended to be asleep as the feet reached him.

"Bloody, pathetic Potter. Doesn't look so strong now, does he?"

Malfoy Why was he not surprised? "What now, Draco?" Harry recognized Crabbe's voice.

"Dunno…maybe make his pillow start eating his head?" Clink! "Shh! Goyle! Pomfrey'll hear!"

"That his owl?"

"Yeah." Snicker! "I can think of a rude awakening. Silencio! Farewell message from my dad—he can wake up with pieces of his owl in his bed!"

Harry shot bolt upright, whipping out his wand. "Expelliarmus!" Draco's wand went flying, and Crabbe and Goyle yelled in surprise. Hedwig flapped her wings frantically and hooted silently, thanks to Draco's spell. "You keep your slimy hands off my owl, Malfoy!" Harry bellowed.

"What the devil is going on in here!" Madam Pomfrey's shout sent Draco scrambling to grab his wand and the three of them pelting out the door. "Harry, what—"

"A little visit from Malfoy," Harry growled, trying to hide his dizziness as he took the Silencing Charm off Hedwig. The owl hopped into his bed to nibble anxiously at his ear, and he sank back onto the pillow.

Madam Pomfrey, well aware of the Gryffindor-Slytherin enmity that was practically embodied in Harry and Draco—having patched up the results of their various encounters over the years—snorted. "I should have expected it. I only hope I'm not going to have to heal him in a few minutes."

"I only disarmed when he threatened to kill my owl," said Harry petulantly.

"Well, I'll report it," said Madam Pomfrey. "Now back to bed with you, Mr. Potter. Convalescence from the Draught of Living Death takes long enough without your overexerting yourself."

Harry nodded, yawned, and pulled the covers back up. "Madam Pomfrey, what day is it?"

"Just past midnight, Sunday. If you behave yourself and rest, you may not have to miss the entire first week!"

When he awoke again, it was mid-afternoon and still Sunday, he was pleased to learn. Ron, Hermione, Remus, and Mrs. Weasley were sitting with him, and Harry tensed up instinctively at hearing the sound of Snape's voice, in conversation with Madam Pomfrey.

"Now how much time did he have before you tried to move him?"

"About ten minutes after I administered the antidote."

"Severus! Honestly—"

"The Dark Lord could sense his return to consciousness within seconds, Madam Pomfrey, better to have a slowed recovery than no recovery at all if we were captured!"

"How long was he conscious after that?"

"I'm not precisely sure. Less than five minutes."

"Severus, can you possibly be any less specific?"

"I was rather distract—don't even think about it, Lupin."

"Think about what, Severus?"

"I did what I did to keep the Dark Lord from winning this war, no other reason!"

Harry pried his eyes open, listening curiously. Ron, Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, and Madam Pomfrey were too busy watching the exchange to notice Harry was awake. Snape looked quite belligerent, but Lupin seemed rather amused.

"No other reason, Severus?"

Snape folded his arms and scowled. "None at all."

Lupin smiled, "Not even to save an innocent life?"

Snape threw up his hands. "Very well, O-Kind-and-Gentle-Werewolf," (Lupin just chuckled,) "I confess: out of the goodness of my heart I walked straight into the Dark Lord's stronghold while he and his minions were out harassing Aurors, dug the boy out and dragged his dead weight back to Hogwarts, completely blowing my cover as an infiltrator and cutting off one of our most crucial lines of intelligence. Do not thank me!"

Remus never lost his smile, but folded his arms and said lightly, "I'm sorry, Severus. You're an excellent dissembler, but you have not distracted me from my objective. No matter how uncaring you claim to be, how despicable you attempt to appear, you will not dissuade me from feeling gratitude to you from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for saving Harry."

With a disgusted growl, Snape stalked past Lupin out of the hospital wing. Remus was chuckling along with Mrs. Weasley and Madam Pomfrey when Ron turned and looked at the bed. "Harry!"

Madam Pomfrey and Mrs. Weasley spun around, and the next several minutes were a blur of them fussing wildly over him, until Harry could convince them he was not going to keel over if allowed to sit up. Once they had stopped fluffing pillows, propping Harry up, and nagging him to eat, Remus and Mrs. Weasley sat on each side of the bed, with Ron and Hermione standing at the foot again. Remus noticed Harry looking in the direction Snape had gone. "Don't mind him, Harry. For all his charming disposition, he was as desperate as we were to get you out of there."

Harry stirred the soup Madam Pomfrey had given him. "What happened? After Privet Drive?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. "We knew you'd want to know, so we saved all the Daily Prophets clippings—about important things, anyway," said Ron. "Hermione made it all into a book."

"And…when you're feeling better," said Hermione, "we kept a diary. So you could see…" She blushed at Harry's startled expression.

"You mean a diary like Tom Riddle's!"

"It's not dangerous!" Hermione said hastily. "I talked to Professor Dumbledore about it. Wizards can make diaries that will take them into the pages to remember things that have happened—sort of like home videos without cameras," she explained. "Do you want us to get them?"

Harry slowly nodded, and they jumped up and hurried away. Once they'd gone, he said to Remus, "I still don't understand how Snape…did what he did. The night Voldemort got me…he was a Death Eater."

"Professor Snape, Harry," said Remus. He smiled, but his voice was firm. "Now more than ever, he deserves your respect. I'm sure if you hadn't had more important things on your mind, you'd have figured it out. Severus was a spy."

Harry sat back against the propped-up pillows, digesting this. It all made sense: Dumbledore's unswerving insistence that Snape was trustworthy, Snape bringing the Pensieve with an altered prophecy to prevent Voldemort from killing Harry, Snape devising the use of a potion to subdue him, and Snape knowing when Voldemort would be absent so Harry could be rescued

And Snape goading Sirius to the point where he rushed off to the Department of Mysteries and got killed. "I don't understand," Harry whispered. "Everyone knew he had been a spy after Voldemort fell the first time. How could he have gone back?"

"Severus was playing a double-agent. Voldemort believed he was spying on Dumbledore." Remus grimaced, "Although Severus did suffer after the return, until he convinced Voldemort that he was still trustworthy."

"That's why he brought the prophecy," Harry realized. "So Voldemort would think…"

"Exactly, Harry," Remus put a hand on Harry's shoulder, making him meet his eyes. "You don't have to like Professor Snape," he said softly. "I don't like Professor Snape." Harry smiled weakly. "But he is on our side, and we all owe him for that. He has risked his life many times over obtaining information for us. To say nothing of what he risked to save you."

Harry's insides were churning, and Madam Pomfrey said, "Are you feeling sick, Harry?"

"Maybe a little," he said. "Guess I haven't really eaten in awhile."

"You may not have much appetite for a bit, but you should try." She took the tray with the barely-touched soup away.

Just then, Ron and Hermione came back, with Professor Dumbledore trailing behind them. Ron held what looked like a scrapbook, and Hermione a smaller book. "Good afternoon, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. "You look much improved. How are you feeling?"

"Better," Harry said. For some reason, seeing Dumbledore gave him that same, funny, churning-insides feeling as thinking about Snape as his rescuer. It was as if he didn't know what to feel. The last time he'd seen Dumbledore—apart from the blurry, almost-unconscious memory he had of when he'd first gotten back—they'd been on the lawn of Privet Drive. "Professor Dumbledore…what happened to Dudley and my aunt?"

Dumbledore's cheerful expression seemed to melt away, his eyes growing desperately sad. He drew a chair up to the bedside, and Remus moved away to make room. Harry wished he hadn't. "Your aunt and cousin are safe. I am so very sorry about your Uncle Vernon."

Harry's chest got very heavy for a few moments, making it hurt to breathe. He didn't know what to feel about Uncle Vernon either, but of all the emotions churning around inside him, guilt was rising to the forefront. He folded his arms and stared down at the bedcovers. "I couldn't…get him out in time. We waited too long." They never wanted me because Aunt Petunia knew something like this would happen. She was just trying to protect her family. In the end she was right. I brought them nothing but disaster…

Warm fingers caught his chin and made him look up. Dumbledore wasn't quite meeting his eyes, for reasons Harry understood, but the gentle understanding in the headmaster's eyes brought a lump to Harry's throat. "Harry. What happened to your uncle was not your fault. Petunia Dursley may not have been happy about the prospect of taking you in, but I promise you: she knew the dangers. I made no effort to hide them from her. She took you in because you were in danger, and because danger is something that families must sometimes share."

His eyes stinging, Harry whispered, "But she blames me, doesn't she? They both do." Dumbledore didn't answer, which told Harry all he needed to know. "I was the only person who could have saved him."

"Oh, Harry, no!" Hermione pleaded. "You can't think like that!"

"Why not?" he muttered, gritting his teeth.

"Because," Dumbledore said to Harry as Mrs. Weasley stroked his hair, "one of the hardest lessons to learn is that there will be battles you are unable to win. There will be tasks you cannot perform. You had very little time, Harry, and three terrified people unacquainted with our world to move to safety all on your own, with Lord Voldemort himself coming for you. You did all that you could. You must not despise yourself for failing to do more."

Harry had jammed his teeth into his lower lip, desperate to keep his emotions at bay, but felt Mrs. Weasley put her arms around him again. A part of him just wanted to let her hold him forever, it felt so wonderful, but another part of him panicked—if she held him, he knew he would not be able to stay under control. But he couldn't pull away without hurting her feelings; his throat was getting tighter, and he bit his lip harder, trying to hold the agony in. So much had happened, so much…Sirius, the prophecy, Privet Drive, Uncle Vernon, Snape, the torture, the Draught, the terror…

Mrs. Weasley abruptly kissed his forehead, near his scar. "It's all right, Harry," she said softly. "Everything's going to be all right."

A gasping sob wrenched out of him. Then another. As more followed, faster and faster, Harry heard Lupin exclaim in dismay, but Dumbledore said, "Let Molly handle this, Remus. It is, after all, her area of expertise."

To Harry, it had only been a few horrible weeks from Sirius' death to this moment. And finally, all the fear and pain and anger and shock simply refused to stay inside him, and he clung to Ron's mother and cried. It was so easy now—he should have been utterly humiliated that Professor Dumbledore, Remus Lupin, and Ron and Hermione were all standing right there watching him sob like a baby in Mrs. Weasley's arms. But he just couldn't seem to care anymore.

He cried for a long time, or maybe it just seemed long to him. When at last it started to wear down, and normal emotions like embarrassment found their way back in again, he muttered, "Sorry."

"Don't be stupid," said Ron, who had taken Remus's place on the other edge of the bed so he could rub Harry's back. "Believe me, we've done enough of that in the past few months when we didn't know what would happen. There were times I'd be minding my own business one minute, then curled up on the floor bawling my eyes out the next!"

That made Harry stare at them in surprise; the thought of Ron crying hard like Hermione or Mrs. Weasley seemed just…odd. Behind Ron, Hermione had tears running down her face, but she was grinning. Just then, the hospital wing door opened. Harry glanced over Mrs. Weasley's shoulder—and froze.

Professor Snape looked almost as startled as Harry was. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Harry gaping at him, his face still stained with tears, and for a moment they simply stared at each other. Snape's expression went from surprised to completely blank, and he turned on his heel and marched from the room. Professor Dumbledore smiled at Harry, and quietly followed him out.

"Bloody…hell," Ron muttered. "Of all the moments he had to walk in here."

Hermione swatted him. "Don't say that, Ron. He saved Harry, remember?"

"And I'd thank him myself if I didn't think he'd tell me to sod off!" Ron retorted. "Five knuts says he brings this up first chance he gets."

"Ron!" Hermione snapped, seeing Harry blanch. "Don't worry about it, Harry. Things are different this year. We're at war now. Our side has to unite, and Snape knows that too."

Harry mustered a smile. He hoped she was right. Nodding to the books they'd brought, he said, "So? Let's see!"

"Oh, right," Ron scooted over on the bed to make room for Hermione, and plunked the scrap book into Harry's lap. "Ah…Harry, just so you know, some of this stuff…isn't pleasant. I still get sick to my stomach reading it."

"Erm…okay." Harry eyed the big book dubiously, then shook his head. "I may as well read it—it's not as if I can pretend it didn't happen." With a deep breath, he threw it open to the first clipping.

"Special edition of the Prophet," said Hermione. "From that Monday night."

Boy-Who-Lived Captured By He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!

Only moments after a major battle at Azkaban Prison, in which He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was seen in person freeing his Death Eaters, the Dark Lord's followers launched a devastating attack upon the Muggle neighborhood of Little Whinging, Surrey, striking the home of Muggles Petunia and Vernon Dursley, relatives and guardians of Harry Potter.

The double-attack stretched Auror forces critically thin, resulting in several losses (for list of those fallen in tonight's battle, see memorial announcement, Page 5), but witnesses report that the valiant defense of the house by the Aurors, combined with defensive wards established sixteen years ago to protect the Boy-Who-Lived, appeared to be succeeding until He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named arrived in person. The Dark Lord reportedly overcame the wards, with the resulting magical shock causing severe injury to several Aurors and Death Eaters and major damage to the street, and directly assaulted the house.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Headmaster Albus Dumbledore arrived on the scene moments later, but was prevented from taking on You-Know-Who immediately due to an attack by dementors.

Just as the defensive response appeared to be succeeding and the dementors were driven away, witnesses were horrified to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named departing the house with young Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived appeared to be wounded and under the control of a spell. Headmaster Dumbledore attempted to negotiate Potter's release, to no avail, and the Dark Lord escaped with his hostage.

The entire wizarding world is shaken to its core by this horrific turn of events. A brief statement was given by an Auror on the scene of the attack, saying that no effort would be spared for Harry Potter's rescue. "To be in the hands of Lord Vis a fate too terrible to imagine for anyone, let alone Harry."

Statements are being sought from of Harry Potter's acquaintances. The Daily Prophet also extends its condolences to the Dursley family. An unconfirmed report states that Vernon Dursley, Potter's uncle, was killed defending his wife, son, and nephew. There will be more special editions as this story develops.

Harry stared for several minutes at the picture: it was Number Four, Privet Drive on fire with the Dark Mark hovering overhead. His memory of the attack was a little hazy, especially after he'd been under Voldemort's trance, but that image he would never forget. Down on one side of the burning garden, he noticed a red-robed Auror sitting on the curb with her arms around a shabby-robed man. It was Remus. And with a rush of emotion that made him queasy, Harry realized he was crying. The Auror with her arm around him was Tonks, and she too was in tears.

He hastily flipped to the next clipping: Message Received By Death Eaters: Boy-Who-Lived Held Prisoner, Tortured by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

And the next: Candlelight Vigils, Offers of International Assistance Abound as Massive Search Begins for Boy-Who-Lived.

And the next: Death Eaters Strike Bones Household, Auror Injuries Reported, No Word For A Week on Fate of Boy-Who-Lived.

And the next: Acquaintances, Friends of Boy-Who-Lived Release Statement of Love, Hope. Harry blinked, and read the short article: A statement was delivered to the Daily Prophet today by several classmates and close friends of Harry Potter, who was abducted by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named one week ago. The identities of the underage wizards are being withheld for their safety, at the request of the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts, but the students and their families asked that their message be run in the hopes that it will reach the imprisoned Boy-Who-Lived.

"We don't know if he'll ever see this, but we want to say it anyway," said the students' spokesperson, a Hogwarts student in Potter's year, whose great distress were painfully visible to this reporter. The young student was not quite able to hold back tears as they spoke . "Harry, wherever you are, we want you to know that we're not ever giving up. We're all searching as hard as we can, thinking about you every minute. We love you and miss you, so please just hang on. We're going to find you no matter what it takes and bring you home.."

Harry blinked several times as the page blurred. Hermione had her hand on his knee. He grinned sheepishly. "I wish I had seen this that first night in Voldemort's headquarters. It would've made me feel better. Thanks," he said. "I assume you were the spokesperson?"

Hermione grinned broadly, "Actually, no, I wasn't." Harry blinked again and they both looked at Ron, who turned bright red.

Looking at the bedcovers, Ron muttered, "Told you I was a wreck," but he too was grinning sheepishly.

Mrs. Weasley smiled and reached past Harry to pat Ron's cheek. "Weren't we all. It was Ron, Hermione, Ginny—well, all of our family, of course—your friends Neville and Luna, and quite a few other classmates. They begged and pleaded for four days until we brought them all to the Daily Prophet together."

"Well, we knew we wouldn't be able to sign our names," said Hermione, "so we wanted it to be from all of us, and this seemed right. Even if you couldn't read it."

"The whole country was going mad," said Ron. "Felt like the whole world was, even. Hagrid and Madame Maxine went back to the giants to see if they knew anything—nearly got killed for their trouble again."

Harry grimaced. "Where is Hagrid, by the way?"

"He's been to see you about twenty times since you got back, but something came up with Grawp, and he had to leave this morning," said Hermione. "He said to tell you he'll be coming by first thing as soon his class is done tomorrow."

Ron nodded. "Hagrid and Madame Maxine got a lot of help from other wizarding governments. The French Wizarding Ministry sent an Auror squad, the Americans sent three squads and even used some of their Muggle technology—what's it called, Hermione?"

"Satellites," said Hermione. "Infrared imaging. That sort of thing. We thought that if Voldemort had lots of concealment charms on you, maybe it wouldn't occur to him to shield against Muggle methods, which are actually quite advanced, contrary to what Fudge thinks."

Harry frowned to himself. "Why couldn't Snape tell him where Voldemort's headquarters were?"

"Professor Snape doesn't know," said Mrs. Weasley. "You were in You-Know-Who's main stronghold, Harry. It's not possible to Apparate directly in, and once you get outside, there's a permanent befuddlement charm that keeps you from being able to see where it's located. Death Eaters have to Apparate into the charm zone and then cross inside. We'd hoped that if we could locate where it actually was, we could give him some sort of cover or back-up when he went to get you, but we couldn't. He had to go it alone."

Hermione shivered. "We didn't even know whether you were alive for weeks. It was so awful; some nights I couldn't go to sleep, and other days I just didn't want to wake up. Obviously, we weren't told anything about Snape and the Death Eaters. Right around your birthday, Professor Dumbledore told us you were being held prisoner."

Harry picked up the diary. To his relief, it looked almost nothing like the one Tom Riddle had used; its cover was red and gold. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley was written on the inside, but like Riddle's diary, the pages were blank. "I charmed the diary so no one but us can use it," said Hermione. "You can either tell it to reveal the words and just read what we wrote, or if you ask a specific date, it'll take you in."

"Very clever, Hermione, but I don't think Harry needs to be jumping into any books just yet," said Remus from behind them.

"True," said Ron. "And it's not as if you can't guess what went on. The beginning's awful, and the rest is mostly us running around, trying to figure out what was going on and feeling ruddy useless."

"Well, you accomplished more than I did," Harry snorted. "I slept through it." Mrs. Weasley cringed and put a hand on his shoulder.

But Hermione said, "I'm glad, Harry. I mean, I wish you'd never been taken at all, but when we didn't know what was happening, we were…going mad wondering if they were…hurting you every minute."

Harry shivered and decided not to tell them what that first night had been like. It would only upset them. "Yeah, at least I didn't…have to wait through it. On the other hand I can't remember the time passing. It still feels like it should be summer holiday."

"That'll ease once you're back in classes," said Remus.

"How much longer do I have to stay here?" Harry asked.

"How do you feel, Mr. Potter?" asked Madam Pomfrey.

"Much better," Harry insisted. "Like I slept well and can get up. Couldn't I start classes on time?" he asked hopefully.

Madam Pomfrey frowned, "That would be pushing it a bit, Harry. The Draught of Living Death can have lingering effects, and your body is still weak. You need rest and recuperation."

"But all I have to do is make it to class," Harry protested. "If I miss the first week, I'll be trying to catch up all year!"

Madam Pomfrey shooed Ron and Hermione out of the way, looked at Harry's eyes, and checked his pulse, tutting to herself. "See if you can get out of bed and walk a bit now."

Eagerly, Harry tossed the bedcovers off. "Slowly, Harry," warned Remus. "You've been comatose."

So Harry took a few deep breaths and sat up on his own with his legs over the edge. The sooner he could start classes again, the sooner he could get all this behind him. The last thing he wanted was to start out late, and walk into class one day to everyone staring and whispering, and then have to catch up with everyone else. What was there to do here except lie in bed and think about Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia and Dudley and Sirius and that night in Voldemort's headquarters…

Resolutely, he put his feet on the floor and pushed himself up. Ron and Hermione hovered on either side of him in case he fell, but all he did was sway a little. He took a few tentative steps, then a few more. His legs were very shaky, but he stayed upright, and managed a slow walk to the end of the hospital wing and back. Of course, he felt like he could fall right over by the time he got back to his bed, but he masked it with a smile of triumph.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "You teenagers' physical strength never ceases to amaze me, Potter. Even after being locked in a cave and drugged for ten weeks, you'll be up and getting yourself hexed or bitten by one of Hagrid's pets within a week."

Harry sat down on his bed again (nonchalantly, so she wouldn't get suspicious) and smiled sweetly at her. "Does this mean I can leave?"

"On your head be it, Potter. But make no mistake," she pointed at him. "Do not think that just because you feel well now, the potion's effects are through with you. You may find yourself facing unexpected moments of exhaustion or weakness, if that happens, go lie down straightaway. I'll send a note along to your teachers. You should tread cautiously for at least a week—do not overexert yourself!"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry muttered, feeling himself blushing as she kept her finger in his face.

"What classes do you have tomorrow?" she added.

"Er…" In a rush of dismay, Harry realized he didn't know. He also realized he hadn't quite finished his homework.

"It's DADA tomorrow morning, and Care of Magical Creatures and Transfiguration in the afternoon," said Hermione. "Oh…we picked your classes for you, Harry, I hope you don't mind. But we had to get your books, and we didn't know when you'd be back…"

Harry waved off her concerns. "Doesn't matter as long as I haven't got Divination." Ron sniggered and shook his head. "So what am I taking?"

Paper rustled as Hermione opened the newspaper scrapbook to the last page. "Put it in here somewhere," she muttered. "Aha." She handed him the list.

N.E.W.T. Defense Against the Dark Arts (General)

Advanced Defense: Focus on Curses

N.E.W.T. Potions

N.E.W.T. Transfiguration

N.E.W.T. Charms

Advanced Care of Magical Creatures

N.E.W.T. Herbology

International Magical Cooperation

Specialized Defense

"Wow," Harry murmured, reading the list appreciatively. "Good choices!"

"Neville, Ron, and I worked it out with Professor McGonagall," said Hermione. "Of course, we knew which N.E.W.T. Courses you would have, but the electives list didn't come out until we got our regular letters."

Ron pointed at the list. "The letters said that anyone who wants careers in Magical Law Enforcement should take Specialized Defense and at least one other DADA course. Professor McGonagall said you want to be an Auror, so we got you that one, and she thought International Magical Cooperation would be good for you too. And we thought Focus on Curses was what we really needed."

Harry couldn't argue with that. Then he cringed. "Even if Snape doesn't mention any of…this…I doubt he'll fail to notice that I haven't got my homework."

The empty hospital wing rang with Ron and Hermione's laughter, but behind them, Lupin said, "Don't worry, Harry, Professor Dumbledore's issued a general order that you be given extra time to make up your homework—just be sure and do Potions first."

Grimacing to himself, Harry muttered, "I'd about finished that essay when…it happened. Maybe by some miracle I'll be able to remember most of it."

Ron goggled at him. "Finished it? Three days after we got our O.W.L. results!"

"I'd nothing better to do!"

Madam Pomfrey clapped her hands at them. "Mr. Potter, if you're so determined to get to classes tomorrow, I suggest you return to your dormitory at once and have a good night's sleep. You'll need it. Now off with you!"

Despite his pleas and assurances to Madam Pomfrey, Harry's body turned out to be far less fit than he'd claimed it to be, after two months of total inactivity. With Ron and Hermione carrying the small bag of his things from the hospital wing, he managed to walk slowly with them to Gryffindor Tower. But by the time they went through the portrait, Harry was growing worried that he wouldn't make it up the stairs to the sixth year boys' dormitory, and his friends were looking at him with concern.

"Harry, you're sure you're ready to start classes?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure," he panted, leaning against the wall. "Just a little out of shape."

"You look ragged, mate," said Ron. "Sit down first before we go up. Everyone's going to swamp you in a minute anyway."

Sure enough, Katie Bell glanced their way a moment later and let out a shriek louder than the one she'd uttered when Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup. "HARRY!"

Harry barely had time to fall into an armchair before he wound up in the center of a squealing, shrieking, yelling, whooping, (and in some cases, sobbing) mob of Gryffindors.

"Oh, Harry, thank heavens you're all right—"

"You're okay, then, Harry?"

"Madam Pomfrey let you OUT!"

"Is it true Snape rescued you?"

"Did You-Know-Who hurt you?"

"Where've you been?"

"What happened!"

"I heard they poisoned you—"

"OY!" Ron bellowed, bringing the ruckus to a stop better than Hermione's pleadings at them to give Harry some space. "He just got out of the clutches of Lord Voldemort—" (nearly everyone shivered) "—so let's not smother him now, eh?"

With collective muttered apologies, the entire population of Gryffindor House stepped back as one. However, they still hovered anxiously around Harry. "All right, Potter," growled Seamus Finnegan's voice from somewhere by the fireplace. "Spill it!"

Harry blinked at them and looked over at Ron and Hermione, who shrugged helplessly. He took a deep breath, and finally said, "Well, I'm back."

"Harry! Wake up, you're going to miss breakfast!"

Harry was jolted out of a deep sleep with vague, unpleasant dreams. His eyes felt scratchy and his whole body felt heavy. "Ron?" He rubbed his eyes furiously. "Why didn't you poke me?" he mumbled, realizing he'd overslept.

"I did," said Ron, looking miffed. "You fell asleep again." He sat down on the edge of the bed as Harry went fumbling for his clothes and glasses. "You all right, mate?"

"I'm fine," said Harry, stumbling to the bathroom. "Just tired. You go down without me."

"No rush."

By the time Harry had splashed some nearly-scalding water on his face to wake up, gotten himself dressed, and come back to the boys' dormitory, Hermione was there waiting with Ron. "Should one of us hold your bag for you?" Hermione offered.

"I can do it myself!" Harry snapped, and she flinched. He sighed irritably. "Sorry. I'll just never get back into shape if I don't try."

"But you don't want to wind up back in the hospital wing either," said Hermione. "I read about the aftereffects of that Draught—if you relapse, you could be sick for days."

Harry compromised by putting a Shrinking Charm on his bag and carrying it in his pocket. It was a relief, because just picking up the books one at a time had made his arms shake. "Right. Let's go, then."

They trooped out of the dormitory; Harry was forced to take it frustratingly slow on the stairs. "We may have to eat quickly at breakfast," said Hermione.

Ron shrugged, "Don't think it'll be too great a problem. And even if we're late for DADA, I doubt Harry'll get into trouble today."

Harry thought of another detail that hadn't occurred to him until now. "By the way, who's teaching Defense this year?"

Ron and Hermione paused on the stairs to look at him in surprise, then exchanged amused glances. "Blimey, I guess we forgot," Ron chuckled.

"Well, who is it?" Harry repeated, baffled by their expressions.

Grinning sweetly, Hermione skipped a few stairs ahead of them. "Oh, you can wait and see."

The Great Hall went very quiet as Ron and Hermione came in with Harry in tow. "This will be good," Ron muttered at him as he followed them to the Gryffindor table.

"Harry!" a voice finally cried, and that set off a great stampede of Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws, with Ginny Weasley at the forefront.

Harry managed not to get knocked over as they mobbed around him, and demanded to Ginny, "Where've you been?"

She laughed, "Oh, I was in the Common Room last night, but you were surrounded, so I didn't want to bother you."

"You never bother me," he replied easily, and gave her a hug. "How have you been?"

Ginny heaved a sigh. "Same as everybody else: a complete wreck. But better, now that you're back." Harry was startled by how much older she looked; she'd grown quite a bit and was now almost Hermione's height. And in her face were the same shadows of recent and prolonged grief and worry that he'd seen on so many of his friends. In his memory, it hadn't been that long since she, with him, had faced off with some of Voldemort's nastiest Death Eaters. What innocence she'd still had after Tom Riddle finished with her was now long gone.

Ginny back away to let Justin Finch-Fletchley and Hannah Abbott say hello to Harry, then suddenly stood on her toes and mouthed something at him, her eyes wide in warning. Harry blinked, but before he could call her back to get her message, he spotted what she'd seen: Cho Chang pushing past the Creevy brothers. Oh…right. He mustered a smile and waited for her to approach.

"Er…hi, Harry," said Cho, and it relieved him a little to see that she was as nervous as he was.

"Hi, Cho," he replied awkwardly. She didn't look quite so desperately sad as she had fifth year, but she didn't look happy again either. "Ah…how are you?"

"I'm all right," she said. "Just wanted to…tell you how glad I am that you're…safe. We've all been so worried."

"Thanks," he said. She gave him a little smile and shuffled away through the crowd, then Harry was distracted by getting pounced on by Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot of Ravenclaw.

By the time he finally managed to sit down, breakfast was nearly over. "Shouldn't you eat a little more?" said Hermione as he nibbled some toast.

"Not very hungry," he replied.

"You're going to need your energy," she persisted. "Just have some…"

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed. "Don't nag the man!"

"I'm just—"

"I'm fine!" Harry snapped.

With a scowl, she returned to her eggs and muttered, "Then don't complain if you faint in the middle of Defense."

Before Harry could retort, a voice said behind them, "Don't worry, he won't be participating in any demonstrations today."

Ron and Hermione both grinned broadly. Harry turned in surprise. "Rem—Professor Lupin!"

And so Harry discovered that the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor was…not so new at all! Once-again-Professor Lupin walked to the front of the D.A.D.A. classroom to thunderous applause from nearly all of the sixth year N.E.W.T. Defense class. Realizing that they had no less than three classes with Remus this year made Harry the happiest he'd felt in a very long time.

And the rest of the students were just as happy to see Professor Lupin as Harry was—well, not quite, perhaps, but they were thrilled. "Finally!" cried Dean Thomas, flinging out his arms as if ready to embrace Lupin. "We haven't had a decent D.A.D.A. Professor since you left!"

"What about Moody?" protested Lavender Brown.

Harry grinned, "He was all right, if you discount the fact that he was working for Voldemort!" About half of the class, now comprised of students from all four houses, flinched.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," muttered Hermione. "When will people get over that silly stigma?"

"Silly stigma!" exclaimed Terry Boot. "We're talking about You-Know-Who—"

"Actually," said Professor Lupin loudly over the brewing storm of an argument. "Hermione is correct. We are talking about Lord Voldemort." He smiled as several of them shivered. "As it happens, one of the items on this year's N.E.W.T. Defense curriculum is psychological preparation. Can anyone take a guess as to what that's about? Yes, Hermione?"

"Preparing ourselves psychologically means learning to not let our emotions—such as fear or anger—get in the way of our ability to defend ourselves against dark magic."

"Precisely. Five points to Gryffindor. And while we're on the subject, can anyone tell me what the speaking of Lord Voldemort's name has to do with this—someone else this time, forgive me, Hermione."

The class tittered. Lupin smiled, and Hermione blushed, but she didn't look too terribly put-out. Harry and Ron pondered raising their hands, then decided against it. At length, Neville slowly raised his hand. "Fear of a name only increases fear of the bearer?"

"Warm, Mr. Longbottom, definitely warm," said Lupin, rubbing his hands together briskly. "And how would that be detrimental to our ability to defend ourselves against a dark wizard if we ever ran across him? For another five points."

Neville chewed on his lip. "Because fear…makes it hard to think straight. And if you can't think…you can't really fight."

"Excellent, Neville, another five points to Gryffindor." The Gryffindors beamed at Neville. Professor Lupin nodded and went to the chalkboard. "Now, as a preliminary assignment, we are going to deal with this particular fear, by facing it head-on. Therefore…one of the primary rules of this class, Advanced General Defense Against the Dark Arts, is this: we shall refer to all sources of dark magic, be it a dark creature, a curse, or a dark wizard, by it's proper…name," he said as he wrote out VOLDEMORT on the board.

Turning back to them, he smiled knowingly at the expressions of horror on some of the students' faces. "Now, I am aware that this will take some getting used to. Therefore, this first week, we'll consider it practice. Whenever you are in this classroom, you will defend yourself against fear of Lord Voldemort—" he took note of those who jumped, "by using his name, and not 'You-Know-Who.' Beginning next week, just to add a little incentive, it will be a point off the house of anyone caught referring to Lord Voldemort with anything other than his name. The following week, five points, and so on. You cannot overcome or even confront your fears face-to-face without first doing so in your mind," he said firmly over the rebellious murmurs. "And among other things, this class is going to teach you to do just that."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione smiled broadly at each other. Perhaps this wouldn't be such a bad year after all.

At the end of class, all three of them lingered—although getting to talk to Remus turned out to be a little easier said than done, because a good number of their classmates wanted to pause at his desk and tell him how glad they were to have him back. Grinning even more broadly, Harry, Hermione, and Ron hung back and watched as Remus's normally-careworn expression took on a glow of pleased confidence. "D'you suppose he realized how much we missed him?" sighed Hermione. "At least this year we're going to learn Defense the proper way."

As Lavender and Parvati filtered out the door with Mandy Brocklehurst and Stephen Cornfoot of Ravenclaw after adding their welcomes to the group, Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way up. Remus broke into a wide smile and stood up to shake each of their hands. "Ah, Harry, Ron, Hermione, it's wonderful to see you back in class. And I'm quite grateful for the votes of confidence."

"Obviously we're not the only ones," said Ron, jerking his head at the door where Remus's supporters had just departed. "It's good to have you back. We could really use a competent teacher."

"That's just how Professor Dumbledore put it," laughed Remus, shaking his head. "Apparently, now everyone's so worried about Voldemort that a little old werewolf teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts doesn't seem so threatening. That and the fact that I was the only candidate this year. It's true!" he grinned as they all stared in astonishment. "Well, all right, I take that back; I suppose you did have one other viable candidate in the oh-so-deeply-missed Dolores Umbridge, who is apparently desperate for work—" then he laughed harder than ever at their expressions of horror. "I'm only teasing; don't panic."

Harry sighed. "It doesn't really matter why, I guess, as long as you're here."

Remus's brown eyes turned solemn, and he said, "I'm not going anywhere, Harry, never fear."

As Harry felt a hard lump take over his throat, Ron and Hermione came to his rescue. "We've got Care of Magical Creatures this afternoon. Is Hagrid back yet? He wasn't at breakfast."

"He's been getting his assorted magical creatures ready," said Lupin. "It's his first advanced class; he's very excited." Then he frowned. "Though I wonder if you ought to be walking all the way down there, Harry."

Harry groaned, but Ron sniggered. "I could give you a pig-a-back ride!" The resulting mental image set them all laughing.

"I haven't had a chance to see Hagrid yet," Harry said to Lupin. "He'd feel better if I made it to his class on the first day."

Lupin shook his head. "If Madam Pomfrey's released you, there's nothing I can do but caution you to take it easy. Living Death is a powerful potion, and it's not possible that you're fully recovered. You look peaky even now."

Harry sighed, but nodded. "I promise, no riding hippogriffs or wrestling cave trolls for at least a week."

"That's all I ask," said Lupin with a perfectly straight face, then they all laughed again. "Now be off with you and eat a good lunch before that class!"

"I keep telling him!" Hermione complained as they went out the door.

"Oh, Harry?" Lupin beckoned him back to the desk while Ron and Hermione hovered in the doorway. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder and drew him close. "Just so you know," he said softly. "No matter what…if you need to talk anytime, anytime at all, come to my office."

Despite his insistence to friends and teachers that he would be fine, by lunchtime, Harry was beginning to feel dragged out, and that heavy sensation was returning to his bones. He thought about skipping lunch and slipping up to the dormitory for a nap, but decided to go to the Great Hall in the hope of seeing Hagrid.

Unfortunately, not only was Hagrid not in the Great Hall, but as usual, Ron and Hermione noticed Harry dragging his feet. "I don't think you should go to class this afternoon," said Hermione. "You look completely exhausted."

"I'll make it," Harry muttered, shoving mashed potatoes into his mouth. He still wasn't hungry, but he hoped it would perk him up.

Ron checked his watch. "We've got break for an hour before class. Maybe you should go back to the Tower and lie down for a bit."

"Suppose I could," Harry said, though the thought of walking all the way back to the Tower made him want to groan. He forced down a little more food, but he had his head propped on his hand to keep himself somewhat upright. And there was the danger of a teacher noticing, and him being hauled back to the hospital wing. Just get through classes, he told himself. Then you can skip the evening study session and go to bed early.

But there was still the question of getting back to the dormitory. In his state, it would take twenty minutes just to get there, and that wouldn't leave much time for a nap. So Harry decided he'd find himself a quiet spot in the library and just put his head down—as long as Madam Pince didn't catch him. Yawning, he got up. "I'll meet you out front when it's time to go," he told Ron and Hermione.

He walked to the library, but found it rather busy with students looking up books for early semester essays. Frustrated, he wandered around until he stumbled (literally) into Ginny, who was reading about Vanishing Charms for O.W.L.s. "Hi, Harry!" she said in surprise, and moved her books aside at the table. "Do you need some room to work?"

Glancing around, he admitted sheepishly, "Sleep is more like it. I wanted to put my head down for a bit before class. The Tower's a long way to walk."

Ginny's eyes widened in concern. "Are you all right?" she asked in a way that immediately raised his hackles.

Don't be cross, don't be cross, she's just being nice! He forced himself to nod. "Madam Pomfrey said I'd get tired easily the first few days. It'll pass."

With a grin, she cleared off the table. "I'll stand guard then in case Madam Pince turns up."

"Thanks!" he said with feeling, and they both chuckled. Neither had forgotten how much trouble they'd been in when Madam Pince had caught them eating Easter Eggs in the library last year.

Ginny scooted her chair around so she could see if anyone came into their section, and motioned him to his, so Harry gratefully set his bag down and put his head in his arms. Within seconds, he was dead to the world.

The red light of Bellatrix Lestrange's curse hit Sirius right in the chest.

The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock.

Harry released Neville, though he was unsure of what he was doing. He was jumping down the steps again, pulling out his wand, as Dumbledore turned to the dais too.

It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall. His body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch…

And Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as if in a high wind then fell back into place…

"Harry? Harry, the bell just rang." Someone was gently shaking his shoulder.

Harry jerked his head up, his stomach churning, his hands trembling, and a cry still rising in his throat. He stifled it and blinked at a startled Ginny. "Oh…class. Right. Thanks."

His throat was painfully tight. Now this was all too much like that moment last Easter, when he'd wanted nothing more than to talk to Sirius… "Harry? Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yeah," he gasped, gulping in deep breaths. "Just…bad dream." Her eyes softened with understanding, and she moved toward him, but he stepped away. Hugs from Weasleys seemed to break him down faster than anything these days, and he didn't want that to happen. He mustered a smile to avoid hurting her feelings, and she nodded and patted his shoulder instead. "I've got to meet Ron and Hermione. We have Hagrid this afternoon."

"Oh, good!" she exclaimed heartily, glad to change the subject. "He'll be delighted to see you. Just don't wear yourself out."

"I'll do my best," he chuckled, and waved at her as he hurried out of the library.

When Harry met Ron and Hermione at the front entrance, they were pleased to find him more alert (if still yawning quite a bit.) However, it was all Harry could do to keep up his appearance of fitness, because the walk down to Hagrid's hut took longer than he ever remembered it taking, and by the time they got there, he was winded.

"Oy! Harry! You okay?" asked Michael Corner, noticing Harry leaning slightly on Ron when they arrived.

Harry debated between ignoring the mutterings or telling them all off. He decided on neither. "Yeah," he laughed, making a joke of it. "Just a little out of shape." It worked; Michael and the other staring sixth years grinned.

All, that is, except Draco and his entourage. "Look at it. The great Boy-Who-Lived can't even walk without someone carrying his bags for him."

Ron dropped Harry's arm and his bag, but Harry pulled out his wand. "A little out of shape, but as you found out Saturday night, I can still hex you in my sleep!" His hand holding the wand, he was relieved to see, was quite steady.

Malfoy scowled, but didn't try to go for his own wand, and Hermione said sweetly, "Oh, don't feel bad, Draco. For the first time in your life, there's something you can beat Harry at—even if it's only a footrace."

Dean and Seamus let out great snorts of laughter, and Parvati and Padma Patil began giggling loudly. "What happened Saturday night?" asked Neville.

"Malfoy tried to pay a little visit," said Harry with a shrug, sitting down on a tree stump. "Had to hex him before he was convinced I didn't want good wishes in the middle of the night."

"Good wishes, my—" Ron muttered something that made Hermione swat him, then Hagrid's door flew open.

"Harry! I didn't think yeh'd make it!"

"Here I am," Harry laughed as the half-giant ignored the rest of the class and ran down to throw his arms around him. "Wouldn't miss this for the world!"

Hagrid blushed, "Nice of yeh, so soon after…anyway. Welcome, everyone, ter Advanced Care o' Magical Creatures! We're dealin' with some pretty wild beasts this year, so I 'ope yer all ready!"

"Blimey, what's his idea of 'wild?'" Ron muttered.

"Righ'. Follow me, then! Oh…" Hagrid frowned. "Harry, 't's a bit of a walk. Yeh migh' need a lift."

Harry felt blood rush to his face and heard his classmates' laughter (loudest from Malfoy) at the thought of Hagrid carrying him off to wherever they were holding their lesson today. "Er…no, thanks, I'll be fine."

"Sure?" Hagrid shrugged. "Well, we'll take it slow. Foller me then, all o' yeh!"

Though Hagrid did lead them slowly along, talking about the winged horse that he'd kept tethered to this tree or the Kneazles he'd raised in that pen, Harry was hard-pressed to keep up. He forced a cheerful smile, pretending he didn't mind having to lean against trees (or Ron) every few moments or the thin sheen of sweat on his face and his shortness of breath. "Bloody hell, Potter's turned into an even bigger weakling than Longbottom!" Malfoy whispered loudly to Blaise Zabini.

"Sure you don't want a lift, Harry?" Ron asked. "I'll carry you on my back so you'll have your wand hand free to hex Malfoy!" Walking in a protective knot around them, the sixth year D.A. members sniggered.

Harry grinned. "I'd be too heavy for you."

"Oh, go on, try it!" giggled Neville.

"It'd be rather fun to see Malfoy's face," Hermione said slyly.

Harry and Ron exchanged glances, then Harry handed his bag to a helplessly giggling Dean. Ron crouched. "One, two, three—whoooaa!" he staggered crazily when Harry jumped onto his back. The D.A. dissolved into laughter as they managed to get upright, but tottered around like a top-heavy suit of armor.

Hagrid looked back at them and grinned. "Got that lift after all, Harry?"

"Such as it is!" Harry yelped as Ron nearly careened them into a tree. "Come on, I can't weigh that much!"

"No, but you've got a hand over my face!"

"Oh, sorry." Harry moved his hand away, and Ron finally got his bearings and began galloping along like a horse, causing shrieks of laughter. From all the bouncing and laughing, Harry himself could barely breathe, and somehow he doubted that this was making him use up any less energy—but it was lots more fun. "Onward!"

"You look like a chess knight!" yelled Dean.

"Get your wand ready, Harry! Knight to Black King!" Ron cried gleefully, and bore down on Malfoy. "Charging!"

At Malfoy's flabbergasted expression at the suddenly-eight-foot-tall Harry-Ron creature bearing down on him, Harry laughed so hard he could barely point his wand to deliver a Leg-Locker curse. The few Slytherins in the class shouted in outrage and went for their wands, but they were vastly outnumbered by D.A. members.

"All righ', all righ', enough o' that!" said Hagrid, who had been watching with amusement for several minutes. "Pipe down, pipe down. Blimey, Harry, yer almost as tall as me now! Back to the ground with yeh." Giggling helplessly, Harry managed to get off Ron's back without crashing them both into the dirt. "Have a seat. All of yeh have a seat. Stay well back there."

Settled on a patch of grass, Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged apprehensive looks. "Anyone care to place a wager?" muttered Ron.

"I don't," whispered Harry. "We could each bet on the worst thing we could think of and he'll come up with something worse." They all sat up and paid attention as Hagrid started his lecture.

"Now, this class bein' advanced and all, I figure yeh ought ter be learnin' 'bout controllin' and protectin' yerself from dangerous creatures, not the nice fluffy little things I've been showin' you in past years." Even Hermione couldn't quite hide her expression of disbelief. Hagrid ignored their gapes and continued, "Now, I got me permission from the Headmaster, so don't go complainin' that this is too hard. If yeh think so, yeh can always drop the class." He smiled at them. "But so long as yeh follow me directions, yeh should do fine."

"Bloody…hell…" Ron muttered.

With that ominous-but-cheerful warning, Hagrid said, "Now, I'll be right back," and vanished into the woods, giving them all just enough time to start really worrying.

"Maybe he finally got a dragon," said Hermione.

"Dragon eggs?" suggested Harry. "For each of us to raise?"

Ron frowned. "You'd think I'd have heard from Charlie if that were it."

"Maybe it's a basilisk," said Hermione dryly.

"Don't even joke about that," said Harry. "Then I would drop this class."

"One enough for you, eh, mate?" Ron jibed.

"More than enough." Harry yawned. "Whatever it is, it better be interesting—and noisy—or else I'm going to get sleepy again."

"Blimey, at this rate I'm going to be piggy-backing you all the way back to Gryffindor Tower, aren't I?"

"Sod off," said Harry cheerfully, and leaned against the bole of a tree, closing his eyes. It was very pleasant. If Hagrid doesn't get back soon, I might really—

A tree-shaking roar and a sound like a blowtorch brought him bolt upright, wide awake, and scrambling to his feet, along with everyone else. The sixth years all huddled in a knot of anticipatory alarm as something came crashing back through the trees. "Think you were right, Ron," said Dean. "About the dragon."

Hermione squinted through the heavy undergrowth, then her jaw dropped. "Oh, Merlin's beard," she muttered.

"Hermione? Translation, please?" said Ron's shaky voice behind Harry.

"Er…well, you were partly right, Ron," Hermione said. "In fact, you were…one-third right."

"What!"

A blast of fire set some tree branches ablaze, but Hermione threw a dousing spell at it while hastily backing up. Out of the trees on a heavy chain leash led by Hagrid came one of the strangest, most intimidating-looking creatures Harry had ever seen. At first, he couldn't see what Hermione was referring to. Although it did breathe fire, it looked nothing like a dragon. In fact, its head was that of a lion. Its forelegs and middle body, down to the front hooves, were like a…a deer's? A goat's? And its hindquarters and tail…oh, that was what Hermione had meant.

Its rear end was most definitely that of a dragon.

"Stand back there, stand back!" Hagrid warned, pulling hard on the leash as the creature made to prowl around the clearing they were in. The students did not need to be told twice. "Now. Anyone care to guess what this is?"

No one raised their hand. Merely a class full of horrified, open-mouthed gazes stared back at Hagrid. "You don't even know!" Ron hissed to Hermione in astonishment.

"Oh, I know," Hermione murmured, leaning away from the thing. "I'm just hoping I'll wake up."

"Oh, come on, Hermione, of all people, yeh oughtta know!" said Hagrid.

Swallowing convulsively, Hermione spoke very softly as if trying to keep from attracting the creature's attention. "It's a Chimaera."

"A what!" exclaimed half the class.

"Speak up, there, Hermione!"

"A Chimaera!" she repeated louder, and everyone flinched as the creature turned its lion's head toward them.

"Right yeh are, Hermione. Spectacular, isn't she?" Hagrid nodded at the Chimaera with obvious appreciation. "Devilish hard to get eggs, but I got lucky at last with this beauty! Already grown, but needed a home."

"I won't ask what happened to her previous home," said Hermione faintly.

Hagrid wrapped the chain around a tree and tossed the Chimaera a whole dead sheep, which he'd been carrying over his shoulder. Harry had been thinking that a body like that must make it awkward for the Chimaera to move fast—but watching it leap upon the carcass and tear the thing to shreds in seconds, he realized he was mistaken. "So, Hagrid," said Parvati, trying not to look at it. "What exactly are we going to learn to do with this thing?"

"Same thing I just showed yeh—to keep it, feed it, move it—without getting' yerselves killed!" Hagrid looked very pleased with himself, and their horrified reactions. "Count yerselves lucky. I hear Lord You-Know-Who's got himself a cockatrice." Hermione let out a squeak of dismay. "Coulda found meself one o' them, with a little work, but the Chimaera's more readily available."

"Hope you mean relatively-speaking," Harry said.

"Well, yeh. Now. Hermione. Care ter assist me with a short demonstration?" Hermione's jaw dropped and she looked frantically at the rest of the class. "Sorry, woulda picked someone else, but yer the only one who knew what she was."

Predictably, curiosity got the better of Hermione. "How do you know it's a she? The lion's head has a mane."

"Good thinkin', five points ter Gryffindor!" said Hagrid, and the Gryffindors exchanged gleeful glances. Perhaps this wouldn't be such a nightmare after all. "All Chimaeras have a mane, but yeh can tell females from males by their tails. Same as dragons—females have a barbed tail fer fightin' enemies away from their nests. Come on, now, Hermione, don't be shy."

"W-what do I do?"

"Jes' come 'ere, I won' let 'er hurt yeh! Now. I guess yeh know the legend?"

"Bellerophon? Yes. He attacked the Chimaera with Pegasus and killed it."

"Right. But what the legends don't always tell is Chimaeras got a blind spot. They can't look directly behind 'emselves 'cause of their goat shoulders." Hagrid beckoned Hermione closer. "Now this one knows me, so she's gonna want ter keep 'er eyes on you. All yeh've gotta do is keep directly behind 'er."

Hermione was eyeing the barbed tail. "What about that?"

"'Nother good question. Gotta keep outta the tail's range. Don' worry." Hagrid said, untying the chain from the tree. "I'll keep a good grip on 'er. Ready?"

"Er…"

"Right! Behind 'er now!" Hagrid trotted the growling, protesting Chimaera into the clearing; Harry and the others scurried to what they hoped was a safe distance.

The Chimaera, as Hagrid had predicted, immediately set her eyes on Hermione, who scampered directly behind the creature. "Careful!" Ron yelled as the Chimaera went berserk, pulling against Hagrid's leash and trying to look over her shoulders to see where the stranger was.

Hermione's eyes were wide as saucers, but she kept her wits—as Harry and Ron knew she would—and by the dint of much scrambling, managed to stay in the Chimaera's blind spot. On the other hand, that made the Chimaera more agitated, and Hermione was sweaty-faced and panting by the time Hagrid called a halt.

"Well done, Hermione, well done! Ten points fer Gryffindor!" he said as he tied the Chimaera back up again.

Malfoy muttered something about "bias," but Harry ignored him. Watching Hermione's little Chimaera dance had made him dizzy. He patted her shoulder as she rejoined the class, keeping his other hand on the tree next to him. The rest of the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs were applauding enthusiastically as Hagrid led the Chimaera away.

"What's her name, Hagrid?" asked Neville when he returned.

"I don' rightly know, Neville," said Hagrid. "Only got 'er last night. Any ideas?"

"Hellfire!" suggested Dean.

"Hera!"

"Brunhilda!"

"Fluffy!"

"Already got a Fluffy, sorry, Seamus," said Hagrid. "Fer homework, everyone's ter write down the proper way to approach a Chimaera—not just avoid 'er like Hermione, but to approach—an' suggest a name! Best one gets twenty House points!"

"He's getting good at this," whispered Ron.

As Hagrid dismissed the class, he noticed Harry leaning heavily against the tree. "Be along with yeh, Malfoy! And yer friends! Shoo! All right there, Harry?" he asked, coming toward him.

Harry wished he could manage to stand up straight, but every time he tried to move away from the tree, he swayed in the other direction. "Just a little light-headed."

"Hmm. Why don' yeh come sit down fer a bit before headin' back. It's a bit warm out here," said Hagrid, offering a supporting hand.

Harry felt rather cross, wishing Ron and Hermione weren't hovering over him as if he might shatter like glass, but admitted to himself he wouldn't get far on his own. He heaved a sigh, getting a swat from Hermione, and said, "Thanks," and let Hagrid lead them to his cabin.

The walk tired him. A lot. By the time they went up the steps and inside, Harry was shaking slightly with weariness. "Harry, you don't look well at all," said Hermione quietly as Hagrid ushered him over to what probably served the half-giant as a loveseat, but for Harry was more than long enough to lie down on.

"Don't feel so well," he admitted, and dropped his head onto the arm of the small sofa, pulling up his feet.

Hagrid was watching him with an uncharacteristically solemn expression as he brought over a glass of water. Harry sipped it gratefully. "Think maybe I should call Madam Pomfrey, Harry. Yeh may 'ave overdone it today."

"No," Harry said quickly, gulping another mouthful of water. "Really, Hagrid, Hermione, I'll be fine. I just need to lie down for a minute."

Ron was standing by the door, biting his lip, but suddenly glanced at the window and yelled, "Hey! Malfoy!"

"Oh, fer the love of…" Hagrid stalked to the door. "I told the three o' yeh ter get back! Ten points from Slytherin! Go on, off with yeh!" That was enough to give Harry, Ron, and Hermione a brief pause; even when Malfoy's lot were at their worst, Hagrid seldom dealt out real discipline.

Ron was helping Harry out of his robe, and Hermione methodically removing his House tie and loosening his shirt collar when Hagrid came back with a damp cloth. "Just about had my fill o' that lot," he growled at them. "After what that Lucius character did ter Harry…" he shook his head and began bathing the sweat off Harry's face. Harry's ill mood was rapidly draining away—along with most of his interest in what was happening. He was simply too tired. "I can sit with him if the two o' yeh need ter get back fer anythin'," Hagrid told Ron and Hermione as Harry laid his head on the sofa cushions.

"Is it all right if we stay?" asked Ron immediately.

Hagrid grinned at them. "Sure, it is. Pull up a chair. You go on an' sleep, Harry. Yeh need it."

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry mumbled, and let his eyes drift closed.

"Harry? Can yeh hear me? Can yeh open yer eyes?" A worried, vaguely-familiar voice penetrated Harry's dark dreams, dragging him unwillingly out of an incredibly deep, heavy sleep. The place he was waking up to was not nearly so pleasant; he felt cold, damp, and weak. Shivering, he tried to sink back into the darkness. "Blimey," muttered the voice. "I can't wake him."

"Let me see, Hagrid," said another voice, and a cool hand touched Harry's forehead.

"He feels warm ter me."

"He's burning up. We need to get him to the hospital wing right now."

"Madam Pomfrey's going to kill him! Go ahead and say you told us so, Hermione."

"Oh, shut it, Ron! I've no intention of saying any such thing!"

"Enough o' that, you two! I gotta fetch Madam Pomfrey. Yeh'll stay with him?"

"Of course. Hurry, Hagrid."

"Righ'. I'll be back!"

Harry's whole body was achy and weak. He badly wanted to go back to sleep, but the voices refused to be quiet, and now someone was sponging his face with a wet cloth. "Come on, Harry, open your eyes!"

This reminded him of something, but he couldn't think what. All he knew was it scared him. "No…" he moaned and flinched away. He didn't want anything strange-tasting in his mouth. He remembered that, and that he didn't want it.

"Shh, it's okay, Harry. Everything will be okay. Ron, fetch his cloak. He's shivering."

"Is that a good idea with him so hot?"

A warm layer of dry cloth was laid over Harry, but he still shivered. "I don't know if it's helping. Ohhh…why couldn't Snape have got him out sooner!"

"Never heard you talk about a teacher like that. You were the one telling Harry—"

"I know, I know. It's just…right now…seeing him like this…I'm mad at Snape for not rescuing him sooner, at the Aurors for not stopping him from getting kidnapped, at Sirius for dying right when—"

The sound of that one name reached through the fog of fever like a bright, hot light that burned Harry, and he flinched. "Oh! Harry, Harry, I'm sorry, I didn't know you…Harry?"

"I think it was just hearing the name. He doesn't seem to know us."

A hand stroked back his sweat-soaked hair. A very quiet voice murmured, "And I'm angriest of all at Dumbledore for letting all this happen in the first place."

"Blimey. I've never heard you talk like that before."

"Now you have. I'm angry at everyone. He shouldn't have to go through this, Ron. It's not fair. Aren't you angry?"

There was a long silence.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am. But I'm angry at me."

"You?"

"Yeah. For not doing more. I feel like I haven't done him any good."

"Oh, Ron—"

There was a loud thunk then more voices came into the room. "Oh, honestly, Mr. Potter, I am never letting you out of my sight again!"

Harry cringed; the voice reminded him of someone, and the memory definitely wasn't pleasant, but one of the first voices said, "Madam Pomfrey, please, he's del—"

A hand touched his forehead again, then his cheeks and neck. "Calm down, Miss Granger, I won't eat him. He needs to be brought back to the hospital wing immediately."

"'Ere, I'll carry him."

The next thing Harry knew, he was being swept into a pair of huge, burly arms and cradled against a massive chest. He moaned and struggled weakly. "It's okay, Harry! It's just Hagrid. Let him take you."

For a few moments, Harry fought the arms holding him; he couldn't distinguish that moment from yet another distressing memory. But once the strength to struggle left him, it reached his groggy, confused mind that this situation was different. He was being moved gently, not bounced and wrenched like before, rather like floating this time on the supporting arms. And they were holding him close, gently, so that he didn't fear he would fall. "It's all right, Harry. I've got yeh. Just relax."

So he did, with his head propped upon a big shoulder with a bushy beard tickling his face, and slept again.

"Is there any chance something else could have been done to him, Severus?" The words penetrated the darkness, slowly drawing Harry up as though he were swimming to the surface of a very deep lake.

"What are his symptoms?"

"High fever—it took two potions to bring it down this far. Confusion, delirium, and muscle pain. He's been incoherent for over a day."

"His scar's hurting him too, Professor."

"Granger, Weasley, move. And why aren't you in class?" There was a shuffling near Harry, the sense that someone was bending over him, but he couldn't find the strength to open his eyes.

"It's full moon tomorrow, sir. Professor Lupin assigned a library project."

A hand landed on Harry's forehead, then moved to feel around his neck. "Then why aren't you in the library?"

"We'll have it done, sir. No need to concern yourself for Professor Lupin's class."

"Miss Granger, I—"

"—What do you think, Severus?"

There was a long silence as Harry struggled to figure out where he was. These voices, this place, they were so familiar. And then, "At first glance, it seems merely a side effect of being revived from the Draught of Living Death too quickly. But he should have responded better to your treatments."

"Then what can we do?"

"I've no idea, Professor McGonagall, as I am no longer privy to the Dark Lord's plans."

That sarcastic remark finally triggered Harry's faulty memory, and he groaned. "Harry! He's awake! Harry!"

"For God's sake, Weasley, contain yourself. Now, if there's nothing else…"

"So you can't think of any other problem we might be able to treat? A poison or a curse You-Know-Who might have used?"

"As I said, Madam Pomfrey, I no longer have access to that information."

Heels thunked on the floor as Harry forced his eyes open. Ron and Hermione were on either side of the bed, watching the exchange intently, and Professor McGonagall was catching Professor Snape by the shoulder. "An educated guess, then, Severus?"

Snape sighed heavily, then saw Harry looking at him and scowled. "The Dark Lord implied that the green flame torch would bind the boy to him in a new way, using their blood. It may have allowed him to either curse or poison Potter somehow from a distance. You might speak to the Headmaster."

Professor McGonagall looked over her shoulder and saw Harry awake. "Thank you, Severus." Snape left in a hurry.

"Harry," Ron waved a hand slowly in front of Harry's face. "You know us, mate?"

"Yeah," Harry croaked weakly. "How long…out?"

"You got sick after class Monday afternoon and now it's Tuesday night," said Ron, sitting on the edge of the bed. He leaned toward Harry, "I thought Madam Pomfrey was going to strangle you!"

"And you're not out of the woods yet, Mr. Potter, from this illness or from me!" snapped Madam Pomfrey, stalking over to the bed. Harry cringed as she thrust a beaker of potion at him. "Drink it all. This time, you will leave when I am satisfied that you're well—not before."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry muttered and swallowed the fever-reducing potion. Ron and Hermione elbowed each other and grinned. "What?"

"She told Professor McGonagall she's putting a memorial plaque over this bed after your seventh year," Hermione giggled. "And Professor McGonagall said maybe they should just move you in here permanently."

They both sounded a little hysterical, so Harry chuckled along with them. "Not off to a very good start this year, am I?" Ron and Hermione shook their heads at him. "What classes did I miss?"

"Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, and Curse Defense," said Ron. "Hermione's copying all her notes for you. Figured you wouldn't want mine."

"What's wrong with yours?" asked Harry innocently. He wiped his sweaty face on the back of his hand. "I don't know why I feel cold," he muttered.

"You're still feverish," said Hermione. "Harry, by the way, the Daily Prophet is going mad. They were jumping to get at you when you first got back, then when word got out that you were sick…I'm not even sure how long I can hold Rita Skeeter down."

"Oh, bloody hell, that's all we need," Harry groaned.

Ron pulled a face. "It gets worse. Fudge and about half the wizards at the Ministry are hopping to see you too."

Harry rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. "Never mind, in that case bring on Rita Skeeter."

"We thought you'd think so," sighed Hermione. "But Professor Dumbledore said we may have to talk to them. Otherwise they'll start reporting you're on your deathbed or something."

Harry groaned louder. "When?"

"When you're feeling better, I assume."

"Any chance I can feel bad the rest of my life?"

"You're well on your way to that already, Potter—lie down!" barked Madam Pomfrey, coming back over with another potion and propping more pillows under him. "Drink all of this. It's a restorative. You're skin and bones; what did you do to yourself?"

Harry blinked at her as Professor McGonagall came back. "I was asleep for two months!"

Madam Pomfrey took the cup back and stalked off, tutting. "Try again. The Draught of Living Death has no effect on the body. You lost all that weight before you were kidnapped."

Professor McGonagall stopped in her tracks. Ron and Hermione stared at Harry. He looked at his hands and muttered, "Didn't have much appetite after…"

His friends winced, and each put a hand on his shoulder. Professor McGonagall came to the bedside and pulled up a chair. Harry looked awkwardly at the wall. "Mr. Potter," she said quietly. "I know how painful these last months have been for you. These last years," she corrected herself. Harry stared hard at the bedcovers. "But you must realize how essential it is, now more than ever, that none of us allows our resolve to be broken—you, least of all."

Harry looked up in surprise. He'd caught the meaning in her last words, even if Ron and Hermione hadn't. He swallowed thickly. "I…I didn't realize you knew."

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Professor Dumbledore made certain of it, in case anything should ever happen to him." Ron made an odd noise, clearly startled by that thought. "But I am the only one he has ever told, apart from you."

"What about Snape?" Harry asked, ignoring the baffled looks from his friends.

"Professor Snape, Potter, and no, he has not been told, although after the charade that he took part in with You-Know-Who, he may well have guessed it."

Relief made Harry's stomach churn, and he sank bank into the pillow for several moments. On one hand, he was immensely glad that Snape didn't know the prophecy, though he couldn't say precisely why. And on the other hand, realizing that Professor McGonagall knew made him feel a little less alone in the world.

"Harry? Harry, are you all right?" asked Hermione.

He opened his eyes and muttered, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm all right. But I've…" he looked at Professor McGonagall. "There's something I—I have to tell you…"

Professor McGonagall looked from Ron and Hermione to Harry. "I will not prevent you from speaking to your friends, Potter. But you must be aware of the very great danger to anyone in whose hands you place that information."

Slowly, Harry nodded, and Professor McGonagall reached out and gave his hand a little squeeze, then rose and left the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey had gone to her office, and the door swung closed with an echoing thump.

Ron and Hermione were staring. "What information, Harry?" Hermione asked.

He swallowed again and pulled himself up a little on the bed. Both of them scooted closer. "You can tell us," said Ron. "We don't care how dangerous it is."

"Professor McGonagall's right," Harry warned. "Voldemort would come after both of you if he found out you knew. He'd kill you. Or your families."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other. Then Ron lifted his chin. "You're part of my family, mate. My parents'll do anything to help you. So will I."

As Harry quickly looked away, Hermione added, "And my parents are Muggles. They may not really understand all this, but they and I are targets already. And I choose you." She lightly ruffled his hair as he looked down at the bedcovers again. "So whatever it is, we'll help all we can."

Harry rolled onto his side and rested his head on his arm, facing Ron. The mattress squeaked as Hermione sat down on the other side behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Tell us, mate," said Ron softly.

Harry swallowed hard. "It's the prophecy," he gasped out. "Dumbledore told me what is said, right after we got back from the Department of Mysteries." Hermione's grip on his shoulder tightened, and Ron scooted his chair closer. "It says…I'm the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. That he'd mark me as his equal." He touched the scar on his forehead. "And…either I have to kill Voldemort…or he'll kill me. 'Either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives.'"

The hospital wing was quiet for a long time. Harry closed his eyes, hearing nothing but slightly hitched breaths. Then Hermione bent over and put her head against his shoulder, pulling him into a lopsided hug, and Ron leaned over to put his arms around both her and Harry. Neither of them said a word, but Harry didn't mind—after all, what could be said? And what could be done? This was nothing Ron and Hermione could help with. Harry would kill, or Harry would die. It was as simple—as hideously simple—as that.

When Madam Pomfrey came in around ten o'clock, she found the three of them still like that, and turned around and left them alone. Harry had no idea when she finally insisted that Ron and Hermione go to bed, because they were still with him when he fell asleep.

For his "complete lack of sense in trying to do to much too soon" Harry was sentenced to the rest of the week in the hospital wing. It wasn't so bad; Ron and Hermione came every day with his class notes, and Madam Pomfrey even allowed them to have dinner with Harry. Many of their other friends stopped by regularly as well to tell Harry about how classes were going, talk about the news (most of it grim) in the Daily Prophet, and bring him sweets.

The Weasley twins sent a box of experimental Wheezes via Ron and Ginny (which Madam Pomfrey forbade opening in the hospital wing) and a note promising they'd be round to visit on Sunday with Bill, Charlie, and their parents. And, of course, there was a steady stream of visitors from the D.A., all wanting to know if they'd still be working together this year.

As frustrating as it was to be missing his first week of school, Harry had to admit he wasn't in much of a state for any activity. His fever didn't go up again, but it also didn't break until Friday afternoon, which left him bedridden all week long. On Wednesday, Harry and Ron were playing chess in the hospital wing when Hermione got back from Potions. "How bad is it?" Ron asked, seeing her scowl all the way across the hospital wing when she came in.

"Insufferable!" Hermione huffed, flinging herself into the chair next to Harry's bed. "That man is like a Dementor, sucking the happiness out of people! We're at war; one would think he could be a little decent to us!"

"That'd mean he'd have to have a heart," said Ron.

Hermione sighed, shaking her head. "After what happened this summer…the things he did…I really thought he'd be…different. I mean, not necessarily nice, but at least…somewhat decent."

"What did he do?" Harry asked.

She made a face at him. "Well, first he told us that we were in class because we'd all made an 'O' on our Potions O.W.L.s, then he looked right at me and informed us that our past marks meant absolutely nothing."

Ron snorted. "Figures."

"And, in addition to our regular assignments, we're also going to be getting 'Special Defense,' where we'll be learning certain types of potions that the Ministry and Professor Dumbledore think might be useful to us in the war," Hermione went on. "He also said that anyone who doesn't get good marks on those lessons will be restricted to campus and have other privileges revoked for their own personal safety." She glowered. "You should have seen his face then."

"Gleeful?"

"Elated. Probably because that's the closest to teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts he'll ever get," said Hermione. She looked thoughtfully at Harry. "He had a few choices remarks for me, but he didn't mention you at all. I'd wondered if he would, since everyone knows he rescued you from Voldemort."

Ron leaned toward her. "Is it true the Slytherins are rebelling?"

"I imagine some of them are. Malfoy, almost certainly—what, Harry?"

Harry's memory of the escape from Voldemort's lair was sketchy at best, but the mention of Malfoy had brought part of it rushing back so fast it made him gasp. Ron and Hermione jumped. "What's the matter?" Ron exclaimed.

With an effort, Harry got his breathing under control. "Just…something I remembered. About Lucius Malfoy and Snape, the night he got me out."

"What happened?" Hermione breathed.

"Voldemort…he knew somehow, as soon as Snape woke me. They got back before we could escape, and Snape fought Lucius Malfoy. He used the Imperius Curse on him. It worked. I think that's how we made it." Harry's heart was pounding just from remembering it.

Ron, sitting Indian-style on the foot of Harry's bed, propped his elbow on his knee and rested his chin in his hand. "Was Voldemort there too?"

Harry frowned. "He might have been. I remember hearing him, but not when it was. Might have been the night they took me. Why?"

His chin still in his hand, Ron shook his head. "I wonder if any of us will ever understand Snape."

"That may not be humanly possible," muttered Hermione.

On Saturday, Professor Dumbledore went off to Headquarters for a meeting with the Order members who were Aurors, and Professor Lupin—convinced that Voldemort's people would choose this moment to attack Hogwarts—spent nearly the whole morning in the hospital wing with them. Ostensibly it was to give Harry a little tutoring to prevent him from falling behind in any of his assorted Defense classes, and to their credit, they did get quite a bit of real work done. But in other ways, Lupin's visit that morning was the best one Harry got, because somewhere in between watching Ron and Hermione demonstrating curse blocks and listening to stories about some of his father's more memorable Marauder antics, Harry felt the burning, throbbing hole inside him beginning to heal a little, as if the agony of Sirius's absence was eased by the presence of the last living member of that group of old friends.

Throughout the morning, a number of Harry's friends stopped by, and many stayed, especially members of the D.A. Madam Pomfrey was amazingly tolerant of their noisy presence—probably because Harry was the only one who'd managed to land in the hospital wing so early in the term.

And so it was that Harry, Ron, Hermione, Professor Lupin, Neville, Ginny, Luna Lovegood, Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, Parvati and Padma Patil, Cho Chang, Terry Boot, Susan Bones, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Ernie MacMillian all wound up in the hospital wing eating a sumptuous "picnic" lunch provided enthusiastically by the house elves when Professor McGonagall arrived—in a hurry, looking most agitated.

The Gryffindor Head of House clapped her hands loudly. "May I have everyone's attention, please?" she called, a little breathlessly.

The cheerful chatter died down. "Bloody hell, I knew it was too good to last," muttered Ron. Harry braced himself.

Professor Lupin got up. "Problem, Minerva?"

"Not exactly, Remus," said Professor McGonagall dryly, and to a confirming groan from the students, her eyes sought out Harry in the group. "Mr. Potter has some rather distinguished visitors who insist on seeing him now."

"Oh no," Harry groaned, closing his eyes.

Professor McGonagall smiled in understanding. "I'm afraid so, Potter. And he has several reporters from the Daily Prophet with him." Harry dropped his forehead onto his knees. "I'll give you a few minutes to make yourself presentable, then I will bring them in. As for your classmates," she added, looking at the D.A. thoughtfully, "I see no reason why they may not stay."

As she went back out the doors, Harry muttered a rude word and shook out the wrinkles in his robes, accepting a hand up from Lupin. "Five galleons says one of them's that Skeeter female," growled Ginny.

"I'm not taking that wager," Harry replied.

The doors flew open with a loud bang, and with yelps of surprise and annoyance, everyone sprang away. But it was Peeves who came sweeping through the door. "She's back! She's back! Who let her back in! Was it you, Potty? Always causing trouble, only for you would she come back! Leave you to her!" He swept out again.

Harry and his friends exchanged baffled looks. "What's Peeves got against Rita Skeeter?" wondered Hermione.

"I don't remember anything from the Triwizard Tournament," mused Ron.

Harry shrugged helplessly, but then Ginny's hands went slowly to her face. "Oh…bloody…hell. He didn't mean Rita Skeeter."

"Huh? What do you…" It dawned on Harry in a rush of sheer outrage that made him start to tremble. "They wouldn't. They would not. They wouldn't dare bring her here again!"

"No…" growled Hermione.

Neville, by that time, had run to the doors and was peeking out. His jaw dropped in combined horror and indignation, and he looked over at them. "It is!"

"I don't believe it," was all Harry had time to say before the doors opened again to admit Professor McGonagall (wearing a distinctly sour expression), trailed by Cornelius Fudge, Rita Skeeter, her photographer, and another Daily Prophet reporter, and without doubt the most hated D.A.D.A. Professor in all Hogwarts history.

Dolores Umbridge, it seemed, did have some good sense, or at least she would have to have been deaf and blind not to sense the ire directed toward her from every single person in the room. But her presence, trailing behind Fudge and in front of none other than Percy Weasley, was simply too much to be borne.

Fudge, for his part, did appear completely oblivious, and strode pompously toward Harry with his arms open. "My dear boy, it's such a relief to see you recovered at last. We've lots to talk about!"

It gave Harry the perfect opportunity. Stepping back from the Minister of Magic's offered handshake, he said coldly, "Not with her in the room."

Percy and the reporters gasped, Umbridge's toadlike face sagged, and Fudge blinked, glancing over his shoulder at her. "Er…I don't understand…"

From behind the others, Professor McGonagall made a little motion with her hand at Harry, clearly indicating for him to remain calm, so he took a deep breath, and said in a steady voice, "I would be happy to talk to you, Minister, but not to the person who deliberately sabotaged our Defense Against the Dark Arts Classes, spied on us, and tried to control our every thought."

For the first time in his life, he was pleased to see Rita Skeeter scribbling away like mad. It distracted him from fantasizing about wrapping his hands around Umbridge's neck and shaking vigorously.

"Oh, and don't forget, Harry," said Hermione's voice lightly from behind him, "the little matter of the blatant abuse of the students under her care, particularly yourself!"

Fudge's jaw dropped, and Rita actually stopped writing. Percy had appeared at the Minister's shoulder, and they exchanged glances before looking back at Umbridge, who was slowly retreating toward the door. "Er…what abuses are you referring to, Miss…"

"Hermione Granger, Minister," she said, extending her hand with great decorum. As he shook it, she remarked, "Harry, perhaps you should give the Minister your hand after all." She looked meaningfully at him. "The right hand."

Ah. Harry nodded and stepped toward them, and Hermione beckoned Rita forward, pointing discreetly at the photographer. Harry held out his hand slowly, then took great pleasure in slowly turning it over to reveal the white scarring on the skin, still spelling out clearly, I must not tell lies.

Fudge and Percy both gasped, and Rita's photographer's camera began clicking away. "She…she…Professor Umbridge did that?" breathed Percy.

Harry nodded.

"Monstrous," murmured the other reporter as he and Rita resumed scribbling.

"Harry got that punishment for telling people that Lord Voldemort had returned," said Ginny. "Many times throughout the school year. Of course, he wasn't telling lies, was he, Minister?"

"Er…"

"Umbridge also gave Caretaker Filch permission to whip students—my brothers had to flee the school." Ginny was speaking directly to two reporters while Fudge dithered. Professor McGonagall stood off to one side, giving a helpless little shrug every time Umbridge or Fudge looked in her direction. "And she confessed to sending the two Dementors to Little Whinging that nearly kissed Harry's cousin and forced him to do a Patronus in front of Muggles—the same Patronus he nearly got expelled for."

The rest of Harry's friends were pushing forward. "She opened our mail!"

"She sabotaged other teachers!"

"She got students to spy on each other!"

"She tried to Crucio Harry!"

"She should never be allowed in here again!"

Umbridge, who had begun to resemble a sheep who'd walked into a pack of wolves, began to venture forward. "Minister, Minister, this is all just a misunderstanding…" she simpered, raising a placating hand toward Harry.

"Harder to misunderstand a Killing Curse," said someone.

Harry stepped quickly backwards; his friends crowded around him. "Keep away from me."

"Professor McGonagall," said Rita. "Why was nothing done by the other Hogwarts teachers to stop these abuses?"

"You will find," said Professor McGonagall quietly, "that the Educational Decrees passed by the Ministry gave Madam Umbridge unlimited power to dictate school policy as she saw fit, and prevented any other members of the Hogwarts staff from interfering, on threat of immediate dismissal."

"Well…er…we never imagined those Decrees would be abused…" Fudge whined, wringing his hands. He had turned an impressive shade of purple, his eyes darting accusingly from Umbridge to Harry as if neither had the right to embarrass him this way. In desperation, he finally blurted, "In any case, we…these allegations will be investigated fully…terrible thought, abuse of students…Madam Umbridge, I think you'd better go on back to the Ministry!" he added as Umbridge started to protest again. The toad-faced woman blinked stupidly as Fudge motioned vigorously at the door. Finally, she went.

More than one student in the room sighed in relief, then they all had to stifle giggles when they heard Peeves swooping down, shrieking like a banshee, and Umbridge's frantic sprinting for the exit. "If I never see that creature again, it will be too soon," growled Hermione.

With Umbridge gone, Harry felt the knot in his insides loosen ever so slightly. Fudge, still wringing his hands, turned back to him, in a far less congenial manner. "Now…er, we do need to speak with you, Mr. Potter, about You-Know-Who. For the war effort and all."

Harry shrugged. "Mind if I sit down?" Just talking about Umbridge had left him frustratingly tired.

Madam Pomfrey summoned several chairs, and Harry and Fudge sat, with the reporters eagerly on either side of them, and Percy standing beside Fudge's chair. "Well…I…glad to see you're recovering," said Fudge, his tone rather forced.

"Thanks." Harry replied, contemplating his knees. Then someone hissed, and he looked over to see Rita's Quick Quotes Quill writing, His haunted green eyes seldom look up as he shivers from the lingering trauma of… "I am not shivering!"

"Calm down, Harry dear," Rita cooed, "it's just a bit of creative—"

"Oh, Miss Skeeter, I think Harry has had enough of your 'creativity' to deal with, don't you?" asked Hermione. Her voice was cloying, but her eyes were hard. Rita scowled and flicked the quill so it scratched out the worst embellishments.

Fudge cleared his throat. "Well. Now, Mr. Potter, what can you tell me about this stronghold you were taken to?"

Harry's irritation gave way to a surge of nausea, but he managed to keep his voice steady as he replied, "Not much. It was all underground, but very big. There were lots of tunnels and a big chamber where Voldemort—" Fudge and his entourage flinched, "—and the Death Eaters all assembled." Harry wasn't shivering, but by the time he finished describing Voldemort's lair and activities as best he could remember, nearly everyone else was. Professor Lupin's hand on Harry's shoulder made it easier to tell, though it reminded him of the night of the Third Task, and Harry felt a pang of guilt for wishing he would turn around and see someone else sitting behind him.

When he'd finished his account, Fudge and Percy exchanged glances. "So there's nothing else? Nothing useful?"

"What'd you expect, that I'd get a grand tour?" Harry demanded hotly. "I don't think the Death Eaters intended me to learn anything 'useful' about their hideout. And I was a little distracted—by the Cruciatus Curse, among other things." He took vindictive satisfaction in seeing them flinch again.

"No offense intended," Fudge muttered, turning red.

Rita chose that moment to stir things up. Her eyes had been fixed on Lupin—and his hand on Harry's shoulder—for the last few moments of Harry's account of his imprisonment, and her writing had slowed down.

Finally, she evidently couldn't restrain herself a moment longer. "So what is it like being taught Defense Against the Dark Arts by a dark creature, Harry?"

She undoubtedly intended to get a rise out of Harry. However, what she obviously did not expect was the outraged reaction of every student in the room. So it happened that when Harry shot to his feet and began shouting, so did all the others. "He is not a dark creature!" Harry roared. "You—" the various names he called Rita were fortunately drowned out by the shouts of his classmates.

"You take that back, lady!" Seamus cried.

"Don't you talk about Professor Lupin like that!" Neville shouted.

"He's the best Defense Professor we've ever had!"

"Why you low-down, dirty, slandering—"

"Lupin's a sight more human than you are!"

Professor Lupin was as startled as Rita by the mass tirade, but eventually he stood up and shouted over the furious denials, insults, and threats, "All right! That's enough of that! All of you, sit down and calm down!" Harry quieted along with the others, still seething, as Lupin politely addressed Rita. "Miss Skeeter, would you rather I left?"

"Ah…" Rita glanced apprehensively at the furious faces and muttered, "No, that's all right, Mr. Lupin."

"Professor Lupin, if you please," said Hermione, glaring daggers at Rita.

Harry slowly sat down again. "Professor Lupin is the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher any of us have ever had. And he's never put any of us in danger," he informed Rita curtly.

Keeping her eyes on her parchment, Rita said, "There was a rumor that he…gotlooseduringhislasttenure."

"That…was different," said Harry, looking quickly at Hermione and wondering what to say.

Professor Lupin said smoothly, "That was a regrettable incident, Miss Skeeter. Like most people with Lycanthropy, I use Wolfsbane Potion to control the transformation, but the accident occurred the night Sirius Black was almost apprehended. Harry and his friends went missing, and out of concern for their safety I went outside searching for them and forgot the potion."

"Hm," was all Rita said, and she went on writing. Harry was relieved that everyone was too focused on Lupin to see his face just then.

Fudge cleared his throat. "Never got a chance to ask you before…eyewitnesses say Sirius Black was with the Death Eaters at the Department of Mysteries last spring. Did you see him by any chance?"

"I say, are you all right!" exclaimed the other reporter.

Harry's vision had tunneled, and his heartbeat was thundering in his ears. "Fine," he muttered, bending forward and resting his head in his hands.

Over the concerned whispers of his friends, he heard Madam Pomfrey say, "Just some lingering effect of the Draught of Living Death, Minister. He'll be better in time."

"How soon is he to be released?"

"Probably tomorrow, provided he doesn't overexert himself," Madam Pomfrey growled, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at Harry.

Ron reached out and ruffled Harry's hair. "Most of the Death Eaters at the Ministry that night had masks, sir. And it was rather chaotic." Harry shot him a grateful glance, and Ron glared at Rita, who was watching them a little too closely.

"Mm." Fudge didn't look entirely satisfied, but he slowly stood up. "Well…questions needed to be asked, you understand." Harry nodded. "I'll, er, be in touch. And I trust Headmaster Dumbledore will notify me if there are any…developments?" he asked Professor McGonagall.

Harry and Ron rolled their eyes at each other. For all he'd been forced to admit Harry and Dumbledore were right, Fudge obviously was still nursing a grudge against the Hogwarts Headmaster. As the Minister shuffled out with Percy and the reporters, Harry turned to his friends and the D.A. members. "Thanks."

"For what?" asked Ernie MacMillian.

"For…you know…sticking by me—us," said Harry awkwardly, indicating himself, Professor Lupin, and the others.

Ron folded his arms and grinned at the rest of them. "It's not just you old Voldemort's got to deal with anymore, Harry. We're all in this together."

After being on his best behavior for the rest of Saturday, Madam Pomfrey let Harry return to Gryffindor Tower on Sunday. But Sunday was spent frantically working making up homework and listening to the previous week's lectures almost word-for-word from Hermione. Predictably, the Sunday Prophet came out with an article about Harry's experience in Voldemort's hands, with a screaming banner headline:

Boy-Who-Lived Recounts Horror of Torture, Imprisonment in Headquarters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!

As melodramatic as it sounded at first glance, the article, written by Rita Skeeter, was mostly accurate. But the part that caught Harry's eye was close to the end:

Harry Potter made his report to the Minister surrounded by over a dozen supportive classmates, who repeatedly sprang to the defense of him and others. Flanking Potter from beginning to end were young Ronald Weasley, son of respected Ministry worker Arthur Weasley, and Muggle-born Hermione Granger. While questions persist about possible romantic involvement between Potter and Gryffindor Prefect Granger, both have repeatedly denied the rumors, but Granger and Weasley remain the closest and most devoted friends of the Boy-Who-Lived.

This reporter has had it from multiple sources that the Weasley family has all but adopted the orphaned Potter. Ronald and his younger sister Ginevra Weasley remain young Potter's classmates and most outspoken supporters, and sources report that Fred and George Weasley, founders of burgeoning new joke business Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, received their startup funding from Harry Potter's winnings from the Triwizard Tournament. On the fateful night of the Third Task of the Tournament—now acknowledged by the Ministry as the most probable date of Lord You-Know-Who's return—the Weasleys were present as observers in support of the Boy-Who-Lived where the other champions were supported by their own families.

No wizard can deny Harry Potter will need such friends in the coming dark days, and this reporter can only hope Harry Potter appreciates those who have stood by him through the thick and thin of the past few years.

"I do," Harry whispered to himself as Ron and Hermione were sitting on Ron's bed, arguing.

Ron glanced over and saw Harry looking at them. "What's Rita Skeeter have to say, mate?"

Harry held out the paper. "Something I'm actually glad to see, for once." He pointed to the end of the article. "People getting their due, and all."

Hermione came to join them as Ron sat down on Harry's bed to read the paper. Harry grinned as his jaw dropped. "They…they…talk about us!" Ron scanned the end of the article again. "All…all about us! We're… 'respected Ministry worker, Arthur Weasley,'" he read to himself softly, a smile of utter delight spreading slowly across his face.

The mattress creaked as Hermione reached swiftly across Harry to take the paper from Ron, burying her nose in it. Ron was still in shock, staring alternately at Harry and into space, as though he couldn't believe the Daily Prophet would find him and his family important enough to devote a whole paragraph to.

Harry grabbed him and began knuckling his head, "And if Harry Potter had been asked, he would have told 'this reporter' that he's thankful every day of his life that he's got such terrific friends, and it's about bloody time 'this reporter' bothered to mention them!"

Hermione lowered the paper a moment later, but her face was far less enthusiastic. Ron shrugged at her, "What, Hermoninny, you got loads of mentions during the Triwizard Tournament—well, they weren't all good, but they did say you were pretty!"

"It doesn't really bother you, does it?" asked Harry when she didn't reply.

In a low voice, Hermione said, "Harry…Ron…I don't know if I like this."

Ron stopped dancing with Harry's dressing gown on the bed and looked hurt. "Why not? They say good things about us! And Mum and Dad have practically adopted Harry—they love him as much as—"

Hermione scooted over to him and grabbed his hand, pulling him down. "I know, I know. It's all very sweet, but that's not what scares me!" She looked from Ron to Harry then back to Ron again. "Don't you see, Ron? Don't you realize what this means?"

"It means they're being treated like the family they've treated me as all these years!" Harry said indignantly. "Don't spoil it!"

"I'm sorry!" she cried. "I really am, it's just…haven't you thought about it? I'm sure…well, pretty sure…that Rita Skeeter's just being her usual nosy self, but…Ron, don't you realize that the entire wizarding world now knows how close your family is to Harry? Can you imagine what Voldemort's followers could do with that information?"

Pride for Ron turned to ashes in Harry's mouth, and the color drained from Ron's face. They looked at each other in horror. "Harry…" Ron whispered.

Harry grabbed the article. "You…Ginny…your parents…Merlin's beard, the twins' joke shop! It tells everything!"

In anguish, Hermione held Ron's hand tighter. "People already probably knew about you being Harry's best friend, but now it's common knowledge about your whole family! And anything in there the Death Eaters could use to get to Harry!"

Ron wrenched away and jumped off the bed. "I've got to owl my dad," he said thickly. "And Fred and George. We need to warn them!"

"I've got a better idea," said Hermione, jumping up and running after him. "Let's talk to Professor McGonagall. She can get to them all a lot quicker through the Order. Come on, Harry!"

Harry didn't know why, but he had a horrible, sick feeling of dread churning inside that by the time they got to Professor McGonagall, word would already have arrived of some terrible attack on one of the Weasleys by Death Eaters. They frightened poor Professor McGonagall out of her wits when they burst into her office—she'd come to associate the sight of a frantically-running Harry with catastrophe. Once they babbled out their concerns, she ordered them all to sit down and went to dispatch a message to the Order.

The three of them waited in her office until she returned, holding seven letters in her hand. "I asked your parents and brothers to respond, Mr. Weasley, just to make certain all was well," she said, handing the notes to Ron. "Now, calm yourself. You are pale as a ghost. Have a biscuit." She held the tin out to him, but smiled sideways at Harry.

"Sorry, Professor," Ron mumbled as he nibbled on a piece of shortbread. "I guess I panicked a bit, when Hermione told us…"

"No apologies necessary, Miss Granger was very perceptive, and you were right to take this precaution," said Professor McGonagall, folding her hands in her lap. "Each member of your family outside of Hogwarts has been warned to take extra care of their safety, and the Order will keep close watch on them all."

Harry couldn't help thinking of the picture Mad-Eye Moody had shown him of the old Order and all the people who had died…obviously it hadn't been possible to keep close watch on them. But he wouldn't dream of telling Ron that. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"Whatever for?" demanded Professor McGonagall.

"For putting Ron's family in danger," said Harry.

"Rubbish," she snapped. "You are a child, Mr. Potter; a talented, resourceful child who has been through a great deal, but a child nonetheless. It is expected of your elders and caretakers to put themselves at risk on your behalf. To do otherwise would be unpardonable."

"But the Weasleys aren't—" Harry began, but Ron's hand on his shoulder cut him off.

"Yes, we are," Ron said quietly. "And either way, it's not your fault."

Hermione patted his other shoulder, and Harry sighed. "I still wish it didn't have to be like this for people I lo—for people close to me."

"As do we all, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall. "As do we all."

The week after the article appeared, to the intense relief of them all, passed without incident, although Monday brought a new, more pleasant shock for Ron in the form of several owl-loads of letters from Daily Prophet readers. "Fan mail!" Ginny cried when the owls landed in front of her and Ron. "We've got fan mail!"

Harry got quite a few letters from well-wishers himself, but was far more interested in what people had to say to Ginny and Ron. Once the initial alarm had worn off, Ginny dismissed Harry and Hermione's worries that the references to the Weasleys might make them Voldemort's targets. "Maybe the general public didn't know how close you are to our family, Harry, but Voldemort's Death Eaters almost certainly did. It's not as if we've kept it a secret. No doubt they've been searching for ways to get to you for years, and if they haven't gone after us already, this article's not going to make them do it any sooner," she told him. "And even if they do, it's still not your fault."

"Tha's wha' I keep telling 'im!" Ron said, his mouth full of bacon. "Oy! Listen to this. 'Dear boy, you and your family are such angels, a true, shining example of kindness and charity to the wizarding world. Bless you for all you've done for the poor Boy-Who-Lived…' Blimey, they make you sound like a poor, crippled Squib, Harry!"

"Hey, this one sent flowers!" said Neville, shooing an owl toward them.

"Oh, how sweet!" Ginny exclaimed. "Snapdragons!" She took the card that came with them. "They say they would've sent Snapping Dragons but they're not owl-safe. Ron, can I take these?"

"Sure, put 'em in water by your bed—or…" Ron smiled. "We could send 'em on to Mum."

Ginny looked up from the card. "No need. They say they sent some to Mum and Dad too."

"Hey, Weasel! Any of your fans send money? Think they'd realize that's what your lot really needs?" yelled Malfoy from the Slytherin table.

Ginny shoved Ron back into his seat when he started to jump up and yelled, "At least we don't have to pay people to send us flowers, Malfoy!"

Harry howled with laughter along with the rest of the Gryffindors (and Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws,) and Ron looked a little less disgruntled. Seamus and Dean started off a round of "Weasley Is Our King" that crescendoed through the Great Hall for several verses until Hermione decided Ginny deserved some recognition and switched it to "Weasley Is Our Queen." Harry sang along gustily with one arm around Ron and the other around Ginny until he was laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

Walking to Hagrid's for Care of Magical Creatures still took Harry a bit longer than the rest of the class. On the other hand, it provided him with a legitimate excuse not to have to tussle with Daisy—which was the name Hagrid had finally bestowed upon his Chimaera.

(Ron had suggested Dolores, but Hagrid had replied, "No, Ron, if I ever get meself a Gorgon, her I'll name Dolores!")

On Tuesday afternoon, Hagrid invited Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny to his cabin for tea. "'Bout time people gave yer family the praise they deserves, Ron, Ginny," said Hagrid, making room for them all to sit. "Mighty proud I was, readin' 'bout yeh in the Prophet. Done right by Harry, you have."

"And have to be in hiding for it," Harry muttered. Hermione thumped him on the back of the head.

"Now don't you be talkin' like that, Harry," said Hagrid sternly. "It ain't yer fault."

"We keep telling him!" Ginny exclaimed in exasperation. "But he's acting the hero as usual trying to protect all of—ow!" Ron had jammed his elbow into her ribs, and she turned and saw Harry's face. "Harry, what did I…"

Hermione grabbed Harry's elbow. "She wasn't there when we…had that conversation. It's not her fault."

Harry took a deep breath, and Hagrid pushed a cup of tea into his hand. He took a gulp and let it scald his mouth. "Don't worry about it," he said gruffly. "Just…touchy…"

Ron came and sat down next to him. "Never mind that," he said. "There's nothing wrong with you trying to help people."

"Right he is, Harry," said Hagrid. "Nothing wrong with worryin' either, heaven knows we lot have done enough of it. While you were…you know…" Harry nodded and forced a smile. Hagrid grinned. "Anyway! I brought you all here with Miss Ginny 'cause I got me hands on a little somethin' I thought she might like! Remembered she doesn' have a pet, yeh see, an' I really got no time ter take care o' this one."

Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny gaped at each other as Hagrid went to a large basket from which shuffling sounds could be heard. A look of utter panic was slowly spreading across Ginny's face. "Er…Hagrid…that's very sweet of you, but I don't know…I mean, it's very sweet, but there's only certain types of animals we're allowed to have in the dorm, safety and all…"

"What?" Hagrid protested, reaching into the basket. He pulled out what looked like a ball of fuzzy black yarn. "It's a kitten!"

Ginny blinked. The ball of fuzz uncurled itself, raised a tiny head that blinked open large amber eyes, then let out a massive yawn, stretching out skinny black legs. Hermione let out a soft "ohhh!" as Ginny slowly held out her cupped hands.

The jet black kitten was easily small enough to fit into them. Harry and Ron leaned over her shoulders to scrutinize the creature, still half-afraid it would start breathing fire or unfurling spikes on its tail. But no, upon close examination, they determined that Ginny's new pet was, unmistakably, pure cat. If a miniature one.

"Hagrid," Ginny breathed as the kitten snuggled into her palms. She looked up with wide eyes at him. "She's…she's…perfect!"

"Thought yeh'd like her," said Hagrid, beaming. "She wouldn'a liked livin' here with Fang. What'll yeh name her?"

"How about Dolores?" suggested Ron.

"Never!" cried Ginny, cuddling the kitten to her chest. "She's adorable!"

"Wonderful, another mad, feline fiend," Ron grumbled, shaking his head.

Hermione eyed the black fur ball. "Oh, I don't know about this one, Ron. She seems pretty harmless."

"Give her a few months, and she'll be attacking Pigwidgeon."

Ginny shook her head. "You wouldn't do that, would you, Precious?"

"Gonna call 'er Precious?" suggested Hagrid.

"Oh, no, not that, it's not dignified enough," said Hermione, kneeling at Ginny's feet for a close inspection of the kitten, who sat up primly to meet her gaze. "She's darling, Hagrid. A right little goddess…Ginny! Call her Bastet!"

"The Egyptian cat goddess!" Ginny crowed. "Perfect! Why, she even looks like a statue we saw in one of the tombs, remember, Ron?"

"She does, a bit," Ron admitted. "Well, maybe this one'll turn out to be sane, unlike some people's mad, half-breed Kneazles!"

"Crookshanks knew something was shady about Scabbers, that's all!" Hermione said indignantly.

"And before you said it was in his nature!"

"He helped Sirius—oh lord, sorry, Harry," Hermione said quickly.

"'s all right," Harry muttered, torn between pain at the memory and irritation at the way they all minced around him. He forced his mind away from it, then leaned forward to tentatively stroke Bastet's head with his finger. The black kitten closed her eyes and leaned into his caress, purring loudly. "I think she's okay, Ron. Perfectly cat-like."

Ginny deposited Bastet in Hermione's lap and threw herself into Hagrid's arms. "Thank you so much, Hagrid! What a wonderful present! I love her!"

"Aw, well, yer welcome," said Hagrid, blushing.

It was too much to expect, they later reasoned, that a kitten discovered by Hagrid would not have a few, shall we say, eccentricities.

On their way back, Bastet decided she did not want to be carried in Ginny's hands, nor in the open pouch of her book bag, and climbed up Ginny's arm to sit on her shoulder! "Blimey! I've seen birds do that, but how can she balance!" Ron exclaimed, as Bastet sat upright with perfect dignity as her mistress walked.

"I don't know," Ginny mused, looking to her left to meet the cat's eyes. Bastet blinked at her once, then returned to examining the scenery. "Welcome to Hogwarts, my little goddess!"

"She is lovely," Hermione sighed. "So quiet and proper!"

They were walking down the corridor toward Gryffindor Tower to show off their new acquisition in the Common Room when Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode went by. "Hey, Weasley! What's that on your shoulder! Growing yourself a fur coat one animal at a time?"

Harry started to say, "Sod off, Parkinson," but was interrupted by a window-shattering screech of "RREEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOW!"

On Ginny's shoulder, Bastet had gone from an elegant little black statue to a wild-eyed demon puffed up to three times her previous size, and before the Slytherins could react, the kitten launched herself across five feet of open air to land directly upon Pansy Parkinson's face.

"AAUGH! Ohmigawd! Geditoff! Geditoff! HELP!" Pansy screamed, staggering sideways into the wall, arms flailing wildly with what looked like a rabid vampire bat attached to her head. Millicent had long since fled, and Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny stood in dumb amazement until Pansy finally managed to yank the cat off and race off down the hall, hands over her thoroughly-clawed face.

Their gazes fell to the kitten on the ground. Bastet sat up, gave herself a thorough shake, then strode back over to leap up and settle herself on Ginny's shoulder again.

"Ginny," said Ron. "I like that cat."

"Yes," Ginny mused as Bastet began leisurely licking her paws. "I think she'll fit in quite nicely."

And so it was that Bastet was borne back to Gryffindor Tower in glory, and Ginny and Hermione rushed up into the girls' dormitory to show her off to Ginny's roommates. "What is it about girls and cats?" Ron mused as they sat down at a table with a wizards' chess set between them.

"I like cats well enough," said Harry, moving a knight. "I didn't when I was younger because of Mrs. Figg, but since they've been watching out for me, I guess they're all right. Smart, it seems."

"This one sure is," said Ron, grinning with relish at the memory. "Still just a baby and attacking a Slytherin without even being asked! Good instincts!"

"Very good!" Harry laughed.

All at once, the quiet common room rang with shrieks and screams from upstairs and the frenzied, high-pitched yowls of a miniature attack cat. "Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed as he and Harry sprang to their feet. "Who's she attacking now!"

"Obviously someone's up there that she doesn't like the looks of…" Harry began, then from the girls' stairwell came first a massive blur of orange fur, yowling and spitting in outrage as it ran for its life, followed by what looked like a little black missile, then Ginny and Hermione tearing down the stairs with half of the Gryffindor girls.

"Bastet! No!"

"Crookshanks!"

Crookshanks tore around chairs, over tables, up curtains, and down bookcases with Bastet at his heels, both screeching and hissing as if they were mortal enemies, until Hermione finally pounced on Crookshanks and raced back up the stairs, shielding him protectively from Bastet and yelling at Ginny, "That thing is mad! Mad!"

Ron and Harry gaped as Bastet realized her quarry was no longer within reach. She tilted her head at the two of them as though wondering what they were looking at, then jumped up onto the abandoned chess board to give herself a bath. Ginny stared too. "I never imagined…"

"Ginny," gasped Ron. "I LOVE that cat!"

As a fuming Hermione came back down the stairs and sharply warned Ginny to "keep that little beast out of the sixth year dormitory," Ron threw himself to his knees in front of the kitten:

"O great Bastet, O high and exalted goddess, I bow before you! Let me worship you! Catnip! I will bring you catnip, and tuna fish, and cream, whatever your furry little heart desires, I will bring…"

Hermione grabbed a pillow off a chair and began hitting him with it as Harry and Ginny collapsed with laughter. "Oh, go on, Hermione!" Harry gasped, wiping his eyes. "You've got to admit, the shoe's on the other foot!"

Wednesday morning was N.E.W.T. Potions. At breakfast, Harry was as nervous as he'd been before his first Quidditch match. "Harry, just eat a little something," Hermione pleaded. "You know it's mad to go to Potions on an empty stomach."

"I know," Harry muttered, trying to force himself to swallow some toast. "Don't know why I'm so tense."

"I don't blame you, mate," said Ron. "I feel weird every time I see Snape these days. He doesn't look at me, though."

"Oh, he looks at me, all right," said Hermione. "With all his usual vitriol. But I wonder how he'll react to Harry after—"

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed. "Must I have a preview?"

"Sorry," she said. "Don't fret too much. It probably won't be so bad."

"Yeah, and you'll have Hermione to hold your hand through it," Ron muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Ron!" Hermione snapped.

"Harry's not a baby, Hermione, stop mothering him! He's got my mum for that!"

"For heaven's sake, you are the most tactless, uncaring—"

"Will you both please shut it!" Harry snapped at them. They did, although Hermione still looked…well…motherly, and Ron still looked disgruntled.

But the roiling mass of dread in Harry's stomach got to be so bad by the time he and Hermione got to the dungeons that he worried he would lose what little he'd eaten for breakfast. His heart felt like it would pound its way out of his chest. "Just relax," Hermione murmured to him as they walked through the door.

In spite of all his efforts, his eyes were drawn straight to the front of the room to a sallow face curtained by greasy hair and two cold black eyes. Harry stopped dead as he and Snape made eye contact, but Snape immediately looked away. Swallowing hard, he hurried to join Hermione at a table next to Dean and Seamus. "Have you handed in your homework?" she whispered.

"Oh damn," he muttered, pulling it out and glaring at it. He thought the essays were rather good, having been checked over twice by Hermione during his stint in the hospital wing, but of course, if Snape were up to his old tricks he'd be lucky to scrape an "Acceptable." "I don't suppose you could take them up for me."

Hermione looked startled by the depth of his resistance to speaking to Snape. Then she looked at Snape and sighed, understanding how Harry felt. "You know that's against the rules. You don't have to talk to him if you don't want to. Just put it on his desk. He has to take it." Harry still hesitated, balling his fists in frustration. Hermione glanced across the room and scowled. "Malfoy's watching."

The next thing Harry knew, he had the parchment rolls in his hand and was marching toward Snape's desk, trying not to see or hear anything. Not that there was much to see or hear; the entire room had gone silent, all watching Harry's approach to his rescuer. Snape kept his eyes fixedly on the class notes he was working on, and when Harry deposited the scrolls on his desk, he simply picked them up and dropped them into a pile with the other homework, not once looking up. Returning to his desk, Harry didn't know whether to be relieved or not.

Snape finally got up, slapped his palm down on Malfoy's desk for attention, and began lecturing on the use of powdered bicorn horn and other thinning agents for potions. He was as scornful and derisive toward the Gryffindors as ever, as vicious to Hermione as ever, and startled the entire class by taking points from Slytherin when Malfoy loudly whispered a snide remark about turncoats.

He looked sour. He looked bitter. He looked defiant.

But he never once looked at Harry.

"It's not as if I expected anything," Harry remarked to Ron while they sat on Ron's bed taking refuge from the cat fight (literally) going on in the common room. "I mean…I know it's not as if he owes me. I think. I don't remember much of him bringing me out. I know he yelled at me," he added dryly.

"It was weird, when he turned up. None of us even knew he'd gone after you," said Ron.

"I wonder if he regrets it," Harry said dryly.

Ron made an odd face. "I don't think he'd go into that kind of danger if he didn't want to. He was hurt when he got back. You said he dueled Death Eaters."

Harry nodded, fiddling with the bedspread, then glanced around to make sure no one else was in the dormitory. "I saw him use Avada Kedavra on one of them. And when we came out of one of the tunnels, there was a body there."

Ron goggled at him. "Blimey, Harry…he did that for you?"

"I know!" Harry shook his head helplessly. "That's why it's all so weird! He hated Sirius—I'm sure he's glad about…what happened. And I think he still hates me—maybe more than ever."

"Well, he did lose a lot. Blew his cover as a spy, shot his main job with the Order—not his fault of course, but the fact that he did it on your account has to rankle. I'll bet that now Snape's the only person Voldemort would like to see dead as much as you." Ron reached into the sweet stash beside his bed and pulled out two Chocolate Frogs, tossing one to Harry.

Harry missed the toss and had to jump off the bed to get it. Glancing at his own disorderly trunk, he noticed the red and gold diary edge peeking out of it. Ron watched as he slowly pulled it out. "I've been wanting to find out what happened."

"There's not that much in there, mate," said Ron, coming to join him. "Just a lot of us wandering around and trying to figure out what to do. And crying a lot. Though we did…"

"What?"

"Well, we got into big trouble for it, but we Flooed to Mrs. Figg's house when the Aurors started coming back and…well…" Ron indicated the diary. "Want to see? Hermione won't mind if we go without her." Harry slowly nodded. Ron took the diary and opened it between them on Harry's bed. "Where do you want to start?"

"The night of the attack," said Harry quietly.

"Right. Hand on the diary. Easy enough, it's Page One." Ron put his own hand on the diary, looked at Harry, and swallowed. "July First!" And the book sucked them in.

The world reformed around Ron and Harry in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Harry gasped, not having seen it since Sirius had died, and Ron winced. "Sorry, I should've warned you."

"It's all right," said Harry, taking a deep breath to calm down.

Ron pointed at the bottom stair. "There we are."

Harry turned and saw Ron and Hermione sitting on the stair, both with their arms wrapped around their knees, tense and quiet. Ron was leaning slightly against the banister, and Hermione was leaning against Ron. "How long has it been?" she asked.

Ron looked at his watch. "Almost an hour."

"It'll be okay," Hermione whispered, seemingly to herself. "He'll be okay." Ron nodded, swallowing convulsively.

There was a whoosh from the fireplace, and Ron and Hermione sprang to their feet and sprinted into the parlor. "What happened!" they cried simultaneously.

It was an Order member, Emmeline Vance, Harry recalled. She was bruised, disheveled, and dirty, and she looked like someone who'd just fought and lost a battle. She flinched a little at the sight of Ron and Hermione. "I can't say, dears. Just came to pick up some healing potions." She ran past them into the kitchen, and came running back through with a black box before vanishing in a whoosh of green flames.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other. "I think it's over," Hermione said. "She'd have been in a bigger rush if it weren't, and Aurors don't treat injuries on the site of an ongoing battle."

"Then where's Harry?" Ron whispered.

"I don't know," she croaked, fighting back tears.

Ron stared at the fireplace. "Hermione…this goes to Mrs. Figg's house. The Squib next door to Harry." He pointed to the bin of Floo Powder next to it.

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oooh…they'd kill us…"

"But I want to find out if Harry's okay. Now." Ron's hands were shaking as he scooped up a handful of powder. "You don't have to come; I'll nip over and find out and come back to tell you."

But Hermione was already going for the powder. "We'd best stay out of their way. We'll just pop in, take a look out the window, and pop out again. Ready?"

Together, they shouted, "Number Two, Privet Drive!" and Harry and Ron were swept away with them.

The parlor of Mrs. Figg's house was empty, but there was plenty of noise outside. Ron and Hermione clutched their wands as they hurried to the window. "I can't see Harry's house," whispered Hermione. "It must be over, though. The Aurors are just standing about…look at all the houses! Oh, those poor people!"

"Poor old Muggles," muttered Ron, taking in the ruin of the street. "Never knew what hit them. The battle must be over. Let's see if we can look out the door."

Hermione grabbed his hand. "No, let's try another window. If we go rushing out there, they could send us back before we find anything out." So they ran, still clutching hands, out to Mrs. Figg's kitchen and pushed back the curtains on the small kitchen window.

"Hermione!" Ron recoiled in horror, and Hermione quickly took his place.

"Oh no…oh God…Harry! His poor family!" Hermione wailed.

Ron didn't have to say, and Harry didn't have to look to know what his friends were seeing: the Dark Mark hovering over Number Four, Privet Drive as the house burned. He could see the flicker of the flames. If it hadn't been for present-day Ron's hand on his shoulder, he didn't think he could have faced it.

Hermione and Ron had given up on stealth and were running for Mrs. Figg's front door. They slipped it open and burst out onto the porch to see Mrs. Figg occupied with tending wounded Aurors on her lawn as best she could.

"It's worse than Dad used to say," Ron breathed, his eyes still fixed on the Dark Mark.

"Ron, where's Harry!" Hermione half-sobbed.

"I don't know! Merlin's beard, I don't know! Come on!"

They were halfway across Mrs. Figg's garden before she spotted them. "Hey! What are you two doing here!"

"Run!" Ron hissed at Hermione, and they sprinted past her.

"Come back here! This place isn't—Alastor! This is no place for children!"

"OY! YOU TWO GET BACK HERE!"

Harry and Ron followed Hermione and Ron over to the Dursleys' house, where Aurors were using dousing spells to put out the fire. "Professor Dumbledore!" Hermione screamed, seeing him.

Harry had never seen Dumbledore look so…defeated. He was talking to one of the Aurors, his shoulders slumped, his forehead in one hand, head bowed. At Hermione's shout, he turned, and an expression of utter heartbreak filled his face at the sight of Harry's best friends. Both of them stopped short.

"Professor…" Ron's voice was low and shaky as he approached Dumbledore, ignoring the furiously-scolding Aurors around them. "Where is he?" he looked around, obviously hoping for Harry to emerge from the crowd of Aurors.

Harry had never seen his friends so distraught. Both were breathing in shaky gasps, and they were holding onto each other by the elbows, white-faced, clearly on the edge of hysterics. Then movement caught Harry's eye at the same time as those in the memory: several Aurors were coming out of the still-smoldering house, dropping belongings into piles on the burning garden.

The last pair came out more slowly, and their arms were not laden like the others'. Harry's heart did a back flip: it was Tonks and Remus. Tonks had Harry's Firebolt in one hand, and her free arm supported Remus. Remus was holding Harry's wand, and leaning on Tonks as though he could barely walk on his own.

Hermione let out a sobbing gasp. "Professor Lupin?"

Remus's head shot up, and the light of the fires hit his eyes, reflecting such grief, such horror and despair that Harry recoiled. In the past, it had an even greater impact on Ron and Hermione. "NO!" Ron shouted, almost as if he were angry. "Harry's not dead! He CAN'T be dead!"

"No, Weasley," said Moody in a surprisingly gentle voice. "Not dead. He was taken."

"Taken," Hermione whispered, tears sliding from her wide eyes. "Taken…where…by who…"

In the garden, Remus dropped to his knees as if he had no strength to stand anymore, clutching Harry's wand in his hands and rocking slightly. Harry felt tears sliding down his own face and didn't dare look at the present-day Ron standing behind him. Hermione and Ron ran to Remus, throwing their arms around him as he wept, Harry's wand clasped against his forehead.

"Sirius," Remus gasped. "Lily, James, I'm so sorry! I tried, I'm so sorry!"

Tonks had stepped aside to let Ron and Hermione through, but now she and Moody and Mrs. Figg came back and began to tug them away. "Come on, you two. It's not safe here. You've got to go home."

"He'll be all right, won't he?" Hermione cried, grabbing the front of Tonks' robes. "You'll get him back, won't you?"

"Won't rest till we do, lass," said Moody. "On your feet now. Nothing you can do here."

Ron didn't come away as easily. "Remus, it's not your fault," he kept saying.

"I promised," Remus groaned as though in physical pain. "I swore I'd take care of him!"

"He'll be okay!" Ron insisted, ignoring the gentle hands trying to pry him away from Lupin. "We'll get him back; he'll be okay!"

"RON!" A familiar voice made them look up. Mrs. Weasley was racing toward them across the lawn, both hands over her mouth. Lupin broke down again as Ron pulled away from him to throw himself into his mother's arms.

"Mum, they've got Harry! Those bastards've got Harry!"

"I know, I know," Mrs. Weasley sobbed, hugging him.

"Molly," said Professor Dumbledore. "We're doing everything we can to find him. But Ron and Hermione can do nothing here."

Wiping her eyes furiously, Mrs. Weasley held out a free arm to Hermione, who ran over to her. "Let's go," she said in a strangely steady voice, keeping an arm around each of them. "We'll wait for news together." As if they had no power to obey, they let her lead them away.

Harry followed until they were back in Grimmauld Place. Ron's voice behind him, a little unsteady, made him jump. "We waited all night. Hermione actually hexed Kreacher when he started to go on about you. She silencio'd him and locked him in his cupboard." Harry was impressed. He had no love or pity lost for Kreacher at all, but that Hermione would be agitated enough to hex him seemed unfathomable. Ron pointed his wand upward and said, "July second, seven o'clock a.m."

The world changed little—only a few shadows swept along the wall. It was early morning, and Ron and Hermione were curled up on the sofa with Mrs. Weasley in between them, each with their head on her shoulders. "Hermione's parents were still in bed," Ron explained. "I…don't think they quite understood what was happening. She told them later that morning."

"Where…" Harry's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "Where was Ginny?"

"At the shop with Fred and George. They kept her there when we got word of the attack. She's coming now," said Ron, nodding to the parlor door.

The noise of many entries to the house and the shrieks of Mrs. Black's portrait brought Ron, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley to their feet. A moment later, the parlor door burst open to admit Mr. Weasley, who immediately threw his arms around Mrs. Weasley, Ginny (who threw her arms around Ron), Bill, Charlie, and the twins, who looked grim and fearful as they went to hug Hermione. Hermione's parents came downstairs a few moments later, and Hermione ran, sobbing, to tell them Harry had been kidnapped. They hugged their daughter and looked past her at the Weasleys in fear and confusion.

"They had no idea, of course, what Voldemort's capable of," said Ron. "They'd no idea what half of us were capable of. Kreacher gave them a good scare the first time he saw Muggles in the house. And Mrs. Black. I think a few times they wanted to take Hermione away, but Dumbledore talked them out of it."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were quietly talking to the Grangers in a corner while the rest of the Weasley siblings and Hermione huddled together on the couch, white-faced and silent, when the parlor door opened again, and Remus came in. He looked terrible, his eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed, his face still stained from sweat, soot, and tears, and Harry's wand was still clutched in his hands. The Weasleys and the Grangers were silent, waiting for him to speak.

"There's no word," he said in a dead-sounding voice that made Harry flinch. "They're searching…everyone's searching…but no word at all. They'll keep looking. They sent me back. It's full moon tomorrow. I should go…" Remus dragged himself out and through to the stairs.

Hermione and Ron jumped up and ran after him. "Remus!" Hermione said anxiously, catching him at the foot of the steps. Lupin stopped and looked at her. She stared back as if she'd forgotten what she wanted to say. Then suddenly, her face crumpled, and she fell into his arms, choking on sobs. "Remus, I'm so scared!"

Remus shut his eyes and hugged her fiercely as tears still leaked down his face. "Me too, Hermione," he whispered. Ron leaned against the wall next to them, his eyes very red. "We must hold on," Remus said, holding Hermione at arm's length and looking from her to Ron. "For his sake, we must not give up. Harry needs all the hope we can give him." They both nodded vigorously. Remus gave them a weak smile. "I have to go now." Then he turned and trudged up the stairs.

"And that was it," said Ron as they watched his past self sink onto the stairs again with Hermione, hugging her miserably. "For two whole months. I heard Hermione singing 'Happy Birthday' at the window at midnight on July thirty-first, and Ginny wouldn't let Mum get her anything when she made Prefect. She sort of felt like if she held out, you coming home would be her present. Sometimes…I just thought I'd go mad any minute, not knowing if you were…alive or not." He smiled weakly at Harry. "Bloody hell, I'm glad you're back."

"Me too," Harry said quietly. They looked uncomfortably away from each other. "Can we go ahead to the last part? Where you saw Snape?"

"Right, then," Ron pointed his wand upward. "September First, seven-thirty p.m.!"

Grimmauld Place vanished, and was replaced with the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione were watching the sorting. Harry was shaken all over again by the change in his friends. Both were noticeably thinner, and their faces had a pinched, tight look as though they'd forgotten how to smile. Neither seemed very interested in the sorting taking place; sometimes they forgot to applaud when new Gryffindors came to the table. Ginny had her head on Ron's shoulder, and Hermione was staring off into space. Many people at the Gryffindor table had red eyes. Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, was smirking.

Professor Dumbledore got up to make his usual speech. "I would like to say a few words before we begin our start-of-term feast—"

That was all he had time for. With a loud crash, the doors to the Great Hall were knocked open by someone slamming into them, and a figure staggered through. Harry gasped aloud—along with everyone in the Great Hall. Even Dumbledore's mouth opened.

It was Snape. He was swaying on his feet, his face bleeding and dirty, and draped limply across his arms, unconscious but clearly alive, was Harry.

Someone screamed. Then pandemonium broke loose. Snape dropped to his knees, unable to carry Harry's weight any further, as Ron and Hermione leapt from their seats and sprinted toward him. Somehow, Dumbledore got there ahead, and with one hand raised, stopped the mad rush. "All of you return to your seats at once!" he ordered. Gasping and whispering, the students obeyed—all except Ron and Hermione, who stayed where they were. "Hagrid? Would you please assist us?"

Hagrid pushed through the teachers. "Merlin's beard, Harry! Thank heavens!" He scooped Harry from Snape's arms and hurried out of the Great Hall after Madam Pomfrey, who was already running full-tilt toward the hospital wing.

Professor Dumbledore himself helped Snape up, supporting part of the injured man's weight. "It's over, Headmaster," Snape hissed through clenched teeth. "He knows. He knows everything."

"I know, Severus, it could not be helped," Dumbledore said, assisting Snape out of the Great Hall. "Well done. Very well done."

Professor McGonagall was still staring in shock after the retreating Hagrid, but she shook herself out of it and saw Ron and Hermione standing there stubbornly. She opened her mouth as if to order them back to their seats, then sighed and said, "Miss Granger. Mr. Weasley. If you're going to come, you will keep out of the way."

"We will," whispered Hermione.

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Then follow me." And Ron and Hermione rushed after her to the hospital wing.

Ron closed the diary and looked up at him without smiling. "Me too."

"He's not teaching this class," said Hermione. "That's Professor Smythe-Wellington. She works in Madam Bones' office at the Ministry, but she used to be an Auror."

"She did it for fifteen years, then switched to teaching the trainees," said Ron. "Tonks probably had her. She'd only just gone to Madam Bones' office last year when she got asked to teach this class."

"What's she like?" asked Harry, eyeing the new Professor with a small measure of suspicion.

The woman was middle-aged and very tall, and something about her fine-boned, aristocratic features and the way she wore her elegantly-embroidered robes seemed to shout pureblood. Her hair was blonde, not Malfoy white-blond but a darker honey blonde showing the first signs of serious graying, and there was a definitely condescending air about her. But she wore a copper-and-sapphire broach in the shape of an eagle: a Ravenclaw. That, in the end, was what set Harry's mind a little more at ease; she could not have looked less like Dolores Umbridge.

Hermione noticed his scrutiny. "It's hard to say from the first class. Last week, she seemed…straightforward."

The bell had rung, and Professor Smythe-Wellington's stern gaze landed on the three of them in such a way that made them scurry to their seats. "Welcome back, Mr. Potter," she said in a voice that, while lacking Snape's outright hostility, was a little less than welcoming. "I believe you have an assignment to turn in to me?"

Harry faltered; he hadn't finished his Specialized Defense homework yet, assuming that Professor Lupin would allow him more time than the other teachers to hand it in. "I'm sorry…it isn't finished," he said.

One sculpted eyebrow rose, and the new teacher replied curtly, "You were released from the hospital wing six days ago, and school regulations require no more than a week to make up missed assignments, Mr. Potter. I will expect your completed work in my office no later than Monday if you desire me to mark it."

His face burning under her gaze, Harry muttered, "Yes, ma'am."

She turned away as if dismissing him from any notice and addressed the class, "Please open your textbooks to—what is so amusing, Mr. Malfoy!"

Everyone jumped. Draco, who had been sniggering gleefully at Harry's expense, gaped for a moment before blurting out, "Nothing!"

"There had best not be" Professor Smythe-Wellington snapped. Glaring around the room, she said coldly, "As this is a class intended for students with serious intention of pursuing careers in Magical Law Enforcement, under no circumstances will I tolerate horseplay, rowdyism, or disruptions of any kind, is that clear!"

"Yes, Professor!" the entire class exclaimed.

"Open your textbooks to page two hundred thirty-six: today we shall begin discussing Aurors." Harry couldn't suppress a thrill of excitement that they were going straight to the subject he was most interested in. "The Auror's profession is the most well-known of the Magical Law Enforcement occupations, however it is also among the most rigidly-selected, highly-trained, and dangerous career choices in the wizarding world. That, students, is the reason the majority of this course will focus upon Aurors, and also the reason that much of our emphasis will be upon the training, tests, drive, and aptitude that the Auror's craft demands. Any illusions that you may have of glamour or adventure in an Auror's life shall be quickly dispelled." All at once, her hard blue eyes focused on Harry again. He gulped. "Has something amused you now, Mr. Potter?"

Bloody hell, is it against the rules to smile in this class! Harry thought in despair. Aloud, he said tightly, "No, Professor, I was just…glad to be learning about Aurors. I want to be one," he blurted, hoping to assuage her wrath.

"Do you." She sniffed, and went on lecturing about the complete lack of luster in Auror life as if nothing had happened. Harry fought the urge to sigh. Would anyone who wasn't Professor McGonagall be supportive of his career choice? For that matter, would Professor McGonagall even have vouched for him if she hadn't been so determined to show up Professor Umbridge at the time? He did sigh then, fortunately Professor Smythe-Wellington was busy slapping down Malfoy again, so she had her back to him.

For the remainder of class, Professor Smythe-Wellington had them answering a series of what she termed "problem-solving" questions that as far as Harry could see had nothing whatsoever to do with fighting dark wizards – or anything to do with magical law enforcement at all. Hermione was bent over them enthusiastically, but nearly everyone else was looking at each other in confusion. Nonetheless, Harry worked his way through them, (quashing a momentary impulse to write down something mad like he and Ron used to in Trelawney's class) and kept his face as blank as he could when he walked up to Smythe-Wellington's desk to hand his paper in.

She was handing a parchment to each student as they came up, so he waited while she scanned his answers to her nonsense questions. The look she shot him over the top of his paper was so much like one of Snape's old "you-are-definitely-getting-a-'T'-on-this-assignment" expressions that Harry nearly recoiled. Dropping his questions into the stack with the others, she handed him a parchment. "Your homework for this week, Mr. Potter, and I will expect it on time next Friday with your classmates."

Her eyes seemed to dare him to ask for an extension, even though between the regular reading assignment, his make-up essay, and this, he'd be lucky to get out of the library all week. But he was determined not to give her anything else to sneer at, so he nodded curtly, (while biting the inside of his mouth hard), spun around, and headed back toward his desk.

He never made it. All at once, the room began tilting around him, forcing him to stop and put his hand on the nearest desk for balance. "All right, there, Harry?" asked Dean Thomas.

"Sit down, Mr. Thomas, the bell has not yet rung—"

"Harry?" Hermione exclaimed, jumping up.

Harry couldn't seem to focus his eyes. Nor could he seem to concentrate on what was happening around him; something he could not identify was dragging his attention away. He vaguely heard Smythe-Wellington get up. "Mr. Potter, what is—"

"Oy! What's this—Potter's about to faint again!"

"Does that a lot, doesn't he?"

"Silence! Twenty points from Slytherin! Potter!"

Someone grabbed his shoulders. He caught a blur of red hair. "Harry! Can you hear me?"

Harry wasn't even aware that he'd sunk to his knees. Hands on his shoulders and arms were the only thing that kept him from sprawling full-length on the floor. The classroom around him, the voices, the hands, they were all fading, vanishing…

One of the black-robed wizards came before Harry and bowed low. "All is ready, Master."

Harry did not need to be told; he was aware of all that was happening, but concentrating upon the task at hand. This magic, the force needed to draw the strength, the skills, the knowledge of the goblins, it would require all his concentration…all his focus…

"Keep them well-fed, Wormtail," he said in a high, cold voice that cared nothing for the prisoners' comfort. "Their strength must not be squandered before midnight."

"Yes, my lord." Wormtail bowed again and hurried away.

Harry flexed his hands again and stepped into the torch ring, ignoring the hissing and spitting of the goblins as he went to stand right in their midst. To a woman and man standing on the outside of the ring, also robed in black, he said, "The draining spell will be complete three hours past sunset. See to it I am not interrupted."

"Yes, Master," the two bowed.

Harry closed his eyes, feeling the power of the goblins' magic surging around him in their fear and anger, just waiting to be harvested…he called upon all his strength, all his concentration, all the power at his own command to tear their power from them…

"HARRY! Can you hear me!" cried a girl's voice, right near his ear.

Harry's eyes flew open. His scar wasn't burning, instead it was throbbing, pulsing in an odd way. He thrashed against the arms trying to restrain him. "Potter! Stop struggling!"

"What's the matter with him?"

The world stopped spinning, but there were so many faces above his that Harry was still confused. "What—where—"

"You collapsed, Potter, in Specialized Defense," said a middle-aged woman with hard blue eyes. "You should go to the hospital wing—"

"No!" Harry gasped, remembering what he'd seen and finally realizing what it meant. "Dumbledore! Get—Dumbledore—now—Voldemort—" Gasps rang out. The whole class was still there.

"I am here, Harry," said a familiar voice, and hands pushed Harry to sit up. He found Dumbledore kneeling in front of him, face slightly lowered to avoid meeting Harry's eyes. "What did you see?"

"Goblins," Harry choked out, his scar still pulsing from Voldemort's concentration on the spell. "Voldemort—spell—trying—drain their magic—"

"What the blazes is he talking about?" someone said.

"Quiet there!" snapped the woman, who Harry finally remembered was the Specialized Defense teacher.

Unable to concentrate on anything himself except what Voldemort was up to, Harry grabbed at Dumbledore's robes. "You've got—stop him," he babbled. "It'll make him stronger—he's concentrating really hard—he wants their power—"

"Hush, Harry!" said Dumbledore. "We will take action. Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, please assist Harry to the hospital wing." Then he jumped up with surprising nimbleness for a wizard of his years and hurried from the room.

Harry shook his head, rubbing at his scar. "I wish he'd stop!" he muttered.

"Stop what?" asked Hermione.

"He's trying a really difficult spell…concentrating…bloody driving me crazy!" Harry was too disoriented to realize that the entire class was still watching him, but Professor Smythe-Wellington had apparently heard enough.

"All right, Potter, be quiet. Granger, Weasley, you heard what the Headmaster said. The rest of you, clear this room immediately and go about your business!"

Ron and Hermione helped Harry to his feet, but he managed to walk unaided out the door, (though Ron insisted on carrying his book bag.) Quite a few members of the D.A. who had wound up in this class (in fact, it was nearly all the sixth year members) fell into step around them. "Harry…" said Dean timidly. "People are saying…you can read You-Know-Who's mind?"

Harry sighed heavily, causing Ron and Hermione both to yelp and grab his arms as though afraid he would faint again. "No, I can't. Not really," he replied, and without really meaning to, he found himself explaining, "Just when he gets really angry or happy about something, sometimes I feel it…I guess he was concentrating his mind and his power so hard on this spell it just sort of pulled me right out…"

"How's that possible?" asked Parvati softly.

Harry turned to her wordlessly and tapped his scar. Her eyes got very round. "So that's not just a bunch of codswallop the Daily Prophet dreamed up?" exclaimed Michael Corner.

"Believe me, I wish it was," Harry grumbled, making several of them laugh nervously. "It's a bloody nuisance. Distracts me from my homework and all that." The laughter came a little more easily.

"So what's this spell he's supposed to be trying to do?" asked Neville. "And what can Dumbledore do to stop it?"

"I don't know," Harry replied. "I just hope—"

Pain lanced through his head, doubling him over as he clutched at his scar…it was burning, searing…and from deep inside him came an explosive surge of such fury…such terrible rage…it was enough to send his skin flying off…the heat consuming him…such hate…there would be vengeance for this, without doubt, there could be no one else responsible…the whelp would pay…

A frenzied roar of fury tore from his throat, blasting in his ears, echoing in his head. He thought it would blast his eyeballs out from the inside of his head, there was so much force behind it…

"H-Harry?"

Harry came to himself with the hard edge of a stone stair digging into his back. It was very quiet. All he could hear were stifled whimpers and gasps, and his own ragged breathing. His throat hurt badly, but his scar was the worst. It felt like someone had stabbed a knife into it—but it no longer pulsed. He closed his eyes and groaned. "Well…he's…definitely—not—happy—"

"Harry…what happened?" whispered Hermione's shaking voice.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, and heard a shuffle nearby. Someone pressed his glasses into his hand, and he put them on to see everyone in the corridor except Ron and Hermione standing well away from him, looking utterly terrified. What had they been talking about…oh.

Bloody hell. He had just given them a classic demonstration.

"I think," he coughed painfully. His throat felt awful. "I think Dumbledore did something…to make Voldemort stop the spell. And he's really…really livid about it. He put a lot into it, and now it's ruined."

"Harry?" Professor Lupin was running down the corridor. "Are you all right?"

"I think so," Harry said, pulling himself up with Lupin's help. "Did Dumbledore stop them?"

"I haven't spoken to him, but judging by your reaction, it appears so." Lupin looked him over. "Do you think Voldemort knew you saw it?"

Harry leaned against the cool stone wall. His face felt flushed. "I'm not sure. He was really…focused. But something…when he was angry, it was definitely at someone…I don't really remember." He grimaced and said softly, "Wormtail was there. Helping with the spell."

Remus stiffened a little. "I see. Did you recognize anyone else with him?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy." Professor McGonagall's voice echoed down the hall, sending the students on their way. Ron and Hermione exchanged glances and stayed where they were.

As the noise down the corridor lessened, Lupin gave Harry a gentle nudge. "Let's get you off to the headmaster's office, then. I've no doubt they'll want a full report. The rest…" Remus smiled at them. "Be off with you. You can wring the details out of Harry later."

With sheepish smiles, they obeyed, and Harry let Lupin lead him to Dumbledore's office. But just as they reached the gargoyle, they discovered Cornelius Fudge heading there as well, followed by Percy Weasley. Fudge jumped at the sight of Harry. "Ah…Potter. Just the boy we wanted to see."

The gargoyle swung around to reveal Professor Dumbledore standing at the entrance to the office. "Cornelius. Harry, right on time. Why don't we all come in and sit down?"

Harry peered past Fudge at Percy, but he wouldn't meet Harry's eyes. Fudge was nervously eyeing Remus, who was close behind Harry and giving Fudge a "keep your distance" glare worthy of Sirius. They all filed in, and Harry and Remus sat down by Dumbledore's desk. Fudge sat in another chair, and Percy stood behind him. Clearing his throat, with a nervous glance at Dumbledore, Fudge said, "Well…Potter. How'd you know Lord…You-Know-Who was doing this spell?"

"You needn't sound so accusatory, Minister," said Lupin quietly.

Percy bristled, "I'm sure the Minister's only trying to get the facts!"

Harry looked mutely at Dumbledore. What do I tell him? Dumbledore merely nodded. "I…" Fudge and Percy stared at him. Well…half the school already knows. "I saw it."

Fudge blinked in confusion, while Percy looked simply horrified. "Saw it?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "It appears, Cornelius, that the pains Harry has suffered in his scar in past years were indeed an indication of a magical connection with Lord Voldemort."

Both Fudge and Percy flinched at the name and looked at each other, then at Harry. "So he has been…hallucinating?" asked Fudge.

"They're NOT hallucinations!" Harry snapped, making them jump. "I was right, wasn't I?"

There was a clear, ringing note from Fawkes, as if the phoenix were standing up for Harry, and he flew back to perch on Harry's knee again. Professor Dumbledore smiled. "I think you'll find, Cornelius, that phoenixes are excellent judges of character. Fawkes would not befriend Harry if his heart were not on the side of right."

Watching Harry stroke the bright feathers, Fudge seemed to relax a little. "Well…" he muttered, "true, very true…but…Dumbledore…what's to stop this…connection from working the other way?"

If Fawkes hadn't trilled again right then, Harry would have flinched. He didn't look up, but felt Fudge and Percy's eyes on him. Quietly, Dumbledore said, "I fear that is a possibility."

Harry started to look up at him, but felt a stirring of anger he knew wasn't his own, and quickly looked down again. Get out of my head, you stupid…GET OUT! Rubbing his forehead furiously, he glanced up between his fingers and saw them all staring at him. "Sorry," he muttered. "This afternoon…gave me a headache."

Fawkes crooned, and Harry took a deep breath. His heart was pounding. If Voldemort possessed him here, now, there was no telling what Fudge would do. He heard Fudge say, "Unpleasant business, Dumbledore, unpleasant for everyone. But it's got to be asked…is the boy…safe?"

The grip of Remus's hand on his shoulder would have helped, except that Harry kept hating himself for wishing it were Sirius. "I think most will agree there is no place in Europe or the world where Harry will be safer from Lord Voldemort than at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore.

"True, I suppose, very true," Fudge murmured, but then Percy spoke up.

"But what about the safety of the rest of the Hogwarts students?"

The words tore into Harry like a serpent's fangs, and he jerked his head up, staring at Percy in shock—and many other feelings as well. Percy wasn't looking at him, but fixing Dumbledore with the hardest look Harry had ever seen on the middle Weasley's face.

Worse, Fudge was beginning to nod. "Weasley's got a point there, Dumbledore. Couldn't You-Know-Who use him against Hogwarts? There are many children here; you're as responsible for them as you are for Potter. What'll you tell their families?"

Harry jumped up, causing Fawkes to flutter into the air, and headed for the door. "Harry!" Lupin exclaimed.

"Where's he going—"

But Harry was thwarted by the fact that when he reached the door, it refused to open. He yanked futilely at it, then let go in frustration. "Harry," said Dumbledore gently. "Please come back."

Harry let his breath out slowly, then turned around, keeping his eyes on the floor, and returned to his seat. He hadn't been leaving because Fudge and Percy's words offended him, he admitted to himself bitterly. He couldn't stand hearing it because they were both right. What was to stop Voldemort from possessing him right here at Hogwarts? Harry was dangerous!

Dumbledore spoke. "I understand your concerns, Cornelius, Percy. But I see no reason to resort to drastic action. To attempt to penetrate Hogwarts in any fashion would be a great risk to Lord Voldemort—and Harry's warning has already thwarted his attempt to draw from a new source of power. I can assure you, that the efforts of everyone here at Hogwarts will be focused upon resisting him—Harry's more than anyone."

Sure, I try, Harry thought. It just never seems to make the slightest difference.

"And that's it?" said Percy. "You're taking it all on faith with so much at risk?"

"I will not take action against someone who is guilty of nothing!" said Dumbledore, his voice rising slightly. Percy shrank back. More gently, Dumbledore went on, "Harry has a difficult struggle ahead. And as long as I am headmaster here, Hogwarts will be open to him."

Harry wished he could look at Dumbledore, now more than ever. A little of the resentment and bitterness left over from last year had faded away at hearing Dumbledore's words. It meant a lot, but…Harry was afraid Voldemort would come knocking at his mind if he looked at Dumbledore.

After a long silence, Fudge cleared his throat. "Well…suppose there's nothing to be done, in that case. You'll keep me informed, of course, if Potter…sees anything else?"

"Of course, Cornelius."

"Right, then." Fudge stood up. "We'll be off. Dumbledore, Lupin, Potter." Donning his bowler hat, he marched back to the door, which (to Harry's intense annoyance) opened for him. Percy followed Fudge out without so much as a glance at Harry.

As the door swung closed, Harry looked longingly at it. "Can I go now?"

"One moment longer, Harry," said Dumbledore, as if Harry had never been locked in that office and practically threatening to demolish it if he wasn't let out. "Remus, would you excuse us?" Lupin immediately headed for the door, though Harry wished he could summon the courage to protest. He felt better with Remus there. He kept his eyes anywhere but Dumbledore's face as the Headmaster said, "We must discuss the question of Occlumency."

Harry nearly looked up at Dumbledore as a sense of utter disbelief washed over him. "You want me to take it with Snape again."

"Professor Snape, Harry," said Dumbledore, just a trifle sternly. "Under the circumstances, I feel there may be no other choice.

"But he won't want to teach me again," Harry said desperately. "You said it yourself; he couldn't overcome his feelings about my father. And it was Snape always taunting—" he broke off, turning his face away.

All of a sudden, he felt an overwhelming need for Dumbledore to offer to teach him himself. I can't trust anyone without putting them in danger! I want to have someone nearby that I trust who Voldemort can't kill! Why can't you teach me Occlumency!

It must have shown in his face. Dumbledore sighed. "I'm afraid Professor Snape may be the only one qualified to teach you Occlumency, Harry, with circumstances as they are now."

Frustrated anger burst inside Harry like the pop of a bubble. "Well, how do you always manage to keep him out?" he snapped fiercely. "If he knows you know the prophecy, why hasn't he tried to pry it out of your head! Why is Professor Snape the only one bloody qualified if you have never had Voldemort take over you!"

Dumbledore didn't so much as flinch under Harry's sudden barrage of angry words. Inside, beneath the anger, Harry supposed he should probably stop ranting before Dumbledore got impatient with it and started actually taking him to task for being so insolent. But on the other hand…I hate Snape! Don't you bloody understand! If there's anyone to blame other than me for being a bleeding idiot and you for keeping me in the dark, it's him for what he did to Sirius! Sirius might have stayed where he was but for Snape's damn teasing! He recalled what Dumbledore had said about Sirius being too old and clever for Snape's goading to hurt, but dismissed it; between being forced to remain inside all the time and Snape's taunting, Harry didn't blame Sirius for snapping. I didn't have that excuse. And it turned out Sirius DID need to rescue me. I hate Snape…I hate him…

But it was Snape who had rescued him. And Harry still didn't understand why.

"Harry," said Dumbledore patiently, "Voldemort has never, and will never, attempt to penetrate my mind. I possess other defenses that would render such an attempt futile. But those methods do not include Occlumency."

"Why can't you teach me those then?" Harry asked tightly, taking deep breaths in a less-than-successful effort to calm down. He hadn't quite yelled yet, but the urge to scream was growing. "Why does it have to be Occlumency?"

"Because it is your mind that Lord Voldemort has targeted, time and again. For that reason, you must learn to defend yourself against the method of attack he has chosen. I promise you, Harry," the gentleness in Dumbledore's voice forced Harry to look away again, "I will have a long conversation with Professor Snape on the subject of these lessons. Some wounds do run too deep for healing, but they can be set aside for the sake of a greater goal. You know that Professor Snape has already done so once."

Harry got up and walked over to stare into the fireplace, just for the sake of moving about. His voice sounded absurdly small and shaky when he said, "You told me before you should have taught me yourself. You do know Occlumency."

"Yes, I know it. I know what I have read in books and learnt in school, what I have practiced among Aurors, or even in the past, I have defended myself against an unfriendly mind determined to drag secrets from me," said Dumbledore. "But Harry, never have I been in the position of defending my thoughts against Lord Voldemort himself. He has never attempted it, and would likely fail if he tried because, though I may be immodest to admit it, he fears me." Over his glasses, Dumbledore's clear blue eyes hardened. "That will not help you. It is the prophecy Voldemort fears, Harry, not you yourself. He knows already he can bend your mind to suit his purposes; attempting Legilimency against you holds no worry for him. It is true, I could teach you what I know, but I cannot be sure my own experiences will be sufficient to prepare you."

"But Professor Snape's are," Harry sighed, slumping his shoulders in resignation.

"Yes, Harry. I would not force you and Severus into this position if I were not absolutely certain now that, provided you can set aside your ill feelings, he could enable you to defend your mind against Voldemort."

"And you really think he—and I—can set all that aside? Now?" Harry asked, spinning away from the fireplace but speaking with more despair than anger. "It's not just my dad; you know what I think about him and—and Sirius. Now more than ever I don't want him mucking about my mind! I don't trust him!"

"I know. And more's the pity," Dumbledore shook his head. "You and Severus are on the same side, when all is said and done, Harry. You know it, and he knows it, or he would not have risked what he did to save your life. But your mutual distrust—and disdain—is yet another reason why he shall provide you with more…convincing practice." His eyes suddenly twinkled, and Harry was astonished to hear himself chuckle.

"I suppose that is true at least." Harry shook his head to himself; still bitter, still frustrated, still missing Sirius so much that thinking about it made him want to scream at the sky, still hating Snape only slightly less than Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange…he nonetheless felt a little better. He still couldn't bring himself to feel the same trust and awe toward Dumbledore that he had before last year, but…he shook off a confused jumble of emotions and asked, "So what should I do?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Professor Snape will be in touch with you, and will give you all due respect." Harry nodded, still feeling a sour taste in his mouth at the thought of working with Snape again. "And Harry?"

"Yes?"

"I will expect you to afford the same consideration to him."

"Yes, sir."

Returning to the common room, Harry wanted nothing more than to throw on his pajamas and collapse for a few days. The vision, the meeting with Fudge, the prospect of more Occlumency with Snape, and the knowledge that Voldemort was waiting right behind his own eyes to take a bite out of Dumbledore had left him with a colossal headache, his scar throbbing continuously, and a desire to ask Hagrid to stick him in a sack and bury him.

But he'd settle for burying himself in bedclothes before it was even time for dinner.

Unfortunately, it soon became clear to him that he wasn't even going to get that. For no sooner had he gone halfway up the stairs than he heard two familiar voices in the sixth year boys' dorm, practically screaming at each other.

"You've got no right to talk about him that way!"

"He's dangerous, Ron, why can't you see that?"

"Yeah, yeah, last year he was dangerous because Voldemort wasn't coming back, now he's dangerous because he is—what's your problem? Scared of the old blighter's name? Well, I'm not!"

"I'm your brother!"

"Funny, you didn't act like it last year!"

"Why are you so determined to get yourself killed? Didn't what happened at the Ministry teach you anything?"

"Didn't it teach you? Harry saved Dad's life!"

"And then you almost got brain-scrambled following him into trouble!"

"He needed my help!"

"Not that much apparently, I don't see why you and Ginny had to tag along—"

"Shut up! SHUT UP!"

"You-Know-Who might possess him, and you'll be the first one he goes after!"

"Percy, I know that! And I don't care! After everything that's happened to him…he needs us!"

"He's NOT…OUR…FAMILY!"

"YES, HE IS! HE'S MY BEST FRIEND IN THE WHOLE BLOODY WORLD, AND I'M NOT TURNING ON HIM AGAIN!"

"AND WHAT HAPPENS WHEN ONE OF US GETS HURT BECAUSE OF HIM! ARE YOU WILLING TO TRADE MUM OR DAD OR ONE OF US FOR YOUR FAMOUS FRIEND—OW!"

"SHUT UP! YOU STUPID PRAT, SHUT UP! YOU'RE JEALOUS, THAT'S WHAT YOU ARE!"

There was a long silence. "I am not jealous of Harry Potter."

"Harry's a better wizard and a better person than you'll ever be."

"You do care more about him than your family."

"That's not true!"

"Yes, it is!"

"Harry's part of our family now, Percy. We could no more throw him away than we could…Ginny, when Tom Riddle got her with his diary!"

"That's not the same."

"It is now. Mum and Dad love Harry as much as if he was one of our brothers. He's saved Dad's life and Ginny's life and my life more times than I can ruddy count!"

"But Ron—"

"FORGET it, Percy! If you can't accept Harry, then you may as well not accept me."

"Fine," said a quavering voice. "Fine, Ron. I see where your loyalties are."

"It's not about loyalty."

"Isn't it?"

"Perce, if your idea of my being loyal to you means giving up my best friend, then you really are just jealous!"

"I JUST WANT OUR FAMILY TO BE SAFE, IS THAT SO BLOODY HARD TO UNDERSTAND!"

"VOLDEMORT'S GONE AND GOT LOOSE AGAIN, YOU BLOODY IDIOT, NOBODY IN THE WORLD IS SAFE! THAT'S NOT REASON ENOUGH FOR ME TO ABANDON HARRY!"

"Ron, you know it's not that simple. Not after what happened today. The whole bloody world isn't in danger of getting possessed by…him. Does this friend of yours matter so much that you'd give your family's lives?"

There was an even longer silence. And then… "I'd give him mine."

The hard edge of a stone stair impacted painfully on Harry's shins as he sank to his knees. No. NO! Didn't Ron realize…Percy was right…Harry wasn't worth…he heard someone heading for the door, leapt to his feet, and staggered back down the stairs into the common room, ignoring the startled looks of his Housemates. He'd just thrown himself into an armchair facing a bookshelf when he heard someone come quickly down the stairs—someone whose breath was hitching badly—and hurry out of Gryffindor Tower.

A few moments later, more feet came down the stairs, and he heard Ron's voice. "Hey, Katie, I need to talk to my sister. Can you have her come down?"

"Erm…you can come up with a seventh year prefect escorting you, if it's…private."

"Oh, all right then."

"Follow me."

As soon as they had gone, Harry headed back up to the dorm. Katie would probably tell Ron about Harry having been on the stairs, so Harry hoped he'd be asleep by the time Ron got back. With any luck Ron would be too embarrassed to—there were feet pounding up the stairs. Obviously luck just wasn't with Harry today. He dove into bed and shut his eyes as the door opened.

The footsteps slowed and came over next to him. "You know, mate, if you want people to think you're asleep, you should take your glasses off."

Harry sighed, sat up, and pulled off the covers so he could take off his shoes. "Guess I'll remember next time."

Ron sat down on the edge of Harry's bed. "How much did you hear?"

Climbing back under the blankets, Harry faced away from Ron. "Enough…Ron, Percy's right."

"Percy's…what? Don't be stupid!"

"I am dangerous. You didn't see what happened in Dumbledore's office."

There was a long silence. "Blimey…did Voldemort possess you?"

"He might have. Every time I looked at Dumbledore, I felt Voldemort's hate, him wanting to…hurt him. I couldn't…it was like it was me that was feeling it."

The mattress shifted as Ron got up, then he went to his own bed so he was facing Harry again. "And Percy and Fudge saw?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think so. But Dumbledore told me to tell them how I knew about the goblins, so I had to admit I was getting inside Voldemort's head, then Fudge figured out that the opposite might happen."

"Damn, I'm starting to wish he really was as big an idiot as we'd thought," Ron muttered.

"At least he didn't find out it's already happened," Harry said dryly. "But with our luck this year, the whole bloody school'll get a demonstration before long. As it was, I couldn't look at Dumbledore the whole time."

"But Voldemort didn't possess you," Ron pressed.

"No," said Harry. "I just looked at the floor."

"Then obviously he can't get you that easily!"

"Ron! You…you don't understand!" Harry protested, half-burying his face in the pillow. He didn't trust his voice, but he had to make Ron see. "You and Ginny…and Hermione…and Professor Lupin and everyone else I care about…you're the first ones he'll go after if he gets me! And I don't know if I can stop him! You don't know what he's like!"

Ron folded his arms. "Well, you heard what I told Percy before—and I'm not repeating it because I'll be way too embarrassed." He grinned, trying to lighten the mood, and at any other moment, Harry would have grinned back. "Hermione was right about that article. We're all targets anyway. Even if my entire family stopped having anything to do with you from this day on, do you really think that'd stop Voldemort?"

"I…well…"

"Forget it, mate. The only way we're going to win this war is if we stick together. Hermione's right about that too; we all chose to be your friends."

"Hermione's right about everything, isn't she?"

"Don't tell me you're just now realizing that!"

Harry spent most of the weekend working furiously on his Specialized Defense homework. "At least the essay's interesting," he said to Ron as they sat around a table in the common room with several of the Gryffindor D.A. members.

"Kind of, but bloody brutal!" Ron groused.

"Still better than these logic things she keeps giving us. What's the point, anyway?"

"Oh, honestly, you two," said Hermione. "Being an Auror isn't just about how fast you can throw hexes."

"Isn't it?" laughed Seamus.

"No!" Hermione scolded. "It's about knowing what to do and when to do it, being able to think fast and solve problems and be creative."

Harry thought back to what Professor McGonagall had told him during Career Advice, about character and aptitude tests. He pulled the parchment covered in random problems back over, frowning at it. Could this be the sort of thing she had meant? "What is it, Harry?" asked Neville. "Are you stuck?"

He frowned at the parchment. "I was just thinking of something Professor McGonagall said during Career Advice, about Auror training. She said we have to take character and aptitude tests, and demonstrate the ability to react well under pressure. And that there's lots more study and more exams after leaving Hogwarts."

Hermione cocked her head at him as though listening to something he wasn't saying. "You're really serious about this, aren't you? Becoming an Auror?"

"What else am I good for," Harry grumbled.

"That's not a good reason, Harry, you should choose something you really want to do!"

Harry waved her off. "I do want to be an Auror. It's just lucky I do."

"Don't say that!" Ron protested. "You're good at lots of things!"

"Like what?" he asked dryly, but started to grin.

Ginny, who was sitting in one of the armchairs studying Transfiguration with Bastet on her shoulder, said, "I'd wager you could play professional Quidditch, Harry. You're a terrific Seeker."

Harry set his essay aside. "Quidditch," he murmured thoughtfully.

"She's right, Harry, you'd have recruiters swarming you if word got out you wanted to play after Hogwarts," said Ron. "You don't have to fight bad guys all your life, if you don't want to."

"I never really thought about playing all my life either," said Harry.

"Of all people, mate, you've earned it," Ron snorted.

"In any case," said Hermione. "What you all need to earn right now is marks on this homework!"

"Yes, Professor Granger!"

"Oh, stuff it, Ron!"

Harry flipped vigorously through the Aurors section of the Life in Magical Law Enforcement textbook to distract himself from thoughts of hexing both of them. The essay assignment was a simple scenario:

An Auror receives a report that a wanted criminal wizard has been sighted at a house. He arrives on the scene to find the house apparently deserted. Write all possible first actions the Auror should take and briefly list the pros and cons of each, then indicate which response you would choose and why.

Hermione was reading the chapter on Basic Auror Procedures and counting her responses. "How many have you got?" he asked her.

She counted down her parchment. "Fourteen."

"Bloody hell, Hermione!" exclaimed Ron.

"Oh, give it here, Ron," she said irritably, taking his parchment. "You forgot about asking the neighbors if they've seen anything suspicious."

"How do we know there are any neighbors?" asked Neville.

Harry frowned at the parchment. "It doesn't say where this house is."

"Then should we assume there are neighbors?"

Hermione shrugged. "From what we've seen of Professor Smythe-Wellington so far, I'd err on the side of caution if I were you."

There were dry chuckles all around. "Good point," Harry agreed, and wrote: Assuming there are other houses nearby, the Auror could ask neighbors if they have seen the criminal. Pros: this could give the Auror warning of the criminal's whereabouts, Cons: the neighbors could panic and warn the criminal that the Auror is there.

Ron was taking Hermione's advice as well. "She's not Umbridge by any means, but she's no picnic either."

"That much is certain."

First thing on Monday morning before N.E.W.T. Defense, Harry went to Professor Smythe-Wellington's office to turn in his overdue homework from the first class. That assignment alone had taken six hours, complete with Hermione checking it over for him, but in the end he was rather proud of it. Smythe-Wellington received it with a "hmph," and waved him out the door.

Harry was surprised to pass Mad-Eye Moody as he left. "Morning, Potter," Moody said, heading into Smythe-Wellington's office. Through the still partly-open door, Harry heard him bellow, "Priscilla Smythe, you gorgeous creature, you abandoned us for this madhouse?"

"Alastor, you sexy beast, come here!"

Harry was not the only student who stopped dead in his tracks in the hallway at hearing such an exchange—then went sprinting wildly for the stairs in a desperate effort not to hear any more!

They had guests in N.E.W.T. Defense that day: a handful of Ministry Aurors, including Moody, and two members of the French Magical Assembly and some French Aurors. Ron, Dean, Neville, Susan Bones, and Michael Corner were telling the observers about the D.A. when Harry came in. "And, of course, it was Harry who did the teaching," Neville was saying proudly.

Moody nodded vigorously. "Good thinking, Potter, good planning last year. Want something done, got to do it yourself, when all's said. May save a lot of skins in the future. Probably already saved a few."

Harry felt his face getting hot as everyone's gazes fell on him. "Well…it was Ron and Hermione's idea, really."

"Modest lad," murmured someone, and he sighed inwardly.

Later, (when they were trying to make Harry feel better,) Ron and Hermione joked that it was really too much to expect that fate would not take this golden opportunity to give the visitors a classic example of Harry's connection to Voldemort. Halfway through class, when Professor Lupin had them in pairs doing basic duels with Stunners, Shields, and Disarming Spells, Harry got hit from behind (Malfoy and Blaise Zabini were the pair behind him) with a Disarming Spell right as Neville threw a Stunner at him.

The dilapidated sign for Knockturn Alley was directly across from Harry where he waited. Black-robed wizards were quietly moving into position ahead of him, their attention upon the small double-doors of a large stone building.

"We will be ready to strike at any moment, my lord," whispered the one nearest Harry.

"There will be no mistakes, Avery, or you will suffer for it," Harry said in a high, cold, cruel voice.

Avery flinched. "No mistakes, Master, I swear to you. Malfoy and the Lestranges will have the goblins' wards down in less than one minute."

Harry reached past the shivering man, wand in his long, thin fingers. "Make ready to move on my signal…"

"HARRY!" He was being shaken violently. "Harry, wake up!"

"What the devil is the matter with the boy?"

"He's had a vision! You-Know-Who's up to something!"

"Stand back, all of you, stand back! Harry?"

Harry forced his eyes open to see an anxious Remus Lupin hovering over him, gently shaking his shoulders. He struggled to find his voice as Lupin helped him sit up. "Voldemort…Knockturn Alley…attacking something…"

Lupin gripped his shoulders tightly, staring into his eyes with Moody just behind him. "What did you see, Harry? Quick—everything you remember!"

Harry shut his eyes. There wasn't much time; they were about to attack! He could feel Voldemort's anticipation in his prickling scar… "A Knockturn Alley sign with the paint flaking off…they're in a really narrow part of the alley that dead-ends with the side of a big stone building…light-colored…looks like some side or back entrance, the doors are half-sized. They said Malfoy and the Lestranges would bring the goblins' wards down…"

Moody straightened at once. "Goblins' entrance to Gringotts! Let's go!" There was a great pounding of feet toward the door as Harry dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his scar. His head was pounding fiercely in time to all the running footsteps.

"…Harry? Can you hear me?" He must have faded out again; he found himself slumped against Professor Lupin's shoulder. Someone was rubbing his back.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled. "Head's…a little…light…"

"Here. Relax. Head between your knees, that's it," said Lupin, in a tone that reminded Harry of Mrs. Weasley. "Breathe now. The Aurors have your warning; let them handle it. Concentrate on catching your breath."

"Did they…get 'em?"

"No word yet," said Hermione's voice behind him. "They've only just gone."

"Did you say a Malfoy was with them?" someone asked.

"Hey. Quiet there," said Lupin sternly. "There will be no discussion of Harry's warnings, in classrooms, hallways, or anywhere else. Anyone heard doing it will lose their House fifty points."

An appreciative intake of breath went up, although Harry heard Draco mutter, "What does it matter, Potter's barking anyway."

But Lupin was too busy worrying about Harry to hear it. "Do you need to go to the hospital wing, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, trying to get up. "No, I'll be fine."

"You're sure?" said Ron, holding out a hand in case Harry started to sway. "You look a bit more peaky than last time."

"I can't go to the hospital wing every bloody time this happens, or I might as well move in!" Harry said crossly.

Ron was unperturbed. "That'd make Madam Pomfrey happy."

With a chuckle, Professor Lupin satisfied himself that Harry wasn't going to keel over in the near future, and dismissed the class. But, predictably, he asked Harry to stay afterward. "Ron's right, Harry, you did seem a bit weaker after this vision."

Harry shrugged, going to inspect the grindylow that had been restored to its place of honor in the tank by Lupin's desk. "Maybe he was trying to Occlude his mind to keep me from finding out—and it didn't work." He grinned over his shoulder. "So if I start bellowing and ranting like a madman, that probably means we got them."

Remus smiled, but came to Harry's side and said, "All the same, you must give Occlumency your full attention tonight. The value of these visions does not outweigh the risks to you of sharing Lord Voldemort's thoughts."

Harry frowned. He certainly didn't enjoy inhabiting the twisted mind of a monster whenever he lost consciousness, but on the other hand… "But we've lost Snape as a spy because of this summer. Shouldn't we find any way we can of learning what's going on?"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. "You are not that way, Harry," said Remus in a stern voice that didn't distract Harry from the flicker of fear in his eyes. "You are not a weapon to be used against Voldemort without regard for your safety. Before Severus Snape returned to our side, Professor Dumbledore had ways of tracking Voldemort's movements. We will manage."

It made sense, of course, but Harry felt rebellious. This was the most useful thing he'd managed to do for the Order, aside from getting himself captured, Snape exposed, his uncle killed, Sirius killed—Remus caught his arm. "I know what you're thinking, Harry."

"So you're the Legilimens now?" Harry asked bitterly.

"It is not your fault, what happened last summer. It is not your fault Severus was forced to expose himself. It is not your fault that your uncle was murdered. And it is not your fault that Sirius died in battle." Harry flinched and tried to pull away, but Remus would not let go. "You have nothing to atone for."

Harry looked at Remus, and was startled by the intensity of the emotion in his eyes. He swallowed hard, and said quietly, "Neither do you."

In Care of Magical Creatures, Harry found himself at last unable to get out of taking a turn doing "the Daisy dance," as Seamus and Dean had taken to calling it. Actually, they were learning to feed, shelter, lead, and contain Daisy—which still required an extensive amount of dodging and scrambling like maniacs to get into her blind spot on days when she was ornery.

And she was always ornery.

Harry got through his first round of Chimaera care with only a few mild singes on the edge of his robe (and a badly-scorched ego—Ron thought it was hilarious), but was made more on edge by the fact that no word (by mouth or by scar) had come of what had happened in Knockturn Alley.

And so it was in a highly-unsettled state of mind that he trudged down to the dungeons for his Occlumency lesson after dinner. Professor Lupin was at the head table when Snape came up and barked at Harry, "Potter! My office, immediately!"

There was a loud snort from the Slytherin table as Harry got up. "Blimey, what'd the blighter do now?"

Harry cast a quick glance back at the head table as he trotted after Snape and saw Professor Lupin watching him. Dumbledore wasn't looking at them—probably to keep the illusion that Harry was being disciplined, Harry admitted to himself—but Remus's lips twitched in a barely-perceptible smile of encouragement. Harry sighed quietly as he trudged out of the Great Hall and down to the dungeons. Dumbledore might not care how Harry felt about this, but all Harry's bitterness and resentment couldn't push aside the awareness that Remus did. Remus understood how desperately Harry did not want to face Occlumency with Snape again. And he was letting Harry know he understood, so that was something at least.

Snape's attitude seemed to grow colder along with the air as they moved down through the dampest stone corridors and staircases to the dungeons. He shoved open his office door so hard that it slammed against the wall and ordered, "Inside, Potter." He slammed the door closed behind Harry with equal force. "Sit down."

The way Harry had felt the first time he'd arrived in Snape's office for Occlumency lessons was nothing to the way he felt returning now. But it wasn't for reasons anyone else would expect; it wasn't because of the way he'd left, with Snape throwing things at him after he'd peeked in the Pensieve, or even the way Snape had treated Sirius. It wasn't even the events of the previous summer, and the undeniable debt he now owed to Snape. It was the thought that when Snape got back into Harry's head again, he'd be able to see Sirius fall through the veil.

And there was not a doubt in Harry's mind as he sank into the chair opposite Snape's desk, seeing the bitter resentment still simmering in the Potions Master's cold, black eyes, that Snape had every intention of doing exactly that.

Hermione got it wrong. Snape wouldn't be more decent because of last summer…he hates me more than ever. I've lost him his job. He's as useless to the Order now as he said Sirius was.

"Under the headmaster's orders, Mr. Potter, you will be resuming your Occlumency training," Snape growled. "I assure you, it was not until the headmaster phrased it as an order that I acquiesced, after the way that you invaded my privacy and possessions during your last lessons." Harry bit his tongue against trying to defend himself, but Snape went on, "As they obviously failed to sink in last time, I will reiterate that you are to call me 'Professor' or 'sir' at all times." He paused significantly.

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered, having expected that.

For a moment, Snape seemed surprised at Harry's reticence, but he plowed on, "Furthermore, some additional rules shall be established—and I promise you, Potter, if you cross me again, you will regret it. If anyone asks, you are serving detention with me for an infraction of the rules which you need not detail. Mr. Filch will collect you and escort you to the dungeons. You will not be permitted to be in my office alone for any reason, as you cannot be trusted to keep your fingers out of others' belongings."

That also, Harry had expected, and he didn't react. Snape continued, "Mark my words, Potter. The headmaster may be convinced that your receiving these lessons is vital to the war effort, but if you step out of line in my office again, you will wish it had been you dead at the Ministry last year."

Snape's sneer grew when Harry couldn't suppress a flinch, and Harry knew Snape would be milking that for all it was worth, even if he had—for some unfathomable reason—chosen to pretend that his rescue of Harry had never happened. Harry desperately wanted to run out of the room.

But something stopped him. He wasn't quite sure what; maybe it was Lupin's encouraging smile. Maybe it was what everyone said about how important the lessons were. Maybe it was how angry Sirius had been when he found out Snape had stopped them.

Maybe it was last summer.

In any case, Harry heard himself mutter, "Yes, sir." It did give him a little satisfaction to see Snape's genuinely puzzled expression. What can you do to me that you haven't already done, you Death Eater? Do you think taking House points or even throwing me around your office again will matter with Sirius gone? Do you think you can intimidate me at school after I saw you using the Killing Curse?

"Up, then, Potter. Wand out. You know what to do…or you should, if by some miracle your mind has gained some shred of discipline in the months since we last practiced this." Harry sighed. Last year, he'd found it impossible to detach himself from anger. Now, anger wasn't the problem. He wished it still was.

"One, two, three…Legilimens!"

It was worse than Harry had feared; he couldn't clear his mind. All he could feel was dread and despair as the office vanished from in front of his eyes and images from memory took over his surroundings…

Everything he and Snape saw had happened in the past year. Blood ran down his hand as he wrote I must not tell lies with Umbridge's detention quill…he was in Grimmauld Place, shouting at Ron and Hermione…he was before the Wizengamot, at his expulsion hearing, trying to explain the dementors…the dementor's mouth was only inches from Dudley's terrified face…the Daily Prophet was calling him a liar…Voldemort's body was rising from Wormtail's cauldrom…

No, Harry thought desperately, his mind reeling as he struggled for control, No, get out!

His knees hit the floor of Snape's office with a jolt, and the world returned to normal. "Get up, Potter! That was worse than your first lesson, have you learned nothing about controlling your mind?"

Picking himself up, Harry just muttered, "No, I guess not."

Snape gave him a little shove back into place. "Eyes closed." Harry obeyed with a sigh. "Breathe. Again. Deeper, Potter." Harry thought idly if this was Snape's idea of getting Harry to clear his mind or calm down, it wasn't working. Nevertheless, he tried to concentrate. "Focus. Clear your mind. Let go of emotion. One, two, three—Legilimens!"

He tried. He really did. He knew Snape was only biding his time before going straight for the memories that would tear Harry apart—and not the ones from last summer. The memory of being tortured, humiliated, drugged, and locked in a tomb for months still did not hurt the way the Department of Mysteries did. So Harry struggled, trying to keep his mind clear and blank, to escape not only the attack from in front of him but the pain from behind him as the world dissolved…

The Dementor-Boggart swooping down on him and the sounds of his parents' final moments echoing in his ears…no...He was in the body of a snake, diving and tearing and attacking Arthur Weasley…No…Cedric Diggory on the ground with blank eyes staring at him…NO!...Sirius laughing at Bellatrix Lestrange on the dais in front of the arch and the veil…

"NOOOO!" Harry returned to the office as both of his fists connected with something heavy and covered with cloth in front of him—then Snape crashed to the floor with a surprised grunt. Blinking, Harry gaped in astonishment when he realized he had hit Snape.

Gritting his teeth and catching his breath, Snape untangled himself from the chair of his desk and shook his greasy hair out of his face. Harry, panting, his head throbbing, stumbled back a few feet. Then Snape looked up at him, the memory of the last few seconds of the duel still fresh in both their minds…and coldly smiled.

Something inside Harry cracked. He whirled around and sprinted with all his might for the office door, not giving Snape a chance to order him back. As he threw it open and flung himself out into the corridor, his pounding feet and heart still were not enough to drown out the snort of laughter that echoed behind him.

Ron and Hermione were talking to Professor Lupin, Professor McGonagall, and Mad-Eye Moody in the common room when Harry came in. "This is horrible," Hermione was whispering, her hands over her mouth.

"Professors, you'll make him understand, won't you?" Ron asked. "You know what he'll think, and he can't…Harry!" he exclaimed when the portrait hole swung shut behind Harry.

Harry knew immediately from their faces that the news was not good. The common room had been cleared. Wonderful, a stellar ending to an already-bad day. He swallowed thickly and walked over to them. "Well, here I am. What's happened?"

Moody's head was actually hanging. Harry swallowed harder. Remus looked as if he wanted to put an arm around Harry, and Professor McGonagall had tears in her eyes. Ron and Hermione were white-faced. "Harry…" said Remus softly.

Now he was downright scared. "Please," he whispered. "Whatever it is, just tell me?"

"The vision," Hermione blurted in a choked voice. "It was a fake!"

A great, cold lump of horror began to settle in Harry's insides and slowly spread outward. His heart was racing as though it wanted to pound out of his chest. He could barely speak. "Wh-what happened?"

"Ambush," grunted Moody, his head still lowered. "Outside the goblins' entrance of Gringotts in Knockturn Alley. They knew we'd be coming."

He was going to vomit. Any minute now.

Hermione let go of Ron's hand and grabbed Harry's shoulders. "It's not your fault!" she said desperately. "Don't blame yourself, Harry, we all should have remembered Voldemort could send sham visions! Nobody thought to check, not even—" she broke off in dismay, looking at Moody.

Moody finally raised his head to look at Harry. "Girl's right, Potter. You're not to blame; you did just what you should—reported what you saw. It was our job to verify before we went charging off. No one to blame but us. Poor planning, poor thinking, people get…" he looked away.

He felt so very, very cold inside. "How many Aurors were hurt?" That had to be it, of course, there must have been serious injuries and damage for them to be reacting this way.

Moody would not look at him again and even Lupin and Professor McGonagall could not meet his eyes. Ron spoke up quietly. "Tell him the truth."

"Six in St. Mungo's with severe injuries," grunted Moody. "And three dead."

Three dead…

Ron had a hand on one of Harry's shoulders, Remus on the other as Harry swayed on his feet. With an effort, he got his balance back, though he kept his own hand on the bookshelf next to him. "It's not your fault, Harry," Hermione said again, her voice shaking.

He had to swallow several times before he trusted himself not to vomit right there when he opened his mouth. "Thanks…" his voice cracked badly. "For telling me. I'm…I'm…sorry…"

"You've got nothing to apologize for, Harry," said Remus. "It was our responsibility to verify the truth of what you saw, not yours. No matter what happens, never, never hesitate to warn us if you have another vision. And when your Occlumency lessons progress a little further you'll stop having to worry about him using you this way—"

Harry gasped and grabbed his forehead; his scar must have burst into flames…how terribly humorous all this was…maniacal laughter was ringing in his ears, laughter of triumph and mirth…what a fine joke…how priceless…

"HARRY! HARRY, WAKE UP!"

Someone was shaking him so violently that his teeth were rattling, and that brought him back to the common room. He had fallen to his knees; Remus and Ron were holding him up, and Professor McGonagall and Hermione were on either side of Mad-Eye Moody, holding his arms as though afraid Moody would attack Harry.

"Voldemort?" asked Remus when Harry managed to make the foreign laughter stop.

He nodded, unable to keep from looking at Moody. For once, the look in both the old Auror's eyes matched. As toughened as Harry knew Mad-Eye Moody to be, he had never imagined the man capable of looking at someone with so much hate. Harry had faced off with Voldemort five times now…but the look in Moody's face made him flinch away. "What's the bloody bastard laughing about now?"

"This," Harry mumbled, starting to shiver. "It was…different. I think…it wasn't me going into his mind, it was…him coming into mine. He wanted us to know…he's laughing at us." He's laughing at me. He got me again. "I'm sorry," he said miserably.

"Told you, boy, it's not your fault," Moody muttered, his face softening a little.

Harry got up. He couldn't stand the way they were all looking at him. "Are you all right, Potter?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"Yeah," he muttered. "I'll be fine…I just need…" He ran up the stairs to the dormitory. Once there, the stares of the other boys told him that everyone knew what his false alarm had cost, and Harry staggered to the bathroom to be sick.

Three dead Aurors. He hadn't even thought to ask who they were.

He was so ill that he barely noticed when Ron and Neville came and found him lying on the bathroom floor, shivering violently, and he didn't even care when they practically had to carry him back to his bed. Having six siblings had apparently taught Ron a few things, for Harry was dimly aware of him dragging Harry's shoes off and bundling him under the covers.

He vaguely heard Neville's voice. "Don't even think about it, Finnegan!"

"I'm not gonna do anything! Relax, I know it wasn't his fault. He can't help what You-Know-Who does."

Hearing the bed curtains being pulled shut, Harry muttered, "Ron?"

The curtains rattled as Ron pulled them open again. "Yeah, mate?"

"The Aurors who were killed. Who were they?"

"Nobody we knew."

"I want to know anyway."

"Joseph Sloper. He's Jack Sloper's cousin. Moira Kennedy. She was a class ahead of Tonks. And Gregory Stein. He and Moody trained together."

There was no hiding the fact that Harry's vision had been false. Too many students (or rather, too many Slytherins) had heard his warning, and when the Daily Prophet reported the ambush the following day, too many more made the connection. Even Professor Lupin's threat of lost House points could not stop the stares and whispers at breakfast.

Harry had not slept at all that night after it happened. The initial shock had eventually given way to an utter terror of falling asleep, of having another vision that could prove a trap. He had sat up in bed with the curtains closed, trying to do homework or anything else that would keep him awake. Each time he felt himself starting to drift off, panic set in and made him alert again.

And so the next morning, he was drowsily picking at his eggs, still determined not to sleep again until he could properly Occlude his mind. (How he was to accomplish that, he did not know, but logic had never been Harry's strong point, as those infuriating puzzles of Smythe-Wellington's frequently demonstrated.)

It didn't help overhearing Malfoy at the Slytherin table. "I can't understand why people are surprised. Potter throws a bloody fainting act and starts accusing people's parents of chasing goblins around Gringotts—I knew better than to believe him! And did anyone see my father there? Of course not!"

"Harry," said Hermione, watching him stare at his plate. "You've got to eat something. Did you sleep last night?"

"Hermione, leave the man alone," said Ron, patting Harry's shoulder.

"How's Sloper?" Harry asked quietly.

The pained look on Ron's face told Harry more than his words. "He's…in a bit of shock, you understand. His parents are coming to get him today. I…er, well…he's in a bit of shock, you understand, it might not be a good idea to go talk to him just now."

Harry nodded, knowing bitterly what Ron meant. Jack blamed Harry. Harry didn't blame him. He'd felt so proud after Dumbledore had stopped Voldemort's goblin spell—how had they done that, anyway? He had no idea. But the important thing was that he hadn't even stopped to think that the vision might not have been true.

Ron was saying something. Harry blinked back to the present. "Sorry?"

Patiently, Ron repeated, "We thought we'd do some Quidditch practice after Charms this afternoon. Tryouts are Thursday."

Oh. Quidditch. Right. And it would give him something to do where no matter how tired he was, he wouldn't risk falling asleep. Harry forced a smile at Ron and nodded. "I'll be there. Lord knows I'm probably out of practice."

On the other side of the table, Ginny snorted. "Don't be absurd, Harry, you're a natural. You're never out of practice."

"Still gonna make him work for Seeker, aren't you, Gin-gin?" Ron teased. Ginny smirked at him as Bastet crawled out of her book bag onto her shoulder. "Ahh, there is my fuzzy little monster-killer!" Ron cooed, to Harry's complete astonishment. "Does oo wanna spot of breakfast? Does oo wanna bit of bacon?"

Ginny giggled and took the bacon Ron handed her for the kitten, who was growing rapidly but still managed to balance on her mistress's shoulder. Hermione looked disgusted. "This from the boy who said all cats were bloodthirsty beasts."

"I've changed my mind," Ron declared. "Either cats are indeed noble creatures, and yours is just a slavering maniac, or this one's just a true goddess."

Ginny watched Bastet leisurely polishing off the bacon and shook her head. "She's so odd. She was perfectly sweet-tempered with me in Transfiguration yesterday—even though I was turning her only halfway into a tea pot. Then Ella Collins from Slytherin started making fun of my textbook—the cover's falling off—and Bastet went straight for her face. I thought Professor McGonagall was going to explode. She had to switch to a cat herself to call Bastet off! Collins has scratches all over her!"

"Brilliant! Two pieces of bacon!"

Professor Lupin asked Harry to linger for a few moments after Advanced Curse Defense. "Did you sleep last night, Harry?"

Fighting (and losing) against a surge of irritation, Harry shook his head. "I don't want him using me again."

"Harry, you cannot deprive yourself of sleep over this. That will only make you more vulnerable." Remus put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't blame yourself for what happened."

"Jack blames me."

"Jack has lost a family member; he blames everyone in sight, including himself."

Harry shot to his feet, frustrated and angry. "How could I forget?" he cried. "After what happened to Sirius, how could I let myself forget that those visions can be lies?"

Remus ignored his outburst. "You went through a terrible ordeal this summer. You can't be expected to remember everything. That was our job."

"But…" Harry sank back down again. "There was no summer! At least…not to me. It still feels as if it's been only a few weeks since…" he looked away. "And I forgot."

"If you allow it to tear you apart, you'll be giving Voldemort what he wants." Harry blinked. Remus pulled a chair up beside him. "Think, Harry. About last night, not the vision in the morning. Why did Voldemort let you feel his laughter at us?"

"To let me know he'd won. That he'd got the better of me," Harry said in confusion.

"Exactly. To make you afraid to sleep, to keep you off balance—and out of his mind," Remus said urgently. "Harry, don't you see? Yes, he can send you false visions—but obviously he cannot keep you entirely out of his own mind. Otherwise you would not have been able to warn us of the goblin spell."

With a disgusted groan, Harry put his head in his hands. "Fool me once, shame on you, fool me tw—"

"Harry! If you don't stop that, I'm going to start taking points from Gryffindor."

"Sorry."

Remus shook his head. "What class do you have next? Charms?"

Harry nodded. "Then Herbology after that."

"As soon as they're over, I want you to pick up some Dreamless Sleep potion from Madam Pomfrey and then go to your dormitory and get some sleep—don't argue, Mr. Potter, this is coming from your Professor now. Voldemort's activities are taking enough of a toll on you without your adding to it."

"I wasn't arguing," Harry grumped. "I mean…it's just…we had Quidditch practice this afternoon."

Remus sighed. "I think you'd best give it a miss today, if you're as worn out as my instincts and your charming mood seem to indicate. Or at least try to sleep a little beforehand."

"Yes, Professor," said Harry, suddenly too tempted by the thought of a non-haunted sleep to resist anymore.

Remus patted his arm. "Off with you, then."

Harry started to get up, then paused. He had been thinking about this all morning, and the idea seemed mad—not to mention unpleasant—but Harry was willing to deal with a little unpleasantness if it would get Voldemort out of his head. "Professor…I was wondering…do you think it would help if I did Occlumency more often? Would I get any better at keeping him out?"

Remus paused on the steps to his office, his face thoughtful. "Hm. I don't imagine it could hurt." He eyed Harry and smiled. "Of course, you would have to ask Professor Snape for additional lessons." His smile grew broader as Harry groaned loudly. "It's a reasonable thing, Harry, for you to ask and for him to agree."

Harry sighed, but smiled sheepishly back. "I'll need another excuse, then."

"Don't take that tone with me, Mr. Potter, detention for you this evening! Wait, oh dear, I seem to have acquired a previous engagement," Remus said blithely. "I shall have to ask Professor Snape to supervise your punishment." Harry couldn't suppress a hysterical giggle. "Of course, once you're in 'detention,' it will be up to you to ask for the lessons. Deal?"

"Deal," Harry laughed.

"Right, then. Get some sleep, and I'll see you at dinner."

"Okay."

Harry managed to get through his Charms and Herbology without making too great a mess of things—although he did manage to turn his notebook into a slime mold. On the way back to Gryffindor Tower, he told Ron he would be skipping Quidditch practice. "But we haven't got much time till tryouts! We already postponed them once, and the team's done for without you!"

"Oh, thanks, Ron!" snapped Ginny from behind them.

"No offense, Ginny, but it's true! We need you to replace Angelina or Alicia—and a Beater to replace Jack."

Harry paused on the stairs. "He's quit?"

Ron nodded, "Yeah, he, uh, said he didn't like it much last year."

"Is that what he said?" Harry sighed.

Ginny nudged Ron aside so she could walk next to Harry. "Don't take it personally, Harry—and don't believe it either. I told Jack he wasn't being fair, but I don't think he's really interested in being fair at the moment. He'll come round eventually, and if he doesn't, well, we'll find another Beater."

Harry sighed. Ron looked back at them. "Say, Harry, maybe if you go to sleep right away, you can at least make part of practice, just for a little Snitch-chasing."

"Then he'll have to skip the afternoon study session," said Hermione.

At that moment, Harry had to stop and lean against the banister so he could yawn heavily. "I think I'll be missing that anyway."

"And he can always study this evening," Ron pressed.

"Er…no, I've got…detention," said Harry.

Hermione dropped her book bag on Ron's foot—causing him to fall onto the stairs with a screech of agony—and spun around. "Harry, what did you do now? Who'd you get detention from this time?"

Ron lugged the book bag off his foot and looked at Harry expectantly. Harry looked at them and felt a rush of mischief. "Oh…I got detention from Professor Lupin."

Their reaction was even better than he'd hoped.

"HARRY!"

"What on earth did you do!"

"How could you, are you determined to—"

They all broke off as he started to laugh. "Yes, Professor Lupin assigned me detention, but he's going to be busy tonight, so he's asking Professor Snape to take care of it. Perfect opportunity for more 'Remedial Potions.'"

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all gaped at him for several more seconds before it sank in. "Oh, you!" Ginny clouted Harry upside the head, then they all started to laugh.

"Why do you have…detention again tonight?" asked Hermione. "Didn't you have it last night too?"

"Under the circumstances," Harry muttered at her, "I decided I'd better have it more often."

"With Snape," Ron groaned. "You are truly a glutton for punishment, Harry."

"No pun intended?" Ginny teased, and they all groaned louder.

When they got to the dormitory, Harry told Ron, "I'll sleep through study session, and see about practice."

"Priorities, Harry," sighed Hermione, coming up the stairs.

"Leave him alone, Hermione, he deserves a little fun!"

"Failing all his classes could end that fun pretty quick—"

Harry rolled his eyes and pulled out his Firebolt—

His Firebolt. From Sirius.

Ron by now had stopped arguing with Hermione and had pulled his Cleansweep out from under his bed. "We've got to elect a new captain, and try out some new team members, Harry. I fancy you'll be up, and we've got to decide what to do about you and Ginny—Harry? What's wrong?"

Harry didn't hear him. He was staring at his Firebolt: its glittering handle, the way it vibrated when he picked it up and hovered in midair when he let go, the registration number engraved in gold at the top of the handle, and the streamlined birch twigs, all still as perfect and flawless as when it had arrived on Christmas morning nearly three years before. It had been right after his beloved Nimbus had been destroyed by the Whomping Willow, the perfect Christmas present.

From Sirius.

Apparently, Ron and Hermione had made the connection. Hermione's hands came to rest on his shoulders as Ron gently took the broom away. "Harry? You all right, mate?"

Harry blinked and looked up at them. "Yeah. Sorry. Go on. I'll see you later."

Hermione stayed where she was. "I can stay if you want, Harry. If you're worried about sleeping, I mean."

"Oh, you'll neglect your precious studies for him, will you?"

"Ronald…" she said in a hard tone. Ron looked ashamed of himself.

Harry shook his head. He just wanted a nap. "No. 's all right. I've got Dreamless Sleep potion."

"Okay, then." Hermione gave his shoulders a little squeeze and started for the stairs. "Harry?" He looked at her. "I think you're doing the right thing. With…detention." She smiled. "You can beat Voldemort at this, we know you can. And after all the times you've gone up against Voldemort, you can certainly handle Snape."

Ron nodded vigorously, and Harry forced a smile. "Thanks." He waved at them as they went back down the stairs, then crawled into bed, took a gulp of potion, and fell gratefully asleep.

"…Harry?"

Someone was shaking him gently. He grumbled and tried to burrow into the pillow, but the hand on his shoulder persisted. Rolling over, he opened his eyes and glared at Ron. "'f I had my wand, I'd hex you."

"Sorry," said Ron, not looking terribly apologetic. "Coming to Quidditch practice?"

Now that he was fully awake, Harry did feel more rested than he had in some time. And it had been ages since he'd even flown on his Firebolt. "Yeah, I'll come. Grab my uniform, would you?" He went to the bathroom to put some water on his face.

When he came back out, Ginny was there in her uniform, talking to Ron. "If those two even think about messing up our first practice I will hex them into next month!" Ron was snarling.

"What two?" asked Harry.

"Fred and George are here," Ginny told him. "They're getting ready to sit their N.E., and managed to wheedle Madam Hooch into letting them help us with practice."

"Their N.E.W.T.s?" Harry asked in surprised. "How's that possible?"

"Oh, I should show you that in the diary," Ron chuckled. "Mum went to Dumbledore, asking if there was some way Fred and George could finish—of course, she didn't ask them first. We didn't expect anything to come of it, but then Mum showed up at the shop one day when Hermione and I were there and told us Dumbledore'd said they could do it. Fred and George weren't so keen to at first, but then Mum really went below the belt—she said she and Dad didn't raise us to be quitters."

"Aah!" Harry grimaced sympathetically.

Ginny nodded. "So here they are. They take shifts at the shop and come here twice a week. They'll be finished right before Christmas holidays."

"Well, that's nice," said Harry. "Your mum will be pleased."

"She's ecstatic," Ron snorted. "Blubbered all over them. I think the main reason they agreed is Percy's still being a prat, and it's making Mum crazy."

"A prat? How?"

"Aside from that little snit you overheard? Well, he's talking to us again at least, but he still won't come home," said Ginny, sighing. "He just keeps saying it's not a good idea. We don't know where the Ministry's got him stashed, but Mum is convinced it's not safe enough."

"Not as safe as Headquarters, no doubt, but imagine trying to get Percy there!" Ron remarked. "Oy, Ginny, turn your back. Harry, get your uniform on."

"Oh, right."

Harry had his shirt half-off before Ron added, "No peeking, Ginny!"

Harry froze, his back to them, but heard Ginny say in a huff, "You may enjoy being a Peeping Tom, Ron, but not everyone is a complete cad. Hurry along, Harry."

It was only then that it dawned on Harry that he was in the midst of stripping his clothes off in the same room as a girl! He couldn't get into his uniform fast enough. "Okay, let's go."

He picked up his Firebolt with reverent hands and followed them to the stairs. Carrying it, his mind wandered as they walked out onto the grounds, back to Sirius, inevitably. He had been dismal when he had told Sirius about the lifetime ban from Quidditch over Christmas. "Now don't think for a minute that old Umbridge's so-called 'lifetime ban' will stick, Harry," Sirius had said. "Once people find out that you have been telling the truth—and they will once Voldemort makes himself known, believe me—you'll be vindicated and she and Fudge will have a lot of questions to answer about the way they've treated you."

"But do you think a ban like that could be reversed?" Harry had asked bitterly.

"Of course it can. And no matter what it takes, Voldemort be damned, I'll make it to your next game. Don't gape! Remember your third year? I've done it before!"

"I'd forgotten," Harry had laughed. "It was right before the dementors got me on the field."

"I'll never forget that. I nearly switched to myself and ran out onto the field—which would've resulted in me getting my charming personality sucked out," Sirius had grimaced at the memory. Seeing Harry's glum expression, he had smiled and said, "Don't fret on it too much."

"It seems silly to 'fret' on it at all with everything that's happened," Harry had sighed.

"Don't be silly. I know Quidditch is important to you; you've got the right to enjoy growing up," Sirius's face had turned solemn. "And I promise you, Harry, once this is all over, I'll come and see you play in person. And I'll be sitting in the stands cheering so bloody loud you won't hear a single Slytherin!"

"That'd be brilliant, Sirius! I can't wait."

"It will happen, Harry. My word as a Marauder on it. So keep your chin up."

"…Harry? Harry?"

Harry blinked back to the present. He was standing at the entrance to the Quidditch pitch with his Firebolt in hand, no idea how he had gotten there. Ron and Ginny were mounted on their brooms, glancing back at him. "Are you ready?" Ginny asked. Seeing his blank face, she said patiently, "We're going to have some practice rounds. Ready?"

Harry shook his head hard. "Yeah, sorry. All right. Let's go." He kicked off and followed them into the air.

To Harry's relief, the months and months he had gone without flying had not dampened his skill too terribly much—though the Firebolt felt a good deal faster than he remembered. Still, after about twenty minutes of tentative flying, he was swooping and diving around the pitch, laughing deliriously—and getting yelled at by Ron, who wanted to get on with the practice rounds.

Even better was the fact that this wound up being a Slytherin-free practice. The mood was light and cheerful as the team members reacquainted themselves with each other and their strategies. Katie Bell was the oldest member this year, but things were complicated by the fact that she did not want to be captain.

"I'm a follower, not a leader," she insisted when they all landed for a huddle. "Give me a strategy and a plan and I can do it, and I can judge Chasers, but Keepers and Beaters and the rest?" She shook her head. "No, it'll have to be someone else."

Every pair of eyes turned to Harry. "Er…" He felt his face turning red. Why on earth would they want him to be captain? He managed to get himself injured or banned almost every year! "I dunno…" he muttered, looking at the sand beneath his feet. "I…er…maybe we should wait until…a few more practices."

Every Weasley on the pitch was grinning at him. "Have it your way, Ickle Harrykins," said one of the twins, who were there under the guise of "supervising" practice. "But don't think you'll get out of it so easily in the end."

Ron looked annoyed.

That night, as dinner wound to a close, Harry found himself suffering a severe loss of nerves. "What was I thinking?" he muttered. "Why am I putting myself in Snape's clutches voluntarily?"

"Courage, mate," Ron muttered back, giving him a thump on the back. "Courage."

"It'll help in the long run, Harry," Hermione whispered. "Just be patient!"

He rolled his eyes at her. "Easy for you to say."

"Hey, be fair; Hermione's not exactly Snape's favorite person either!" said Ron.

Harry saw Professor Lupin getting up at the head table. "Here it comes."

Lupin looked so stern when he walked over to the Gryffindors that Harry gulped, half-wondering if he had gotten himself into trouble. "Come with me, please, Mr. Potter." Around him, his Housemates sucked in their breath. He timidly got to his feet and followed Lupin out of the Great Hall.

Once they were down in the dungeons, away from curious eyes, Remus winked at Harry before knocking on Professor Snape's office door. "Enter."

Snape looked quite startled to see the two of them. Harry gulped, fighting the urge to hide behind Lupin. "Severus, Mr. Potter is scheduled for a detention this evening, but I'm afraid I'm unable to supervise him. Would you mind?" asked Lupin smoothly.

His eyes narrowed, Snape looked from Lupin to Harry, then said slowly, "Very well." Remus gave a gracious half-bow and left the office, closing the door behind him. Snape rose and came from behind his desk, staring hard at Harry. "Well, Potter?"

Harry's mouth was frustratingly dry. He swallowed thickly and said, "Professor…I wanted to ask…if you—if I—could do Occlumency more often. I mean…as often as possible, really." He forced himself to meet Snape's eyes. "After what happened yesterday, this has to stop. I thought having the lessons more often might help."

Snape was silent for several minutes, and Harry managed not to fidget or drop his gaze. At last, the Potions Master sneered, "Well, if no other good has come from yesterday's debacle, you've finally had the consequences of your arrogance drummed into your worthless head."

What did arrogance have to do with any of this! Ignore it, ignore it, he's just being Snape. This is more important than you or him! Harry told himself furiously. Through clenched teeth, he ground out, "I just…want it…to stop. Will you help me, or won't you?" Like an afterthought, he added, "Sir."

It clearly amused Snape to have Harry Potter admitting to needing additional help, but Harry supposed that was to be expected. Hermione's right. I've been face-to-face with Voldemort. I can handle you. He gritted his teeth, but finally got Snape's answer. He probably should have expected that too. "Legilimens!"

Harry saw the look of mingled surprise and fear on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face…

No…concentrate…concentrate…He fought to see the office and Snape and concentrate on them rather than the memory…

Sirius was falling through the ancient doorway, his body curving gracefully…

Come on…get away…Snape was staring at Harry's face, muttering…concentrating…

Sirius disappeared behind the veil, and it fluttered as though in a high wind—

"NOOOO!" Harry crashed to the floor and curled into a ball instinctively, trying to hide from the memory that was now re-playing itself viciously before his eyes. "STOP IT!"

"Stop it yourself, Potter! Legilimens!

The veil fell back into place…Sirius did not reappear…

"STOP IT!" Harry kicked out furiously and got Snape in the shin, making him stumble back. He scrambled to his feet, trying to get his heart under control, and wishing the hand holding his wand would stop shaking.

Snape was still smirking. Harry glared at him, trembling. Last year had been bad enough when he'd had so much anger to contend with, now it was all he could do to keep the memory of Sirius from overwhelming him completely. In an almost-cheerful voice, Snape said, "You'll have to do better than that, Potter. One…two…three…Legilimens!"

The red light of Bellatrix Lestrange's curse hit Sirius right in the chest before his laughter had even died…

STOP IT! Harry fought to keep his eyes on Snape's face, but he felt as though his heart were being torn out at the same time as his brain. And his heart seemed more valuable. STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT!

His godfather's eyes widened in shock…but he could see Snape muttering…

Oh Sirius, I'm sor—Wand, WAND! "Expelliarmus!"

Snape's wand flew from his hand, and Harry found himself gasping and shaking—and his vision was horribly blurry. He wiped frantically at his eyes, but not before Snape straightened himself up and saw it. "Tears again, Potter?" he sneered, drawling out the words with relish.

Harry turned away. Why couldn't he stop shaking! "Is this lesson over, sir, or shall we keep going?" he snapped.

"Face me. Now."

Harry did, clenching his jaw to keep it from trembling. Snape's voice was stern, disciplinarian, but Harry was certain he could see flat-out glee in his eyes. I hate you I hate you I hate you…

"Have you retained nothing I taught you last year?" asked Snape coldly. "For all your pathetic whimpering, you have made yourself more vulnerable to the Dark Lord than ever, and an even greater liability to our side, considering all the plans and efforts you've already managed to bollix up. Do you think he will leave your pitiful grief for that mongrel alone—"

Harry snapped. "SHUT UP! You bloody bastard, SHUT UP!"

Snape lunged toward him so fast that for a split-second, Harry expected to find himself flying across the room with a broken jaw. Instead, the Potions Master grabbed him by the shoulders. "I warn you, Potter—"

Harry wrenched away. "Don't lecture me about control of my emotions, you stupid fraud! You're not choosing that memory because of Voldemort, you're choosing it because you enjoy it!" he shouted. At Snape's momentary silence, Harry lashed out harder. "I'm surprised you haven't gone for that night in his headquarters and made me relive getting tortured. Or is it because you'd enjoy that too much to stand? Is that it? You'd die laughing watching all your old mates putting the Cruciatus Curse on me?"

He saw Snape falter; for the first time, he'd struck a nerve. He drove the blow home, desiring to make Snape see how it felt to have his nose rubbed in his nightmares. "What's the matter, Death Eater, you enjoy hurting people so much—why don't you take a peek?"

He saw Snape raise his wand, but aimed his own at the man's chest. "Tell me this is about Occlumency, Professor," he hissed, his voice shaking with fury this time. "Tell me you're not just amusing yourself watching my godfather die over and over again." His voice cracked when he said it, but he was angry enough not to care. "Is it the time on your hands now? I remember—you said finding out what Voldemort said to his Death Eaters was your job! Well, you're out of that job, now, aren't you? And that's my fault, of course, that's what this is all about! You're not the big, important spy anymore, you're as trapped as Sirius was! And that's my fault, right! And what Sirius and my dad did when they were fifteen was my fault too, wasn't it?"

Harry had never imagined himself capable of feeling this way. An odd, mirthless grin was spreading across his face as Snape stared dumbly, and he rambled on, "I'm curious, Professor: which one did you hate more? My dad or Sirius? Does it matter, as long as I look like James Potter and Sirius Black is my godfather, I'm a convenient substitute for either, aren't I? I remember, 'revenge is sweet,' isn't it? Even if it's only on a replacement. Or…was it neither of them? Maybe it was my mother you hated, because she stood up for you, and because you can't say she was arrogant, can you? You can't deny that 'Mudblood' who tried to help you was everything you'll never be, can you?" Barely pausing to draw breath, Harry screamed out. "WHICH PART OF ME DO YOU HATE MOST, SNIVELLUS! MY FATHER'S FACE OR MY MOTHER'S EYES!"

Snape's face was dead white, reminiscent of the rage Harry had seen when he'd come out of the Pensieve, but there was something else there too, this time. Harry was too hysterical himself to identify what it was. He just wished Snape would hex him or hit him or something, instead of—Snape disappeared.

So did the office…

He was seated in a dark, curtained room lit by a single branch of candles. His long, white fingers were knitted together as two men in black robes dragged a third man, clad in a gray, Muggle-style suit, into the pool of light cast by the candles. They forced him to his knees.

Harry stood up. "Look at me," he ordered the third man. As if he had no power to refuse, the man raised his head. He was young, and could have been called handsome anywhere but here; the terror was so intense in his wild eyes and pasty face that Harry could practically smell it.

"Wh-who…are…you!" the young man rasped. "Wh-what do y-you want with me?"

In a voice no less cruel, but rather coldly amused, Harry said, "With you personally, nothing. You are here as a matter of convenience."

"Wha—"

Before the man had a chance to speak again, Harry looked into his eyes, ignoring his choked sobs, and then through them, seeking information. He saw a white, domed building, bright and dazzling against the night sky, then brightly-lit hallways crowded with people, all of whom appeared to be Muggles, and a flag hanging in a doorway, an American flag, and more hallways, sloping downward, seeming to go underground…

"POTTER!"

Harry gasped. Snape was standing over him, still white-faced, still furious, and memory came flooding back. He sat up. "I saw—"

"I know what you saw, stupid boy." Snape was shaking with anger.

Harry gritted his teeth, remembering, too late the reason he'd come to Snape's office in the first place. Gone and blown it now, haven't I? he thought bitterly as the first twinges of shame started to creep in. But there wasn't time now. "I don't know if it was real or not, but we have to tell someone—"

"Shut up, Potter," Snape snapped. "I will report this new…vision of yours. You will remain here."

"But how did you see it?" Harry protested. Snape turned to him with the faintest sneer, and waved his wand toward Harry's head. Oh. Harry was too rattled by the dream to be angry now that Snape had been poking around his unconscious mind.

"You will remain in my office, and you will disturb nothing, Potter, or so help me, you will wish the Dark Lord had killed you," Snape growled. "Now stay here and keep quiet." He stalked out the door.

Silence came crashing down around Harry, leaving his mind far too free to think. And to remember. He sank to the floor in front of Snape's desk, drew his knees up to his chest, and started to shake. Why, why, why did it have to have happened now? Why here, right in front of Snape?

And how was Harry any better than Snape after the things he'd said? When he'd enjoyed it?

He had no idea how much time had passed when he heard footsteps coming back toward the door, but he scrambled to his feet as it opened to reveal Professor Dumbledore, trailed by Lupin and Snape. Harry felt himself cringe.

"Severus told us about your vision, Harry," said Dumbledore.

Swallowing hard, Harry nodded. "I don't know if it's real or not."

Lupin smiled at him. "Let us determine that. Are there any details you recall specifically?" Snape, behind Lupin, visibly bristled, as though offended that they were asking Harry at all.

Harry tried to remember everything he could. "The man they took…he wasn't British…the way he talked…I think he's American. His accent. And I saw an American flag in…wherever they were. What happened?" he asked in confusion.

Dumbledore said, "Lord Voldemort was penetrating the prisoner's mind, Harry. You were seeing the prisoner's memories."

"That explains why I didn't recognize that place," Harry mused.

"If the domed building was the U.S. Capitol, then the corridors were probably the underground tunnels," said Lupin, "where the American Wizarding Congress keeps its offices." Seeing Harry and Snape's confused expressions, he explained, "I've been there. Once."

"But the man looked like a Muggle," Harry said. "He wasn't dressed like a wizard, and I didn't see any wizards there."

Lupin nodded. "American wizards tend to follow Muggle fashions, for they mingle much more closely with them. The American Wizarding Congress works in the same building as their Muggle Congress. Hiding in plain sight, as it were."

"So this time he will target the United States," murmured Dumbledore.

"This time?" Harry asked carefully.

Dumbledore nodded in Harry's direction, keeping his eyes just over Harry's shoulder. "The Americas were largely left out of the last war, Harry. Lord Voldemort concentrated his efforts upon wizarding Europe. For that reason, it will be difficult to convince them to take action against him."

"And that, of course, is the reason he's doing it," concluded Lupin with a sigh. "We'll have to get in touch with their ambassadors."

"Immediately, Remus," Dumbedore agreed. He smiled at Harry and Snape. "Thank you for bringing this to our attention right away, Severus. We'll let the two of you return to your lesson."

Harry and Snape both reacted the same way: they gaped.

He knows, Harry realized with a sinking feeling as Dumbledore slipped out the door and smiled once more at them both. He knows everything that happened.

The door fell shut with a hollow thud. Harry's heart made a similar noise. He didn't dare look at Snape. What now? "What now, sir?" he heard himself mutter.

"You heard the Headmaster; the American wizarding authorities will be notified."

Harry took a deep breath. "That wasn't what I meant. I…want to keep trying."

Snape made a disgusted noise. "I don't especially care what you want, Potter."

"I know," Harry said quietly. "But it still has to be done." There was no answer. "He's watching. Always. He'll keep watching until I can block him."

His heart sank further as the silence went on, convincing him that Snape would see the whole wizarding world destroyed before he taught Harry anything ever again. But then, in the heavy silence of the dungeons, he heard Snape's voice, speaking in a low growl. "Take out your wand. Clear your mind."

It was all he could do not to gasp with relief. He didn't answer, but stood with his wand ready and concentrated on letting go of emotion—and wished he could do so permanently.

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."

"You're going where with who!" Ron gasped.

Harry nodded grimly. "I woke up this morning hoping it had been a bad dream. But no, it appears I'll be spending an entire weekend being paraded around the American Wizarding Congress like a bloody prize fighter—with Snape as my traveling companion. Do you suppose it occurred to any of them that I don't know how to stop Voldemort?"

They were lingering in the boys' dormitory after everyone else had gone down to breakfast. Sunlight streamed through the windows, and even the thought of harvesting Oyster Pods and playing Quidditch in beautiful autumn weather wasn't enough to distract Harry from dreading the weekend.

Hermione, perched on Harry's bed absently picking lint off Ron's robes, shook her head. "Honestly, it's a shame Professor Lupin couldn't have gone instead. If anyone else were going to be with you, I'd be jealous." At their baffled expressions, she explained patiently, "The chance to travel to another country, to see their magical society and speak with their leaders? It's an amazing opportunity!" Then she wrinkled her nose, "Or it could have been."

With a sigh, Harry grabbed his book bag. "At least the thought of being stuck with me all weekend distracted Snape from ripping my brain apart like he usually does. I actually managed to hex him a few times."

His friends perked up. "That's good news, Harry!" exclaimed Hermione. "Ginny said you seemed a little less miserable than usual when you got back last night. We'd wondered if it went better."

As they made their way down the stairwell, Harry shrugged. "Like I said, Snape was distracted. I don't know if I'm improving any."

"Any dreams last night?" asked Ron.

Harry paused on the stairs. "Come to think of it…no!"

He thought hard back through the past twenty-four hours, and realized in a rush that made his heart race that yesterday and last night, his mind had seemed his own. There had been no odd surges of alien emotion, and moreover, there should have been, yesterday of all days.

Ron and Hermione looked back at him as he sat down right there on the steps, smiling helplessly. "I just realized…they penetrated Voldemort's headquarters yesterday. He may have gotten away, but he should have been furious—and I didn't feel anything!"

"That's fantastic, mate!" Ron yelled, leaning over to slap Harry on the head. "You're making real progress, then, and we can stop worrying about you getting possessed!"

But Hermione was frowning. "Unless this is another trap of some kind, and he meant for the headquarters to be found."

Harry looked down at her in dismay. "Hermione," said Ron, "you are such a killjoy!"

Harry sighed. "No, she's right. No sense getting overconfident."

"Still," said Hermione as they resumed their walk. "At the moment, one is just as possible as the other. If he's set up all this and managed to keep you from even feeling his moods, well, he's becoming stronger in his mind. On the other hand, if he didn't, and you're still not feeling anything, then you're getting stronger in yours."

Ron crossed his fingers. "Here's hoping it's the latter."

"Amen to that," agreed Harry.

"Don't forget, we've got Quidditch tryouts this afternoon. Feel all right, do you?"

"Better than usual. And I'm actually hungry!"

Harry would long remember that day as the most restful he'd had in a long time. He and his friends had a pleasant—and large—breakfast while listening to the Hogwarts Music Society rehearsing for their Halloween concert. Hermione got into a lively conversation with a group of Ravenclaws from their International Magical Cooperation class about International Confederation of Wizards, and they decided to talk to Professor Churchill about having some in-class debates. Harry, Ron, and Katie Bell brainstormed about the best way to go about Quidditch tryouts that afternoon, and an owl arrived from Fred and George saying they would be there. Snape brightened the whole Great Hall with his absence, and Harry—feeling especially punchy—hexed Malfoy's sausages to roll away every time he tried to pick them up. No one caught him.

Herbology was a gorgeous affair. Since the start of term, they'd been raising the valuable but frustratingly-delicate Oyster Pod Plants, always with Professor Sprout's assurances that the work would be well worth it at harvest time. That morning, under bright sunlight, sparkling blue skies, and a crisp breeze in the gardens, the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs collected the swollen pods into heaping baskets, then sat in cheerful groups on the grass shelling the shimmering, colorful Pearl Peas into bowls, then sorting them by color.

"I'm half-tempted to keep some and put them on a string," Hermione laughed, emptying a pod into their biggest bowl, which looked like a something out of a pirate's cache. "They're so pretty!"

"They are popular for imitation pearls," Neville told her. "But they're right useful in Potions, amulets, and talismans too."

Hermione nodded. "Pass me another Pod, Seamus. They are lovely, one of the few really helpful Potion ingredients that isn't disgusting to handle, unlike leeches and lacewings. I'd much rather wear a string of Pearl Peas around my neck than have to make a talisman out of slug eggs and newt intestines."

The rest of their group made disgusted sounds in agreement. "Of course, you'd have to get the color scheme right to make the protection work, otherwise you'd just have a pretty necklace," said Neville. He held up one of them in the light. "Does this look gold or bronze?"

"Give it here, Neville." Ron took the pearl and compared it with the gold bowl, then the bronze. "Bronze."

"I think the peach is my favorite color," said Hermione.

"I like the gray," said Lavender Brown.

Harry contemplated the bowls. "Gold."

"Wear a gold string during games, Harry," laughed Ron. "Then maybe the Bludgers won't get you!" Harry threw an empty shell at him, and the group laughed. "I think I like the blue ones."

"Sleep with a blue one under your pillow, and it improves your intellect," said Susan Bones.

"Do…not…say…anything, Hermione!"

By the time class ended, the sixth years had harvested, shelled, and sorted almost a hundred pounds of Pearl Peas, and a delighted Professor Sprout gave both the Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs thirty points. "You've done beautifully, dears!" she told them proudly. "Oyster Pods can only be raised during these few weeks at the very end of summer, and this is one of the finest crops I can recall!"

In Curse Defense after lunch, Professor Lupin took them outside to practice Shielding Charms. He too seemed in better spirits today, and sportingly allowed a few no-holds-barred (within reason, anyway) duels toward the end of class. As they returned to the building, he remarked to Harry, "You're looking well today."

"I'm feeling well," Harry said happily. "It must be the fresh air."

Lupin smiled at him. "Then keep this day in mind when you need to clear your head. You know what I mean." Harry nodded. To his surprise, the surreptitious reminder of Occlumency didn't dampen his mood like normal. "Class dismissed, everyone!" Ron gave a tug at Lupin's robes, and he laughed, adding, "Oh, yes, your announcement: those of you who are interested in trying out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, be at the pitch in three hours, thus sayeth your Keeper!" Everyone laughed, and Harry waved heartily at Lupin as they headed off.

"Fred and George are judging," Ginny told Harry as they headed for the pitch. "Madame Hooch said they could still help the team even if they can't play—and once we pick a Captain, then we'll decide how to work out the positions. Ready?"

"Very ready," said Harry. "Let's go." He kicked off and followed them eagerly into the air.

Fred and George were milking their foray into the "real world" for all it was worth, watching from the stands in Gryffindor scarves, scribbling on a clipboard and screwing up their mouths as though pondering very carefully every move the team made. Five Gryffindors had come out for the Quidditch team, including an ambitious second year, a seventh year who'd failed in tryouts every year but always tried again, one other fifth year along with Dennis Creevy, and Seamus Finnegan. "Gives us a fair pool to choose from," Ron had observed.

The current and prospective members of the Gryffindor team voted unanimously to let Fred and George oversee the tryouts. First the twins formed them up into two lopsided mini-teams: Red and Gold. Harry was Seeker on the Red team, Ginny on the Gold, Ron Keeper of Red, Seamus of Gold. The Red Beaters were Fred and Lavinia Watson (the seventh year), and the Gold Beaters were Giles Fitzgerald (the second year) and Andrew Kirk. The chasers of the Red team were Dennis Creevy and Katie Bell, and the Gold Team had George filling in with Jonathan Long (another fifth year).

Once they were all gathered up with red and gold armbands tied on to distinguish the teams, Fred and George spoke up in such knowing and composed voices that Ron chortled and Ginny had to cover her mouth to hide her laughter. Even Harry couldn't help snickering.

"Now then," said Fred in a pompous tone that reminded Harry of Percy, "I know none of you have played on these teams before. Don't worry if you aren't as smooth as you'd like. Each of you knows what position you want. Just take care of doing your job for your team; we'll be judging by how you know what to do, rather than just how you execute it. We'll rotate positions a few times so we can see where everyone fits in best. Then we'll make our decisions. Madam Hooch, if you would?"

"Certainly, Mr. Weasley. As our esteemed eighth years said," Madam Hooch added, causing snickers from the current team members. "Just relax and play. Don't think about who's watching; concentrate on your game. Ready?" She threw open the ball box, releasing the Snitch and the Bludgers, and then tossed the Quaffle up to George and Katie, who were leading off for the newcomers.

Harry, hovering overhead watching for the Snitch opposite Ginny, kept one eye on the controlled chaos on the field. All things considered, the candidates were doing rather well. On "his" team, the Reds, second year Giles Fitzgerald showed some definite Chaser style that reminded Harry of Angelina Johnson. A little tentative about actually grabbing the Quaffle, but he kept up…hmm, a definite possibility. Seamus was doing surprisingly well as the Gold Team's Keeper; he'd held off Katie's shots nearly half of the time (which, considering Katie's experience, was quite good.) Lavinia Watson had given up on trying out for Chaser, but she was doing very well as a Beater, keeping up with the Bludgers and whacking them to the opposite side of the pitch—though she nearly took out Harry once while he was circling overhead.

They'd split up the teams well, he decided, because the score was nearly tied, with the Reds ahead only ten points. Suddenly, across from him, Ginny dove. Harry hesitated for only a second as Andrew Kirk chased a Bludger across his field of vision. Surely Ginny wouldn't attempt a Wronski feint against him on a Cleansweep! She'd smash herself into the ground! He made up his mind, leaned forward and blasted after her.

Swerving around the Chasers, with Dennis in the lead carrying the Quaffle, Harry caught a glimpse of gold. So Ginny had seen the Snitch. He leaned harder on his Firebolt, pushing for more speed to catch up. It didn't take long; Ginny's Cleansweep was no match for his broomstick in speed. As he pulled up beside her, she suddenly swung in front of him and dove low at the sandiest part of the pitch. Following, Harry pulled back up just in time to avoid a spray of sand into his face. Not bad, Ginny!

He swung out and around her, keeping an eye on the Snitch as it zipped toward the Slytherin stands. Ginny glanced up at him and aimed her broomstick nearly straight up, trying to get above him as she sensed where the Snitch was now heading. Sure enough, it rose higher, and the two Seekers kept after it, sending the Chasers zipping frantically out of their way. As the wind whistled in his ears, Harry heard a loud whack! behind him and instinctively ducked. A Bludger whistled over his head as he surged after the Snitch, and he heard the loud thud and yell of surprise from an unlucky flier behind him as he gained ground. Ginny had fallen back, and the Bludger had been thrown off course by the last collision, so he stretched out on his Firebolt as far as he could, pushing faster and faster…closer and closer…and finally, grabbed.

Snitch in hand, Harry looked down, and immediately raced toward the ground. The Red and Gold teams were crowded around one of the other Gryffindors upon the ground—apparently, that Bludger hit had been bad. One glimpse at the red head cradled against Ron's chest had Harry off his broom and scrambling through the group. "Ginny! Ron, how bad is it?"

Madam Hooch got there a few seconds ahead of him, and Harry was forced to peer over her shoulder. Ginny was awake at least, but blinking dazedly at nothing. "Miss Weasley? Can you tell me what day it is?"

Ginny shook her head hard, then raised a hand to her temple where blood was trickling down. "It's Thursday," she said, wincing in pain. Everyone let out a collective breath. "Ooh, that hurt."

"Are you sure you're all right?" Ron asked urgently.

Ginny nodded slowly, closing her eyes. "I feel like the Beaters mistook my head for the Bludger, but I think I'll be fine."

Madam Hooch nodded, extending her hands. "Let's just get you on your feet and back to Gryffindor Tower, Miss Weasley. Have a lie down and if you don't feel better by tomorrow morning, go and see Madam Pomfrey."

"Okay."

At that point, Fred and George reached them from the stands. "Ginny! You all right?"

"Calm down, you two, it was nothing. Just a bloody big bump."

Hermione appeared at Madam Hooch's elbow. "D'you want me to take you back to the Tower?"

"Thanks, Hermione."

"But what about the team? We have to choose…" said Andrew Kirk hesitantly.

Ginny sat back down on the sand with all three of her brothers now hovering protectively around her, and sighed. "Allow me to make this simpler. We all know Harry's the better Seeker."

"Don't be ridiculous, Ginny, you did a fine job last year and today!" Harry protested.

"So I was fine," she said, crossing her arms impatiently. "You've always been brilliant. Face it, you're the one for the job. No need to beat about it; my feelings won't get hurt." She sighed again. "I did want to try for Chaser."

"Madam Hooch," said Hermione thoughtfully. "Don't the rules allow for replacement players to be trained in case someone gets hurt for more than one game?"

Madam Hooch nodded. "You may train as many players as you like, but there's no switching during a single game. If Potter starts as Seeker in a game, he must finish, or if Miss Weasley begins as Chaser in one game, she's Chaser until the end."

Everyone perked up. "But if, say, Ginny were Seeker for one whole game, Harry could still be Seeker for the next?" mused Ron. "Or if we were planning to field Harry, but say, before the game he got struck by lightning—"

"—Or hexed by a Death Eater—"

"Shh! Seamus!"

"—Anyway," growled Ron, making the others giggle. "If something happened to a player at the last minute before the game started, we could still send in an alternate player for that game?"

Madam Hooch nodded again. "That's correct, Mr. Weasley."

"Now we're getting somewhere," murmured Fred, staring at his clipboard.

"That's perfect!" exclaimed Katie. "What say you, Ginny? Care to be our alternate Seeker in case something happens to Harry?"

"Like always," Harry muttered.

Ron stared at him for several moments. Then he calmly got up, walked quietly over to the ball box, picked up a Beater's bat, walked calmly back over to the team, and solidly whacked Harry on the head.

"Eow!"

"Now, now, enough of that, Mr. Weasley," said Madam Hooch sternly, despite the quirk of her lips, and the rest of the team hid their smiles.

"Sorry, Madam Hooch. I don't know what came over me!"

"A word of advice, Mr. Weasley. If you desire to win this year's Quidditch Cup, corporal punishment of your teammates should be confined to the non-brain-damaging variety."

"Make a note of that, Watson!" said Fred, handing the clipboard to Lavinia, who duly wrote it down with a straight face. Harry debated silently who to hex first after Madam Hooch left.

"Now that that little matter's settled, what about it, Ginny?" asked Ron pointedly.

"Of course, I'd like to be alternate Seeker! But could I still try out for Chaser?"

"Are you feeling up to it?"

"Yeah, I think so. Come on, let's have one more mini-game!"

"Right-o, then!" Ron jumped up. "Fred, George, set us a new lineup with Ginny as a Chaser candidate. Anyone else want to try out for another position? Now's your chance!"

The aspiring players pressed forward eagerly. Fred scribbled on his clipboard for a moment, then began, "All right, here's the new lineup. Red team: Ginny, Dean, and…"

And that was that. Harry found that he rather enjoyed his stints as Beater and Chaser, and thought perhaps it was a good strategy to be training all the players for more than one position.

In the end, Harry managed to get out of being elected captain by pointing out that the team hardly wanted a potentially-brain-damaged leader, and Ron was elected, to the delight of the twins and Ginny.

Harry thought Ron was better-suited anyway; he was the strategist of the two, as their chess matches frequently showed. Ron remained Keeper, with Seamus as his alternate. Dennis, Ginny, and Katie got the chaser positions, with Giles Fitzgerald and Jonathan Long as their alternates. Ginny, of course, was also Harry's alternate, and most of the team quietly agreed that given Harry's tendency to wind up hospital wing-bound for at least one game per year, she'd get some Seeker playing time. Andrew Kirk and Lavinia Watson made Beater, and the Gryffindor team was complete.

"You have how many people on the team?" demanded Neville when Ron told him about the new lineup.

"Well, seven, same as always," said Ron cheerfully.

"But I thought—"

"We're allowed to train up substitutes. It's just that most House teams don't have enough potential players to do that. How else could the professional teams last through such long games when both Seekers are even matches? They have to have substitutes, but then again, they've got the whole Quidditch-playing world to choose from. We just got lucky this year I guess," said Ginny, coming to sit down nearby.

"This is terrific! The other houses won't stand a chance! If someone gets hurt, we can just rotate!" said Colin Creevy.

Harry shook his head, "It doesn't work that way, Colin. We can't substitute players in the middle of a game unless it runs…what was it, Hermione?"

"A game has to run six hours before a team can start in-match substitutions," Hermione recited, without looking up from her Arithmancy book.

"So for most games, we have to decide ahead of time who to field," finished Ron.

"Still," said Vinny Watson, "it'll help us avoid those disasters when Harry wound up in the hospital wing and—" she broke off and turned bright red.

Harry hastily nodded, pushing down a surge of annoyance at the way they all seemed to mince around him. It was, after all, better than when they hadn't believed anything he said. "Yeah, I do have a knack for getting myself injured halfway through the season. Now we've got Ginny, who's plenty experienced enough to hold down the team if we need her."

"What's this, Potter? You're such an unreliable Seeker that now Gryffindor's got to train someone else just to take up your slack?" said a familiar and much-hated voice. Several of the Gryffindors groaned loudly, and for some reason, that made Harry feel less aggravated.

"Malfoy!" Harry said sarcastically. "I'm surprised at you! We've been here for nearly five whole minutes, and you haven't said a single nasty thing!"

"Righ' about' that, old boy," said Ron with his mouth full of bread. "We wuh beginnin' tithing you didn' wanna be friends 'ny moh."

Hermione's eyes sparkled as she leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand, "Yeah, Malfoy. Harry was afraid you didn't love him any more! You usually spend so much time with him!"

Malfoy's face turned a lovely shade of maroon, and he muttered something through thin lips about, "Filthy mudbloods," and wandered away. Neville looked at the three of them in awed delight as Hermione clapped her hands together and Ron slapped the tabletop with glee. The twins, who had stayed for dinner at Professor Dumbledore's own invitation, applauded.

"I don't think we've ever shut him up so well!" Hermione whispered happily.

"He's nod so thuff widdout Big Ba' Da' aroun' to freaten peoble," said Ron, around another mouthful.

"For heaven's sake, Ron, swallow!"

"Sowwy." (Gulp!) "Hey, Harry, I saw Snape arguing with Madam Hooch earlier. I don't think he's very happy to see how strong our team's going to be this year either!"

Harry raised his eyebrows and frowned at Ron over his juice glass. "That's not a nice thing to say. You know I won't be able to sleep at night knowing that I haven't made Snape happy."

Then their entire section of table erupted into howls of laughter, as Fred and George gravely got up and came over to feel Harry's forehead for signs of fever, and the Slytherin professor in question scowled down at them from the head table as if he knew exactly what they were laughing at. Of course, he was too far away to have heard what Harry said, but Ron was also of the opinion that it gave Snape indigestion to see Gryffindors smile.

By the time Harry was headed down to the dungeons, Occlumency did not even seem the giant wall of misery that it had been before. Maybe it was simply because the day had gone far too well for Harry to allow anything to spoil it.

Not even Snape.

He remembered the advice Remus had given him after Curse Defense, and told himself, Just don't let him get a rise out of you. Don't react. Think about today, about the Quidditch team, and the wind and the blue sky—and how satisfying it felt to whack those Bludgers. Reaching Snape's office, he took a deep breath and knocked.

"Enter."

Snape was standing behind his desk. Harry met his cold gaze and walked across the room without dropping it. You can do this. You can do this. Without waiting for Snape to give his usual greeting of combined insults and criticism, he pulled out his wand. "I'm ready."

Something flashed through Snape's eyes that might have been surprise, but he gave a curt nod and said snidely, "If you say so, Potter. Legilimens!"

Breathe…Sirius's body curved in a graceful arc as he sank bankward toward the ragged veil hanging from the arch…Harry could see Snape muttering…

"Protego!"

It was the fastest he'd ever reacted, and Snape was obviously not prepared. His wand was knocked right from his hand, and Harry saw the teenaged Snape hanging upside down, suspended by his father's spell…a handsome blonde boy in a Slytherin robe was strolling with a group of friends, beckoning to a solitary dark-haired boy leaning against a wall…a red-haired, green-eyed girl and a black-haired boy with glasses were sitting very close together at a table while a greasy-haired boy watched them…

Something collided with Harry's shoulder, and he stumbled. The book hit the floor with a loud thud. Snape was glaring at him, white-faced again. "Is it possible for you to keep your nose out of my business, Potter?"

Think about flying, think about hitting Bludgers… Harry took a deep breath and fought—hard—against a surge of irritation. "I don't know how to keep that from happening. Sir. I wasn't trying to do it."

"Then, don't." Harry mentally rolled his eyes. Snape just wanted an excuse to be angry at him. "On the count of three. One—two—three—Legilimens!"

Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil…he concentrated hard, dragging Snape's face to the forefront of his mind, there he was…the veil fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind…Harry closed his eyes…the veil fell back into place…Harry lowered his wand and brought into his mind the bowls of Pearl Peas in all their colors, white, gray, peach, gold, bronze, silver, blue, reflecting the sunlight…the Department of Mysteries had disappeared, but he heard Bellatrix Lestrange's triumphant scream and his heart lurched, but then he gritted his teeth and thought of the wind in his hair as he streaked skyward after the Bludgers…concentrate, concentrate…soaring high above the pitch and taking aim with both arms behind the bat—whack!

Harry's eyes flew open, and he staggered backward, panting, his heart pounding, but every part of him practically bellowing triumph. Snape's face was utterly blank as he lowered his wand, and that was all the confirmation Harry needed: he'd done it. He'd done it!

He couldn't keep the smile from his face, not even when Snape sneered, "Don't get cocky, Potter, this is the first time you've managed to shield yourself in all the months we've been attempting these lessons."

Harry let himself grin. He knew Snape would probably go searching for a new wound to tear open, but it didn't matter. It was finally working. Wonder if I should tell him I was acting on some advice REMUS gave me! Ha! Instead, he said mildly, "Again, then?"

"Lower your wand, Potter," said Snape. "In all probability if your mind is attacked by the Dark Lord face-to-face, you will not have your wand at your disposal. You've shielded yourself once, let us see now if you can do it consistently."

Taking a deep breath, Harry did so, and closed his eyes.

"Legilimens!"

The front door of Privet Drive was exploding inward…Harry gasped, seeking the memories of flying under the clear blue sky…he heard Aunt Petunia screaming for him to get Vernon…his throat tightened…he was losing it…he held onto the colors of the Pearl Peas for a few seconds, but the silver-gray gave way suddenly to the gray ash covering Uncle Vernon's body as Harry rushed up to him…No, no...he heard Voldemort's cackling laugh as knelt on the floor in despair…Harry's eyes flew open so he could see Snape concentrating…in desperation, he raised his wand and shouted with all his strength.

"Protego!"

The force of his shield sent Snape crashing backward against his desk, and Harry was too rattled by his own failure to stop his mind from crashing into Snape's memories: a greasy-haired young man was kneeling before a hooded, red-eyed wizard with his left forearm held out beneath the wizard's wand…a wizard in black robes and a white mask hung back and watched silently as others like him gleefully hexed a family of Muggles…the same young man was hovering in the shadows of the entrance to Hogwarts as though trying to find the courage to go in…a greasy-haired man watched with clenched fists as two other wizards dragged a semiconscious, black-haired teenager into a stone tomb…

"Expelliarmus!" Harry's wand flew from his hand, and he jerked instinctively backward at the sight of Snape directly in front of him. "What did I tell you about staying out of my memories?" Snape roared.

"I don't know how!" Harry yelled back before he could stop himself.

"Do not take me for a fool, Potter," Snape growled at him. "After your little stunt with the Pensieve, do you expect me to believe your nosiness does not drive you now?"

"Do you think I want to see what you and your Death Eater friends got up to!"

Harry froze when he realized what he'd said. Snape was dead silent, still white-faced, his eyes on Harry burning with hate. Before Harry knew what he was doing, he blurted out, "I'm sorry!"

It was hard to say then which of them was most surprised—Harry hadn't meant to say that either.

Snape let out a cold laugh. "Nonsense, Potter. You are no such thing."

Harry sighed miserably, thinking of what Lupin had said the other night. Avoiding Snape's eyes, he muttered, "Yes, I am."

When they got up the next morning, Ron said he had something to take care of and went downstairs early. Harry came down to find Ron and Hermione whispering urgently to each other in the common room. "It's ridiculous to go on this way as if we're ashamed!"

"I just don't know if I'm ready—"

"You're not being fair to keep it from him!"

"Why can't you tell him then?"

"Tell who what?" Harry asked.

Ron and Hermione both jumped. "Er…nothing, mate. Just something about…never mind," said Ron, his ears glowing red. "Let's go have breakfast!" And they both scrambled for the portrait hole before Harry could press further, to his annoyance.

He tried to ask about it twice during breakfast, but his friends stubbornly insisted it was nothing to do with him. Ginny rolled her eyes at him, but offered no explanations. Hermione was reading over her Specialized Defense essay yet again. "I saw Professor Smythe-Wellington having wand targets brought into school last night. Today's lesson should be interesting!"

That was enough to distract him. "At last, we're getting off the bloody word puzzles!"

Hermione looked annoyed at him, but Ron nodded in agreement. "We know being in Law Enforcement means learning to think, but we've got to learn to fight too."

"You may be surprised to find how often closely those two skills are connected, Ronald."

A few hours later, Ron would mutter to Harry that perhaps from then on they should just do whatever Hermione told them to do whenever she told them to do it and let her lead them both around on leashes. At least they wouldn't get embarrassed so often. The only good thing to come out of that class was that Harry and Ron were definitely not alone in their embarrassment.

There were indeed over a dozen target practice dummies leaning against the classroom wall when the Specialized Defense students arrived. They were all dressed up like people. Professor Smythe-Wellington watched the class's excited whisperings as they filed in.

"Today," she said when they settled down. "You will be learning how to read a situation and react defensively or offensively under pressure. We will begin with each of you taking part in a simple drill—a very common one, in fact, which we use in Auror training." Harry and Ron grinned at each other in delight. For once Smythe-Wellington didn't snap at them, but went on explaining, "Each of you will stand alone with these target dummies for precisely thirty seconds. The rules are simple: you may use Reducto, but no other curse—if you hit the target, it will be more than effective."

She raised an eyebrow as the class tittered and continued, "The dummies' wands will shoot you with a Stinging Hex—but if you are hit, assume you are dead." There was another wave of giggles. "You must judge for yourself how best to respond; each dummy is enchanted to a certain level of aggression—some can duck," she added. "If you have not been stung by the end of thirty seconds, then you have survived. Now," she waved her wand, and four walls suddenly sprang up in the middle of the room, hiding the dummies from view. "It would be a disadvantage for those who enter last to see how the dummies respond, so you will each enter alone. Who would care to go first?"

Nearly every hand in the room shot up. "Miss Patil, come up then." Smythe-Wellington stopped Padma just before she entered the little space. "I will give you all this final suggestion: treat this situation as if the dummies are real human beings, and you are encountering them in the street. Understood? Very well. When you have all walked the gauntlet, we will discuss each of your performances. Proceed, Miss Patil."

Padma drew her wand with a nervous grin and marched into the little newly-built practice course. All the students leaned forward. And then, "Reducto! Red—ooh! Reducto!" There were wild crashes from inside as dummies were blown apart, but in less than ten heart-pounding seconds, Padma shrieked. "OW!"

"She's bought it!" laughed Draco.

"Another word from you, Mr. Malfoy, and you will spend this class writing lines rather than taking part in this exercise in addition to the fifty points I take from your House," growled Smythe-Wellington from the course doorway. Peering inside, she said, "Reparo! Return to your seat, Miss Patil. Next: Mr. Zabini."

Zabini fared little better; he only lasted five seconds or so longer than Padma had, though from the sound of it, he "killed" more dummies. Harry hadn't the faintest idea what the dummies must be doing in there. Between the shouting of curses and the explosions, it was impossible to tell—which was probably what Smythe-Wellington had in mind. From what he could gather, he was proud to note that all in all, the D.A. members in the class seemed to last longer than non-D.A. members.

Neville lasted nearly the entire thirty seconds, and from the sound of it, blasted nearly all of the dummies. Harry was very impressed and winked at him as soon as Smythe-Wellington's back was turned. Malfoy, to Harry's disgust, was the first to come out "alive."

Ron sounded like he was doing well, but came out after twenty seconds with a sting on the back of his neck, looking thoroughly disgusted. Hermione survived for almost the full length but seemed to hit fewer dummies, and came out giving Harry a very urgent look, until Smythe-Wellington snapped, "Eyes up front, Granger!"

Susan Bones lasted for quite awhile as well, but hardly hit anything, and they could hear her scrambling frantically to avoid the dummies' shots. Then it was Harry's turn. Determined to do as well as Malfoy, he drew his wand before even walking in, but then thought better of it: that might make the dummies go after him before he even got into a good position. Instead, he went carefully to the entrance and tried to peer inside before charging through. Smythe-Wellington did nothing to hurry him along, so he looked to see that the makeshift room had indeed been enchanted to look like a dark alley. Taking a deep breath (ignoring the stifled sniggers from the Slytherins) he slipped inside and ducked behind a rubbish bin.

The nearest dummy immediately turned and pointed its fake wand at him. "Reducto!" Harry shouted, and blasted it to smithereens. Then they all started to glide around the course, and he got to work, keeping his eyes on them all and blasting them as soon as they turned in his direction. One dummy in a hideous green suit made to hide behind a building, and Harry abandoned his own hiding place, blasting two more as he went so he could run it down. He had a close scrape where one hit the wall next to him, but he was able to duck in time, then blast it.

It was intense. It was exciting—not to mention satisfying. Harry imagined the one in gray as Draco Malfoy, the ones in red as Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange—and one of the ones in black as Snape. And the one in green as Wormtail. Before he knew it, he was standing in the middle of the "street" with destroyed dummies all around him. He'd made it.

Professor Smythe-Wellington's lips twitched ever so slightly as she looked in at him and repaired the dummies. "Move along, Potter. MacMillian, you're next." Harry was very glad she couldn't see the broad grin on his face as he returned to his desk, and she seemed to ignore the whispered praise of his classmates—he'd finished much faster than Malfoy.

When they'd all done, their Professor removed the training room (despite pleas from a few students to do it over again) and sat down at her desk. "Now, you will find this second half of the lesson rather discomfiting, but I assure you, if you wish to pursue careers in Magical Law Enforcement, you shall have to become accustomed to oral evaluations…in public." Several students moaned softly. "These remarks are not intended to insult any of you personally, but to give honest and critical professional opinions of your performance. Now…in all, I noticed particularly swift reactions in most of you, far quicker and more assertive than is normal for your age group." Many D.A. members turned to grin at Harry, and he bit the inside of his mouth to keep his face politely attentive.

Smythe-Wellington went on, "Now, like all aspects of Magical Law Enforcement, this has its positives and negatives. You defended yourselves well, very well in many cases, yet I noticed a disturbingly strong tendency toward over-aggression. In particular," her eyes fixed upon Draco, then upon Harry before either boy had a chance to react. "Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter. Oh, and Mr. Longbottom also has this dubious honor." Harry and Neville gaped at each other. Smythe-Wellington smirked at their confusion. "I did say, did I not, that you should respond as though you were encountering these people upon the street?"

She waved her wand at the dummies, which stepped forward. "You did notice, did you not, their manner of dress? This should have been a clue to you of how you ought to treat them." Soft gasps rang out, and many students buried their faces in their hands. Harry's heart was sinking slowly to his feet. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, are you in the habit of hunting down and cursing helpless Muggles in the street?"

Harry stared at the dummy in the green suit and stifled a groan. Before Draco could so much as sneer, Smythe-Wellington whirled on him and gestured to the three dummies in red robes. "And you, Mr. Malfoy, you do realize that you killed all three of your fellow Aurors even as they attempted to back you?" Harry couldn't laugh at that either—he'd done the same thing. "And you as well, Mr. Longbottom, you were so busy cursing friendly wizards that you left yourself open to be hit by a hostile one."

Smythe-Wellington stared down each of the shamefaced boys in turn, then continued, "You three received the lowest marks on this exercise." Neville buried his face in his hands. "Mr. Potter, you managed to scrape a two instead of one out of ten, because you at least paused to assess the situation before charging in—although I am sorely tempted to take back that point for your astonishing inability to process what you had taken the time to see. Now," her face softened, and she turned to the rest of the class.

"Miss Bones, you received the highest marks, as you were not over-aggressive and did appear to grasp the significance of the Muggle dummies—although your targeting needs work. You also failed to notice that the three Auror dummies were not aiming their wands at you. Miss Granger, you spent far too long deciding whether each dummy was aggressive, and opened yourself up to attack. You must react more swiftly in such a situation—wipe that smirk off your face, Mr. MacMillian, for you seemed determined to take out lampposts rather than targets!"

And so it went. It was a sorry group of sixth years who crept out of Specialized Defense dragging the tattered remnants of their egos before lunch time. Harry was so anxious to get as far from that classroom as possible that he bolted the minute he got out the door, and Ron and Hermione had to chase him down.

"Harry, wait!" Hermione pleaded. "Don't feel badly, nobody was really supposed to do well! This was just to teach us a lesson!"

"Bones did well," Ron groaned. "I'm with Harry; let's go bury ourselves in one of the greenhouses for a few weeks until our faces stop being red!"

"You did better than me," Harry muttered, leaning against the wall without looking at them. "I was a bloody disaster."

Hermione jumped in front of both of them. "Don't take it to heart! This was our first practical exercise! She said—"

"You didn't see her face when I finished, Hermione, I think she was laughing at me," said Harry. "She knows I want to be an Auror, and she doesn't think I have a prayer!"

"Well, if you go and give up after one little snag, then no, you won't have a prayer," Hermione said fiercely. Harry glared at her, but she folded her arms. "Do you really want to do it or not?"

"You know I do!" he snapped, exasperated.

"And you've had bad practices in your precious Quidditch, haven't you? Did you give up after them?"

Harry threw up his hands. "Nobody got killed in a bad Quidditch practice!"

"And nobody got killed today." Hermione sat down on the stairs so Ron and Harry couldn't get past her. "That's what exercises like these are all about—teaching us our strengths and our weaknesses so we can learn to deal with them in training."

"Are you done lecturing yet?" Harry growled.

"Fine!" she snapped, jumping up. "I was just trying to make you feel better, but if you want to sit around and feel sorry for yourself, who am I to stop you!" And she flew up the stairs, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

Hermione and Harry barely spoke to each other for the rest of the day, and to make matters worse, Ron seemed to have sided with Hermione. Harry saw them whispering and shooting each other significant looks in the common room that night, so he furiously went to bed early, even though he would be leaving in the morning with Snape.

Between those two thoughts, he didn't manage to clear his mind at all before bed, and his dreams were plagued by visions of the underground tunnels Remus said were in the Wizarding Congress's building. He also saw a room that seemed very deep underground, dimly lit, and containing a a single, very old and worn stone pillar that reminded Harry painfully of the archway in the Department of Mysteries.

That comparison alone woke him with a jolt at three in the morning. He supposed he'd better mention it, though it guaranteed him another reaming out from Snape.

And so Saturday dawned like a yet another bad dream, and Dobby came to wake him at seven. "Mistress McGonagall says you is to be getting up now, Harry Potter," he whispered loudly, and held up a small suitcase. "She says Harry Potter is already packed for the trip, so to come and wear your school uniform."

"Thanks, Dobby. Tell her I'll be right down," Harry groaned.

As he dragged himself out of bed, Ron stirred and mumbled at him, "Going?"

"Yeah," he said, getting dressed.

Rubbing his eyes, Ron pulled a face. "They would drag you off at this ungodly hour, wouldn't they?"

"Perfect start to an ungodly trip," Harry said.

Ron nodded sympathetically and watched Harry for a few moments before saying, "Listen, before you go…" Harry paused from pulling on his school robe and looked back. Ron was blushing. "Hermione wanted me to tell you to be careful. You know…she didn't mean anything by it yesterday."

Harry sighed. "I know. Tell her I'm sorry, would you?" Seeing Ron's frown, he added, "I'd tell her myself, but it's early, and I've no way to get to the girls' dormitory without waking up everybody else. No need to ruin the whole House's Saturday morning."

"True, I guess."

Harry put his Specialized Defense textbook into his bookbag along with his notebook. He had a feeling he would need something to occupy himself. He thought of bringing his Potions text, but spitefully decided against it. He paused before closing the bag and grinned up at Ron, who was watching him over the side of his bed. "Tell Hermione I took this with me," he said, holding up the Specialized Defense book.

Ron grinned back. "I think I'll let her drag me to the library to study for that class. We won't let old Smythe-Wellington discourage us!"

"Right!" Harry slapped his hand.

Two beds away, a lump of blankets stirred and grumbled, "Shuddup, will ya?"

"Sorry!" Ron whispered, and they both sniggered. He leaned toward Harry and whispered, "Good luck! And watch yourself!"

Harry picked up his book bag and waved. "See you tomorrow night!"

Dobby led Harry to a small meeting room with a dark oak table covered in food. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Lupin, and Snape were waiting for him, along with Minister Fudge, Ambassador Payton, and, standing beside Fudge with a suitcase in his hand and a pompous look on his face, Percy Weasley.

Harry stopped in the doorway and fought the urge to sigh. Could the next two days possibly look any bleaker?

"Come in, Harry," said Dumbledore, beckoning him to the table. "Have some breakfast before you leave."

Harry went slowly to the seat next to Lupin, hoping it didn't look too much like he was retreating from Fudge and Percy—and Snape. At least the food gave him something else to concentrate on. "There were a few things we naturally must go over with you before your departure, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall. He looked up at her and waited, so she went on, "As you may or may not know, the headquarters of the American wizarding government exists in the same building as the American Muggle government." Harry nodded. "For that reason, we are sending you with clothing that will allow you to pass—respectably," she added with a faint smile, "as a Muggle. It is the policy of American wizards to coexist closely with their Muggle community, but their standards for secrecy are just as strong as ours. Fortunately, you are experienced at interacting with Muggles, so I assume you know how to conduct yourself in their presence."

Harry nodded again, but frowned thoughtfully, "Surely they do magic sometimes."

"Sure we do," said Payton, looking up from his grapefruit. "We're in the same buildings, but our offices are in the lower levels. Works out fine. Just no magic allowed outside the offices."

"Except in self-defense, naturally," said Lupin from next to Harry.

"I doubt that will be necessary," Snape sneered, "as long as the boy doesn't get into any mischief."

"Harry wasn't getting into mischief the last time Voldemort decided to come calling—"

"Remus, please," said Dumbledore as the others flinched. "Every precaution is being taken to ensure Harry's safety. Ambassador Payton has been discreetly making preparations for the past few days, and Professor Snape is well-experienced with the methods of Lord Voldemort."

"I'll bet he is," Payton remarked. Snape smirked. Percy sniffed.

"In any case, Harry, for secrecy reasons, I suggest that you do not use magic at any time for any reason except self-defense," said Dumbledore. "To do so would provide unfriendly wizards with yet another means of tracking you."

Harry finished his toast and looked at Professor McGonagall. "Is there anything else?"

She looked at him sternly. "Only to impress upon you that you are representing not only yourself and Hogwarts, but all of Wizarding Britain, Mr. Potter. It should be clear to you that you are functioning as an Ambassador yourself in this endeavor, and your success could mean a good deal of support for us in the war with the resources of a nation who remained neutral last time. I trust you will behave accordingly?"

Harry nodded gravely. Dumbledore still did not meet his eyes, but he smiled. "Then all that remains is to wish you luck. Shall we?"

Dumbledore led the way out of the castle toward Hagrid's cabin. Harry saw Hagrid appear and wave at Dumbledore before disappearing behind it. He glanced over his shoulder, wondering how secret this trip really would be. "Not to worry, Harry," said Lupin, walking beside him. "Professor Dumbledore charmed all the dormitories so the occupants would think this was an excellent morning for a good sleep in."

Startled, Harry asked, "Does he do that often to keep people from seeing things?"

"Very seldom," said Professor Dumbledore. "And it is hardly a controlling spell—I believe at least two people in Gryffindor have interests in the windows that have overridden the desire to sleep in." He smiled and gave Harry a little wink, then turned toward Hagrid's cabin. "Ah, here we are!"

From behind the cabin came a carriage, painted a dark gray and drawn by a team of six gray winged horses. Hagrid grinned at Harry. "Beautiful, aren't they? Granians, sent special by the Ministry! They'll have yeh to the point in under three hours!"

"They're flying us across the Atlantic Ocean in three hours?" Harry exclaimed.

Lupin laughed, "No, the carriage will be taking you to a departure point. It's an intercontinental portkey—you'll find a few of them in most countries. It'll take the whole carriage straight from Belfast to Washington."

Hagrid took Harry, Snape, and Percy's bags and stowed them in the back of the carriage. "All set, Headmaster. The Granians'll know where ter go."

Professor Dumbledore extended a hand to Percy, who shook it after a brief hesitation. "All the best, Mr. Weasley. Severus," he put a hand on Snape's shoulder and looked him in the eyes. "I have great faith in you. Take care." Snape simply nodded. Dumbledore turned and smiled in Harry's direction without actually looking at him. Harry knew the reasons for it, but it still rankled him that Dumbledore could look Snape and even Percy in the face and not him. "Good luck, Harry. Come back safely."

Harry shook Fudge and Payton's hands in farewell, and Professor McGonagall took one of his hands in both of hers. "Be careful, Mr. Potter."

"I will, Professor," he said, and then Lupin came to see him. Once again, Harry found himself remembering Remus on the steps of Number Four, Privet Drive. At the moment, Remus looked as if he wanted to drag Harry away from that carriage. "I'll be careful," Harry repeated quietly.

"I know," Lupin replied, aware that Fudge and Percy were watching. He smiled and murmured, "Your godfather—and probably your father—would most likely be giving you loads of advice right now about all the trouble you should cause on this trip. But do me the favor of ignoring it, would you?"

Harry had to grin. "I promise." They shook hands discreetly, but both their grips were tight.

"See you tomorrow night." Then Lupin stepped away so Hagrid could sweep Harry into a massive hug of farewell.

"Take care o' yerself, Harry!"

"Bye, Hagrid!" Harry grunted before Hagrid stopped crushing his ribs. Then Hagrid went to stand with Fudge, Payton, and the Professors, and Harry found himself standing beside the carriage with Snape and Percy—and with an increasing sense of dread at the impending forty-eight hours of misery.

"After you, Potter," said Snape in a snide tone, and with a mental sigh, Harry climbed in, sitting on the wide, velvet-upholstered seat and peering out the window at Remus and Hagrid. Percy and Snape followed, sharing the opposite seat because clearly neither one wanted to sit beside Harry. Harry refused to look at either of them, and kept his eyes on Remus as Percy tapped the ceiling with his wand.

Curiosity got the better of Harry, and he leaned out the window a little to watch the winged horses break into a trot, swinging the carriage out onto the field and gathering speed. Harry glanced, wide-eyed, back at the grinning Hagrid, and even Remus and the other Professors were chuckling as they waved goodbye. Harry stuck a hand out and waved back, then watched as the Granians spread their gray wings and lifted the carriage off the ground.

Remembering what Dumbledore had said, Harry turned toward Gryffindor Tower as they soared past it. He couldn't see whether anyone was at the windows—they were going by too fast—but somehow he just had this feeling that Ron and Hermione were there. He waved.

Within a minute, the Granians had swept the carriage around past the mountains, and Hogwarts was gone. Harry pulled his head back in with a sigh. Percy had pulled out a book and was determinedly ignoring Harry, and Snape said, "If you're finished with your grand send-off, Potter, kindly do us the courtesy of being quiet for the remainder of the trip."

Harry didn't bother answering, but pulled out his Specialized Defense book and a notebook and spent the next three hours working his way through the latest Auror chapter's Problem-Solving and Critical-Thinking Exercises. Hermione would have been proud.

Some time later, the feeling of descending made him emerge from a frustrating question about whether to draw his wand when approaching a witness to a crime who might also happen to be a suspect, and he peered out the window. They were definitely lowering through the crowds. Percy reached up and pulled a lever in the ceiling, and Harry watched with fascination as the outside of the carriage and the winged horses were Disillusioned—as was his own head anytime he stuck it out to look around. But there was nothing to see until they finally broke through the cloud cover, then a city spread out below them.

They swept downward at a dizzying angle, heading for what looked like an empty airplane hanger. At first, Harry thought he saw wisps of smoke in the air as they approached, but he realized they were other Disillusioned carriages. When they had nearly reached the ground, the charms vanished, and the area was as busy as an airport terminal with people carrying luggage and carriages running back and forth.

Their carriage touched down, and the Granians fell into a trot in a line of other carriages. Up at the front, Harry could see a wizard taking some kind of tickets from the people inside each one. "Get your head in, you stupid boy!" Snape snapped at him. "And cover your forehead."

Gritting his teeth, Harry did so, and ducked his head over his books as their carriage reached the attendant. "Destination?"

"Washington, DC, United States," said Snape. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw him hand a small parchment to the attendant, who stamped it and handed it back.

"You're fifth in line. Put away all loose items and come to a full stop on the platform," said the wizard, and he waved the Granians on.

Without giving Snape a chance to snap at him again, Harry quickly closed his books and stowed them in his bag, holding it tightly in his lap. He stared out the window as they rolled slowly on, and watched another line of carriages moving to another platform parallel to them. A carriage rolled onto the platform and came to a stop, then the platform disappeared. As Harry looked on in fascination, a few moments later the platform reappeared, with a different carriage on top that rolled off so the next one in line could roll on.

It was like a magical airport—only faster.

Their carriage bumped up onto their own platform and rolled to a stop. Instead of a tug on his navel, Harry felt the movement in his whole body, and screwed his eyes shut as the carriage sped away in a whirl of wind and color.

They landed with a loud thud that jolted Harry off the seat, forcing him to grab the armrest to steady himself. The first thing he noticed was how warm the air coming through the windows was. Bursting with curiosity, he peered out the window.

"Expecting fanfare, Potter?" Snape sneered, but Harry ignored him, flattening down his fringe so he could lean further out.

They were galloping away from the platform onto a green field surrounded by lush, hilly countryside in a breathtaking array of fall colors. Harry saw no sign of the American capital city. "Where are we?" he asked without thinking.

"Falls Church, Virginia," said Percy. "It's to the west of the city, some miles out for security, though still far too well-populated in my opinion. I can't imagine what possesses American wizards to live this way, disguising themselves as Muggles to live and work among them." He sounded so disdainful that Harry stared at him.

The carriage rolled to stop beside a dirt road, where four men in gray suits were standing beside a shiny black car. One of them approached the window. "Hogwarts party?"

"That's correct," sniffed Percy. "And you are?"

"Don Spalding, Federal Magical Security."

Percy and Snape nodded to each other, apparently satisfied that the wizards were genuine, and Snape shoved open the door and jumped down. Percy disembarked after him, leaving Harry to climb tentatively out, dragging his book bag.

"I am Percy Weasley, Junior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, and this is Professor Severus Snape of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Percy recited in an appallingly aloof voice. He did not mention Harry's name, though Harry got the impression that was out of secrecy rather than spite, so he hefted his book bag and said nothing.

"Allow me," said Spalding, taking Harry's book bag, and gesturing to one of the others to help Snape and Percy. Leaning close to Harry, he held out a hand and said in a low voice, "Welcome to the U.S.A., Mr. Potter."

Harry was startled by the sly smile the American wizard gave him, but shook his hand and said, "Thank you."

"This way, gentlemen," said one of the others, and they opened the car door for Harry.

As they drove, Spalding said, "We'll be your escorts while you're on American soil. Incognito, you understand. We'll stop at the hotel so you can switch to non-magic attire. The U.S. Capitol is a Level One security zone—full Muggle interaction at all times."

"That seems a dreadfully inconvenient way to run things," said Percy.

Harry cringed, hoping Percy wasn't going to start offending the foreign wizards, but Spalding just shrugged. "Inconvenience ain't a good enough reason to ignore the Muggle populace, as far as we're concerned. We do pretty well."

Curiosity got the better of Harry. "Don't Muggle police or guards ever ask you what you're doing in their government buildings?"

Spalding grinned at him in the rear view mirror. "Sure they do, and our reasons are perfectly legit. You'll see."

They arrived at what appeared to be a red brick mansion nestled in the trees. "Is this the regular foreign wizard accommodation?" Percy asked curiously.

"Uh-uh. This one's exclusively for high-security VIPs. When you leave, you won't be able to find it again. No one can who's not driven with prior approval by one of our cars."

"That's well," said Snape gruffly.

They were led through the glittering hotel lobby, before Harry had a chance to gawk at the gleaming marble floors and columns and chandeliers, and up the stairs to three rooms. "This is your room, Mr. Potter, in the middle," said one of the other guards. Perched upon a stand next to Harry's door was an enormous bald eagle.

Spalding grinned at Harry's startled face. "That's Prairie. She's one of our guards. They work in shifts; the other two are Trouble and T.J. If anyone tries to get through this door who isn't one of us," he pointed at the other three escorts, "or one of you," he nodded at Percy and Snape, "they'll get their eyes gouged out. And if you ever arrive to find the stand empty," Prarie flapped her wings vigorously, "or if the eagle doesn't do that, get the hell downstairs and call for help."

Harry nodded gravely, then Prarie pecked a small notch in the wall behind her perch, and his door swung open. "Be ready to go in ten minutes, Potter," said Snape.

The room was the most luxurious place Harry had ever laid eyes on, but he didn't have much time to look around. One of the guards had deposited his suitcase on the bed, so as soon as the door closed, he threw it open and hustled into a pair of plain, dark gray trousers and a maroon shirt that would feel much cooler than the finely-knit jumpers in such hot, humid weather. He was in front of the mirror trying to comb his hair down over his scar (and the mirror kept telling him, "Give it up, hon, it's hopeless,") when Snape rapped on the door and yelled at him to hurry it up.

They drove to Washington down a busy highway through Arlington, Virginia. On the way, Spalding handed Harry, Snape, and Percy identification badges that read, Future Youth Leaders International Relations Summit, Hogwarts Prep.

The guards were now all sporting badges that read, CIA.

"Can you get away with that!" Harry exclaimed, knowing full well who the CIA were.

"Sure we can," Spalding laughed. "Truth be told, the badges are genuine. FMS is a branch of the CIA, although our Muggle colleagues believe we're the Fraud in Music Section. We tell them hysterical stories around the water cooler; they still think we're the ones who exposed Milli Vanilli."

Harry was baffled but couldn't help laughing, understanding more of what Spalding was talking about than either of his traveling companions. Snape's brow was furrowed in confusion, and Percy merely looked scornful.

The car was zooming along with the heavy traffic onto a bridge by then, and Spalding pointed ahead. "There's an impressive view coming up for you, Harry."

Harry peered ahead curiously as they rounded a final bend, then the high-rise offices gave way to a towering obelisk, pointing skyward from the center of a long, tree-lined park surrounded by white buildings, and down at the end of the park, a massive, domed edifice that seemed to glow against the blue autumn sky.

Harry didn't realize until he gasped that he'd stopped breathing.

Spalding grinned back at him. "You feel it, don't you?"

It was very odd; Harry did feel something. The entire city seemed to exude power, but not merely magical power the way Hogwarts did. It was unnerving, but not menacing the way Harry's various encounters with Voldemort felt. "What…what is that?"

"Washington, DC's a powerful city, by Muggle and magical standards," said Spalding. "The wizarding population had as much to do with its construction as Muggles—and our guys added a few touches of their own. It's the most warded city in the world. There's the White House," he added, pointing to a smaller building nestled among green lawns and trees as the car sped along the left side of the giant obelisk. "We're on the National Mall now. That's the Washington Monument," he gestured to the obelisk.

"Rather conspicuous for wizards so set on secrecy," said Percy.

"Oh, House side, Coop, House side," Spalding told the driver. To Percy, he said, "Wizards didn't build this stuff—the Muggles did that. Well, the designer of the Capitol was a wizard, but aside from him, our ancestors mostly added the magical touches. The Founding Fathers wanted to design a city that'd intimidate and humble foreign visitors," Spalding chuckled. "Let's just say the Founding Wizards made sure that if the design of the city didn't do it, the enchantments would."

Apparently, it had worked, Harry thought appreciatively, trying to read the names of the white marble buildings as they passed. They drove in front of the giant Capitol building…but in a rush of amusement, Harry realized that in spite of its sprawling, square sides and the tall dome, the building wasn't really that big, it only felt big. Magic.

Then the car was pulling up to the curb across the street from the Capitol's right side. "Hop out," said Spalding.

"Keep your head down, Potter," Snape muttered at Harry as they climbed out. He did so, but thought he looked more like a dangerous criminal than a visiting schoolboy with the knot of suited men around him. Percy looked comfortable enough in his gray coat and trousers, (he could easily have belonged there, in fact), but Snape looked as though he intended to make someone pay for forcing him into a black Muggle-style suit and tie (which in Harry's opinion were better-suited for a funeral than diplomacy.)

Spalding gestured to the strangely-shaped buildings in front of them. "The House Office Buildings. Home to the offices of members of the United States House of Representatives—both of them," he added with a grin. "The one we want is the Cannon Building, there on the end." They walked up the marble steps to a revolving door, and Spalding muttered at them, "Drop any watches or money in the basket and leave your wands hidden. Metal detectors won't pick them up."

"What?" exclaimed Percy in confusion.

"Just follow my lead." Spalding dropped some loose change and the gold watch he was wearing into a basket, then strolled through the squarish plastic archway. Harry caught his imagination doing nasty things to the metal detector and shook his head; he'd seen metal detectors long before he'd known about magic, how could he react like to them like this?

But the arch shape still made him cringe.

With helpless shrugs, Percy and Snape dropped their coins into the basket and followed Spalding through. Harry did the same, and as the police officer monitoring the equipment handed their baskets back, he blinked at them. "What're these things from?"

Harry's heart lurched: he, Snape, and Percy were carrying Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. The officer looked more curious than suspicious, so he hastily said, "Coin collection. Just bought them today," and emptied the baskets back into Percy and Snape's hands.

"Good thinking, kid," Spalding muttered at him. "Sorry, forgot to warn you."

"Do you use Muggle currency as well?" Percy asked.

Spalding shrugged. "We've tried to get them to use our currency a few times, but they just like to keep it for collections." He pulled a few coins from his pocket to show Harry. "Double Eagles, Sacajaweas, and Kennedys. This way to the stairwell."

The American Muggle government was certainly impressive enough, Harry decided, looking up at the rotunda they passed beneath on their way to the corridors. Feet echoed on the gleaming floors, and the soft lights and wooden office doors gave the cream-colored marble walls a golden look. Harry read some of the names next to the doors as they passed: U.S. Rep. Clint Verne, R-Florida, 6th District, U.S. Rep. Gill Flounder, R-California, 22nd District, U.S. Rep. Ray Bryce, D-North Carolina, 4th District.

They went through a side door with a sign for the men's toilet, which baffled Harry until he noticed that the lavatory was to one side, and the door Spalding was taking them to opened on a narrow stairwell that, for some unfathomable reason, had a hair salon nestled off the landing next to the defunct lift doors. "Is that for your people?" he whispered to Spalding as the barber waved cheerfully at them.

"Nope, the upper floors are all-Muggle space," said Spalding. "Our offices're in the basement levels between two of the House Office Buildings."

"Between two buildings?" Harry repeated.

"They're all connected by tunnels—and that was the Muggles," Spalding told him with a fatherly pride that reminded Harry of Mr. Weasley. "But there's more rooms down there than they could possibly need, so we've appropriated a few of them. And made sure the Muggles forgot that section's even there."

The basement corridor they emerged into was just even more bustling than the upper floors had been, and from the warning look Spalding gave them, these were all Muggles too! They passed through yet another rotunda—this one entirely underground with a large, scale rendering of the Capitol Building in marble in the center, and a bust of a man that winked at Harry as he went by—then Harry jerked to a halt.

They were entering another tunnel that sloped unmistakably downward; he had seen this place before. Snape gave him a nudge, and he forced his legs to carry him forward past a shoeshine booth into a corridor lined with bricks.

Harry knew he was gawking like a tourist, but the Muggles had built a veritable little city under their Capitol! There was a bank, a post office, a gift shop, an office supply store, a dry cleaners—even an ice cream parlor! The place was very crowded, and Snape and Spalding had Harry pressed in between them, making it hard for him to look around. The tunnel kept sloping downward until they finally rode a descending escalator under a sign that read Longworth HOB, and left the worst of the crowds behind for an area that appeared at first glance to be storerooms and mailrooms of some sort.

Then they reached a door with the gray paint peeling and a sign that read, Area Closed for Renovation, and Spalding surreptitiously pressed his badge against it. There was a little flash, and the sign changed to read, American Wizarding Congress, House of Representatives Offices, then the door swung open.

"We're heading for Kate Leland's office first, she's Chairwitch of the Magical Defense Committee," Spalding told them. "You'll have a chance to chat with her about what to expect from Lord You-Know-Who before lunch with the senior Members, and then the individual meetings today and tomorrow. Oh, and dinner with the Magical Defense Committee, breakfast tomorrow with the International Relations Committee, and lunch tomorrow with the IRS." He strode ahead to the first door while Harry stared after him, dumbstruck. Bloody hell, we're booked solid. He didn't dare look at Snape.

Spalding led them to a heavy, carved wooden door next to a nameplate that read, U.S.W. Rep. Katherine Leland, D-Florida, 5th District. The door opened to reveal, not a dusty storeroom, but a busy office suite.

A blonde witch around Percy's age was sitting behind the desk nestled in a corner right next to the door. "Morning, Mr. Spalding." Then she noticed Harry, and her jaw dropped. "Ohmigod! It's—"

"Easy, Pat," Spalding cautioned. Once the door had closed behind them, he said, "Yes, yes, this is Harry Potter. And this is Professor Snape from Hogwarts, and Mr. Weasley from the Ministry." Pat had recovered from the shock, but still shot Harry a broad grin, making him blush. Percy looked offended that his title had been omitted. "Let your boss know we're here."

Pat jumped up and went to a tall door on the other side of her desk. She rapped on it, then opened it a crack, and Harry heard her whisper, "Kate, they're here!"

"Right on time!" said someone, and two women came quickly out. The first was tall, with wavy, short brown hair and a very nice, warm smile that Harry couldn't help returning. The second witch was shorter than Harry was. She had chin-length, dark blonde hair, a broad smile, and keen, twinkling eyes that reminded Harry so much of Dumbledore that he was startled. She thrust out her hand at him and said in a slightly-drawling accent, "Hey, Harry, how are ya! Welcome to Washington, was your trip okay? It's gonna be a busy couple of days, but we'll make the most of it."

Wondering how someone so small could generate such an impression of power and at the same time seem so nice, Harry awkwardly shook her hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, Madam."

"Oh, sorry, guess you haven't been introduced," said Pat. "Harry, this is Congresswoman Kate Leland, and our Chief of Staff, Lila Brandon."

"Hi, Harry, good to meet you," said the tall woman, shaking his hand firmly.

"And I take it you've met Pat, she's our Scheduler," said the Congresswoman. Harry nodded, trying not to look as bewildered as he felt. "Let's have a seat in my office. We've got about ten minutes before we should head to the Committee Room for lunch."

She led them into a large room with a table, many chairs, and a loveseat all opposite a huge oak desk, which she scorned in favor of sitting cheerfully on one side of the loveseat and patting the opposite side for Harry to join her. He did so hesitantly, but this left him facing the others, and he caught a glimpse of Percy and Snape. Percy looked a bit sullen, but while Snape's face was completely blank, something in his eyes warned Harry that the almost-doting attention he was receiving from the American wizards and witches would not go unpunished later.

Congresswoman Leland's face was gentle as she regarded Harry. "So we're told you were the last person to see Alex alive?" Swallowing hard, Harry nodded. "And You-Know-Who didn't say anything about what he wanted over here?"

"No," Harry said quietly, looking at the covers of the books upon the coffee table. "It looked like he was after something down in these offices. I saw the tunnels."

"So do you think he's going to come here himself?" asked Lila Brandon in a concerned voice as though she were asking Harry whether he was feeling well.

"I…don't know," Harry admitted. "If you have something he wants badly enough, he might send Death Eaters." The Americans wrinkled their noses. "But if the Death Eaters fail, he could come himself."

"The Dark Lord only places himself at risk when all other methods have failed," said Snape curtly. "If it is merely information he desires, he will kidnap and murder as many of your people as necessary until he finds someone who possesses it."

"They say he uses Legilimency?" asked Congresswoman Leland.

"Proficiently," replied Snape. Harry managed not to shiver.

"But if it's an object he wants, the odds are we'll have Death Eaters trying to get into the MR and D Department," said Spalding.

"MR and D?" asked Harry.

"Magical Research and Development," Lila Brandon explained. "Like your Department of Mysteries—are you okay, honey?" Harry hadn't been able to suppress a shudder.

"The Dark Lord set his sights on something in the Department of Mysteries last year, I heard," said Spalding. Harry nodded, looking at his hands.

The Congresswoman mercifully changed the subject. "So what is it you plan to ask the old U.S. of A. for in the way of help?"

"Anything," Harry heard himself say quietly. "Everything you can give, Aurors or spells or…anything." The words sounded very stupid in his ears, and he was too embarrassed to look up. Why had Dumbledore and McGonagall thought he would be able to accomplish anything asking a bunch of American leaders for help? He didn't know anything about fighting a war!

But to his surprise, Congresswoman Leland patted his hand. "Y'know, a lot of people think we should've gotten involved during the last war. After what happened to Alex, I doubt it'll take much convincing to get their full support. Especially with the request coming from you."

Harry looked at her and felt himself turning red; she grinned. "Hell, just on the cuteness factor alone, they'd probably do what you asked." He turned redder, and her grin got broader. He wished he could sink into the loveseat and die. Snape would never let him forget this. He was relieved when she got up. "Let's start heading down there. Don't be surprised if the people from Darren Hoynes' office want to pick your brains on the way."

Feeling like a marionette being tugged along on strings and saying the things they wanted to hear without really knowing anything, Harry followed her out of the office back into the tunnels. They'd passed a few more doors when several people came out of another office ahead of them, and waited for Leland's group to catch up. "This who I think it is?" asked the man in the gray suit in the lead.

"Harry, this is Congressman Darren Hoynes. He's from my home state. You can grill him later, Darren, let's get to the Committee Room first. This stuff's all confidential."

Behind them, Pat the Scheduler had been attempting without success to chat with Percy, so she finally gave up and came to talk to Harry instead, to his intense embarrassment. "So what's Hogwarts like?" she asked him.

"It's wonderful," Harry said with feeling. "I'd rather be there than anywhere else."

"Including here, huh?" she whispered, grinning slyly at him. "What, celebrity doesn't agree with you?"

"No," said Harry, so firmly that she grinned, and he heard Snape snort behind them.

As Pat shook her head, Harry's eyes were drawn to the dark silver charm she wore around her neck. His heart nearly stopped. It was a solitary pillar, carved intricately, with nothing but a squarish chunk of stone at its top and base.

And Harry had seen it before. "What's…" his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "What's that on your necklace?"

"This?" she held it up. "It's the Pillar of Storgé. Good luck charm. Heard of it?"

"Well…no. I mean…I may have seen it," Harry stammered, trying to keep his near-panic from showing.

Fortunately, Pat was looking at the charm. "Don't see how you could have seen it recently, it's here in the MR and D Department. We've had it for years, not that it's done any good," she chuckled.

"The Ministry of Magic had it before the Americans," Percy put in from behind them.

"Yeah, and your Ministry didn't know what to do with it either," she retorted playfully.

"Then why did they keep it?" Harry asked faintly.

Pat shrugged. "Nobody knows where it comes from. Legend has it that thousands of years ago, ancient sorcerers created a building made of pillars that contained all the most powerful magical forces in existence. What the forces are exactly, we don't know, and how they could be contained in a pillar, we are clueless—and so were your dudes," she added to Percy smugly. "But the story is that if the right person could match the power in one of the pillars, they could tap it and become very, very powerful." She rolled her eyes. "And again, what they mean by someone 'matching' the power in a pillar, we haven't any idea, nor how they could tap it."

"What happened to the other pillars," Harry asked.

"Nobody knows. This is all that's left. But it is true that people who touch the pillar seem to get good luck. Hence the charm," she said, fingering it cheerfully.

Harry swallowed hard. "Interesting," he murmured. "'Scuse me a minute." He slipped back to find Professor Snape.

Snape's eyes narrowed when he saw Harry coming; Harry must have looked rattled. As he opened his mouth to speak, movement behind Snape in the corridor caught Harry's eye. He frowned, looking past Snape, and was startled to see a tiny black kitten following them down the corridor. "Bastet?" he said in surprise, even though Ginny's kitten couldn't possibly be here.

By then, Pat and her Congresswoman were glancing back after Harry and they spotted the kitten. "HOLY CRAP! LOOK!" someone yelled.

The reaction of the Americans confused Harry completely. Wands were brought to bear, and shouts and profanity rang out. Doors flew open up and down the corridor and several people shrieked at the sight of the cat.

"Oh no!"

"Oh, geez!"

"Guys, it's here! It's here!"

Snape had no more idea than Harry what was prompting the uproar, but he grabbed Harry and yanked him away from the cat, aiming his wand at it. "Hold up!" shouted Leland. "Won't do any good!"

Snape didn't move, one arm still aiming his wand at the black kitten, the other arm thrown out to keep Harry behind him. What this seemingly-inoffensive cat was, Harry couldn't imagine, but he stood motionless behind Snape and braced himself for the worst. The kitten crept along, sniffing at the air just like Bastet or Crookshanks in an inquisitive mood, then turned its face directly toward Harry.

Harry felt Snape stiffen in front of him, and Leland said in a tense voice, "It's never hurt anyone before."

"The usual rules don't apply with Potter," Snape growled at her. "If it comes any closer, I'll kill it."

"Professor…"

"Shut up, Potter!"

The kitten cocked its head at Harry, regarding him with its yellow eyes for several moments, then turned slowly away and faced the American wizards. Slowly, it began to walk toward them. "Oh man," someone muttered.

"Just let it say its piece, and it'll go," Leland said firmly, never taking her eyes off the cat.

Say its piece? Harry watched the kitten in confusion. He could hear it purring as it walked leisurely toward the frightened wizards, but then…it began to grow larger. "What the…" Snape muttered.

Now the size of a full-grown cat, the strange creature kept growing until it was as large as Crookshanks, then larger still. Harry noticed that the noise he was hearing wasn't purring anymore. The creature was growling.

The American Congress workers were breathing very heavily, but no one tried to hex the cat, which was now the size of a small tiger, as it stopped directly in front of them. Then it gathered itself on its haunches, and Harry yelled along with everyone else as the thing let out an incredible roar and launched itself into the crowd of wizards.

A jinx from Snape went straight through it as the Americans yelped and ducked, but no one was hit—and no one was scratched or bitten either. As soon as it struck the ground, the creature vanished.

"Aw, hell, I hate it when that thing turns up!" Leland said. She patted a scared young witch who was crying on the floor. "Take it easy, we probably should've expected this." She gestured to Harry, who wished fervently that he had his Invisibility Cloak.

"What was that thing?" he asked.

"Nobody really knows," she told him. "But we do know what it does, and I guess your Professor's right; the usual rules don't apply to you." At Harry's confused look, she explained, "If that cat has two rules, it's that it never actually harms anyone—though a few people have died of heart attacks—and it always jumps at the very first person it sees. It looked right at you and kept going."

"Maybe it's because I'm not American," Harry said desperately.

Several people snorted; they didn't appear to buy the explanation. "But what does it do, other than frighten people to death?" asked Snape.

"It always appears right before a major national crisis," Leland sighed. "Even Muggles see it from time to time." She patted Harry on the shoulder. "Well, that'll be one more reason for the Congress to approve allying with Britain in this war. That cat doesn't lie." She started back down the hall. "All right, people, fun's over, let's get to the committee room!"

It was the sight of Pat, still white-faced and clutching her pendant, that made Harry remember. He caught Professor Snape's arm as they started walking again. "Sir, I think I know what V—what he's after here. Do you know anything about the Pillar of Storgé?"

Snape shot him a disgusted look. "It is one of the more useless artifacts being studied by both British and American wizards, Mr. Potter."

Keeping his voice as low as he could, Harry murmured, "But I saw it. Last night, in a dream. And one of the witches says it's here, in the MR and D Department."

Harry couldn't remember a time when Snape had seemed more furious with him—and that, naturally, was saying something. The fact that he didn't dare lose his temper in front of the Americans seemed to make him even angrier, so with a tightly-clenched jaw and white face, he growled at Harry, "Do not mention the dream to anyone, do you understand?"

"But shouldn't we warn—"

"Potter!" Snape hissed, grabbing his arm. "You will not speak of it!"

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered.

"We'll deal with this tonight."

The rest of the day was a dismal affair. As much as Katherine Leland, her staff, and the other Wizarding Representatives and Senators tried to make Harry feel welcome, it was obvious that they were all badly rattled by the appearance of the demonic cat. They questioned Harry for hours about Voldemort's methods, about (to Harry's astonishment) whether there was any chance of negotiating a truce with Voldemort—at which Harry's open mouth and Snape's bark of laughter told them more than the actual words.

Harry obeyed Snape's order about not mentioning seeing the Pillar of Storgé in his dream, though he chafed at it. Obviously Voldemort was interested in it for some reason—although Harry this time had no intention of charging into the American Magical Research and Development Department looking for it. Voldemort's false visions had already cost three lives—four, he corrected himself bitterly, thinking of Sirius—and Harry was not going to let himself be fooled again. If Voldemort wanted that Pillar, he'd have to come and get it himself.

By far the worst part of the day came as they were leaving dinner with the Magical Defense Committee. Snape had (to Harry's intense relief) finally managed to garner the interest of a few people in his work as a spy in Voldemort's ranks, and was talking to Congresswoman Leland and several of the other members while two of their staffers gave Harry an animated description of Quodpot, the American variation of Quidditch.

Hisses from the doorway caught their attention, and Harry turned to see Congressmembers and staffers alike making way for a young woman with pale blonde hair and a very drawn face. Harry's heart lurched; she looked very different from the picture he had seen where she was smiling and laughing, but even without the diamond ring hanging from a chain around her neck, he recognized her. It was Anita Green, Alex Marshall's fiancée.

She distractedly scanned the room, and inevitably, her eyes fell on Harry. Everyone was very quiet as she came toward him, mustering a smile. "Hi…I'm Anita. I was engaged to Alex Marshall."

"I know," Harry murmured, unable to meet her red-rimmed eyes.

Wringing her hands a bit, she said, "I just…wanted to thank you. For telling us about Alex. They said…if you hadn't warned us, they might never've found him."

"You're…I'm sorry…for," Harry couldn't bring himself to say "for your loss," or anything. It seemed so cold.

Fortunately she understood, or perhaps she was still too distracted to really hear him. "Thanks," she said. "For everything." And with one more weak smile, she slipped back out.

With that encounter to cap an utterly miserable day, Harry wanted nothing more than to collapse once they returned to the hotel.

Driving back out of the city, the white buildings and Capitol dome glowed against the night sky, but now the aura of power exuded by the place had an ominous feel. Not from the city itself, but rather as though something terrible and deadly was about to lay siege to it. Tonight, its light and strange beauty had the fateful feel of a city doomed. Harry couldn't be sure if it was merely his own mood, or if the enchantments of the American Founders were giving a warning of their own along with the unearthly cat.

And then, of course, Harry had to face the music when they finally arrived at the hotel. Percy looked as tired as Harry felt, but Snape muttered at him, "Before you retire, Weasley, you and I must have a little chat with Mr. Potter."

So Harry walked slowly ahead of them into his room like one walking to his own execution, only to be seized painfully by the arm and yanked into the center of the sitting area as Snape let out the temper he'd been visibly holding in check all day. "Why in God's name didn't you mention that dream?"

"Dream?" Percy exclaimed behind Snape. "What dream!"

Snape gestured imperiously at Harry to speak, so he stammered, "I saw the Pillar of Storgé in a dream last night. And the tunnels under the buildings like when V—when he was attacking Alex Marshall. I think that could be what he wants."

"Rubbish," said Percy. "The secret Magical Research departments of wizarding governments are teeming with artifacts far more powerful and valuable."

"But you said no one really knows what the Pillar is or what it could do," Harry protested. "Maybe Voldemort's found out how to harness it!"

Snape winced at hearing Harry say the name and grabbed his arm again, "Which brings us again to the question of why you said nothing!"

In a small voice, Harry replied, "I forgot."

Spitting in disgust, Snape let go of Harry and went to French doors opening onto a screened balcony. He stood there silently for several minutes, and Harry was wondering what he was thinking when there was a flash of fire, and Fawkes appeared. Percy and Harry both jumped. Snape pulled out a parchment and wrote on it for several moments, then handed it to the phoenix. Fawkes took it and vanished in another burst of flame.

"I've reported this to the Headmaster," Snape informed Harry coldly. "And if you have any more dreams or visions, kindly do not forget to report them, unless keeping such secrets makes you feel so important you cannot bear to part with them."

Harry gritted his teeth and turned away. Then something occurred to him, and he sighed. "There is something else. It may be nothing. When we were leaving tonight, the city felt different. It felt…afraid."

Snape dropped his sour expression and looked hard at Harry, questions visibly running across his eyes. "The city felt afraid?"

Harry shrugged. "Like I said, it might be nothing. It was just a sense I had as we were driving away."

Percy was frowning too. "Do the Americans place much stock in that demon cat of theirs?"

Turning away back toward the window with his hands behind his back, Snape said, "I vaguely recalled a few references to the cat before today, but yes, from what they told me, it appears to be a reliable warning of national catastrophe, Muggle or magical."

"So V—so he could be after something in the MR and D Department?" Harry asked.

"It appears likely, though it would have helped if we had known about your vision before coming here," Snape growled. Harry scowled sullenly at the floor. "Because generally speaking, the event occurs within twenty-four hours of the cat's appearance."

"So is the city reacting to the cat's warning, or is it giving a warning of its own?" Percy mused.

"A warning?" Harry asked.

"The wards and spells permeating Washington, DC include a variety of ways to detect approaching danger," said Percy. "American wizards tend toward overkill."

"And yet wizarding America has never been invaded—and even Muggle America has remained relatively secure," said Snape, giving Percy a patronizing look over his shoulder.

Percy made a dismissive noise. "Only because no one competent has ever tried to invade them. I would wager their protection comes from oceans rather than any really powerful magic."

"Do not underestimate the value of 'overkill,' Weasley," Snape growled, but then he began pacing. Harry stepped quickly out of his way, not wanting Snape to remember he was there and stop being informative. "My concern is that the Dark Lord will not underestimate the value of their overconfidence. They are very well protected, yes, but pride cometh before the fall—and the Dark Lord will most likely prove a competent invader."

Harry forgot about being inconspicuous in his shock. "You think he'll invade the United States?"

Snape scowled at Harry. "When last I heard," he said in a tone that reminded Harry he was the reason Snape no longer knew what Voldemort was up to, "the Dark Lord was amassing followers all across wizarding Europe. The American Wizarding government is small, Potter, you met them all tonight. But they are powerful and possess great resources. That is the reason they would make so formidable an ally for us. If the Dark Lord struck them first and overthrew them…"

"He could use their power against us," Harry finished, and groaned. "Could that be why he's been so quiet in Britain?"

"Possibly," Snape paced some more. "Though he'll have a devil of a time getting Washington itself under his control—unless he already has found some way to subdue it."

Baffled, Harry said, "You make it sound like the city's alive!"

"I marvel at your stupidity sometimes, Potter. You may have been raised by idiot Muggles, but have you learned nothing about enchanted objects in over five years?"

"Apparently not, so perhaps you'll enlighten me to your wisdom," Harry shot back.

Snape gave him a ferocious glare, then leaned close to him and drawled out, "If you had been paying attention during our arrival, you would have heard Mr. Spalding explaining that the American capital is the most warded and enchanted city in the world. Objects and places enchanted with great amounts of magical power—particularly protective power—do, in fact, develop a semi-awareness, like the primitive instincts of a magical plant. If an extremely powerful, hostile force is targeting Washington, DC with unfriendly attentions, there can be no doubt that the city itself will display some reaction."

Then there was a flash of fire, and a parchment fell to the floor. Snape snatched it up. "The Headmaster does not believe it is advisable to depart precipitously just yet. But he cautions us to be on our guard."

"And Minister Fudge?" Percy asked pointedly.

Snape crumpled the parchment in his hand. "The Minister concurs," he said in a way that made Harry suspect there had been nothing about Fudge written in Dumbledore's note.

Evidently, it was good enough for Percy, and he turned a hard gaze toward Harry. "I wonder…is it possible You-Know-Who's attention has been drawn to America by his presence?"

The words struck Harry like a Winding Hex, but Snape looked calculatingly at him too. "It is possible, although the kidnapping of Marshall occurred before Potter had any interest in Wizarding America."

"But the city's aura didn't change until after we arrived," Percy pressed.

The implication was all too clear, and Harry turned away. "It's not my fault," he muttered, not referring to Voldemort's interest in America.

Percy dropped his formal pretensions. "Of course, it's your fault!" he snapped, advancing on Harry. Even Snape looked startled. "How dare you put them at risk with your antics?"

"I didn't choose for any of this to happen!" Harry yelled, spinning around. "No one told me what Voldemort wanted with me!" That remark he directed at Snape. "If I'd known he wasn't going to leave me alone I would've kept them away from me! But no one thought I ought to know! Don't you bloody blame me for being kept in the dark—your precious Ministry did it just as often as Dumbledore! Your family wouldn't be in the thick of this if anyone had warned me!"

"But you still drag them along with you!" Percy shot back.

Harry couldn't seem to get his breathing under control. Knowing how much danger Ron and Ginny and their family were in was bad enough without Percy implying Harry didn't care. Shaking with anger, he hissed, "It's too late now. If I never spoke to them again from right now, it'd still be too late. And at least I've never turned my back on them!"

The words came out before he could check them, and Percy recoiled. Harry was shaken just as badly, so before Percy could recover, he threw open the French doors, stalked out onto the balcony, and slammed them shut behind him.

He sat out there in a wicker rocking chair (rocking rather vigorously) for a long time with the heavy, humid air and distant thunder matching his mood. How could anyone clear their head in this sweltering climate? It wasn't helping his agitation, but he had no intention of enduring one more second of Percy or Snape's company voluntarily. He wiped sweat off his face, short of breath and frustrated, and hating himself for the partial truth of Percy's words. Harry was the reason the Weasleys were in danger. But if someone had bothered to tell him from the beginning, he'd never have let them get so close.

Or so he tried to convince himself, even though, try as he might, he could not seem to imagine himself existing without Ron. Or Ginny. Or the twins and their jokes and the Marauders' Map, or Mrs. Weasley and her hugs.

Eventually, a breeze picked up as the storm drew nearer, pushing away the worst of the sticky heat, and Harry slowed down his rocking. He was tired and he didn't want to think anymore.

He had just started to drift into a drowsy stupor when the French doors slammed open. "Inside, Potter."

"Why?" he grumped.

His belligerence must have startled Snape, because it was a moment before he answered. "Occlumency."

God, not that, not here, not now! "No."

Snape materialized in front of him, blocking his view of the swaying trees. "What did you say, Potter?"

Harry glowered up at him. "I said no. Being stuck here with you is bad enough without your rubbing my nose in nightmares. Besides, I'm not supposed to use magic while we're here." He sneered insolently at Snape. "What are you going to do, take House points?"

Snape drew himself up, practically shaking with fury at Harry's defiance. "Do you think I won't, Mr. Potter?" he hissed.

Harry leapt to his feet heatedly. "Do you think I care? Between all this half-baked diplomacy, demon cats, and Voldemort," he enjoyed seeing Snape flinch, "do you think House points matter a jot to me anymore?"

"No, Potter, I suppose your massive ego spares very little consideration for the desires of your Housemates, but after that display to Weasley, I would have thought you at least cared somewhat for your friends' safety."

Leave it to Snape. Before Harry could pull together a retort, Snape had grabbed him by the arm and was yanking him bodily back into the room. "Get off!" he raged. "Get your hands off me! Let go!"

Snape did. Hard. Harry stumbled away, seething, and Snape pointed at the rug directly in front of him. "Clear your mind—now. And give me your wand," he growled.

Harry froze. "What?"

"As you so aptly noted, you are not permitted to use it here," Snape snatched it from him. "You will defend yourself without it, as you showed you are at least somewhat capable of doing."

In a surge of panic, Harry knew he would never be able to shield himself without a wand while in this state of mind. "No," he whispered.

Snape ignored him. "One—two—three—Legilimens!"

Sirius was falling through the veil, his face mingling surprise and fear…Uncle Vernon lay lifeless on the floor of Number Four, Privet Drive, his face a mask of terror…Cedric's face, his open gray eyes, blank and expressionless as the windows of a deserted house, his half-open mouth, which looked slightly surprised…Harry couldn't stop it, he couldn't even begin to stop it!

CRASH! A window-rattling crack of thunder had broken Snape's concentration. Harry fell to his knees, doubled over and shaking, his breath hitching badly. "I can't do it," he choked out. "Just stop, I can't do it!"

"Then you will merely be an easy victim for the Dark Lord, Potter, so why should that concern me? Legili—"

"—No!" Harry looked up desperately. Snape sneered down at him, but paused. Harry couldn't stand it anymore. He drew a shaky breath. "Please, just stop."

The sneer grew. Harry dropped his head, his eyes burning. "You're pathetic, Potter," he heard Snape say, then his wand was dropped carelessly to the floor in front of him, and footsteps crossed the room and went out.

Snape was almost cheerful the next day when Spalding arrived to drive them back to the Capitol. Obviously, reducing Harry practically to the point of begging was a memory the Potions Master would cherish for a long time.

Spalding noticed Harry's long face, but Harry dismissed it as being tired. "You'll perk up after breakfast," Spalding told him.

The weather had cleared again overnight, and the sky was sparkling blue once again. But Harry noticed coming back into Washington that something still felt wrong. The sensation of dread he had felt last night had given way to an eerie silence that had nothing to do with the fact that it was Sunday—it felt as if the entire city was holding its breath.

He caught Spalding watching him in the rear-view mirror again, so he said what he was thinking: "Something's going to happen."

"Bet on it, kid," said Spalding grimly. "Any ideas as to what?" he asked the three of them.

"Yes. We will discuss it at the breakfast meeting," said Snape shortly. Harry refused to look at him, but wondered if Dumbledore wanted them to mention the Pillar of Storgé. The only time he'd spoken to Snape this morning was to say that he'd seen the Pillar in his dreams again last night. Snape had just smirked. As usual.

He got his answer while they were eating breakfast with nearly the entire American Wizarding Congress. Word of the cat and the mood of the city had brought them all swarming to the Capitol to figure out what was going on, and so the schedule had been revised a bit. Harry was listening to them debating over whether he himself was the cause or just another warning of impending disaster when Snape suggested to them, "Ask Mr. Potter to tell you about his most recent dream."

One hundred fifty faces turned to stare at Harry. He gulped. "A new dream?" asked Gabe Maury, the Wizarding Senator whom Alex Marshall had worked for.

Putting down his fork, Harry nodded nervously. He didn't speak very loudly, but the room was so silent that everyone heard him. "I saw the underground corridors again in the dream, and went down them. There was a dark room with an old, stone pillar in it. I think it's the Pillar of Storgé."

Incredulous murmurs rippled up and down the long tables. "He's after the Pillar of Storgé?" exclaimed someone. "We've got better stuff than that!"

"Doesn't matter why, but if he wants it, we'd better make sure he doesn't get it!"

"Should we move it?"

"Hell, let's just destroy it!"

"Or maybe that's what he wants."

"Young man," said a dumpy little bug-eyed witch who was as short as Congresswoman Leland—but with none of her charisma. "Haven't some of these visions of yours been false?"

Harry winced, and a few of the others shot the witch annoyed glances, but many reluctantly nodded. "Yes," he told them. "Sometimes they have been. That's why you probably shouldn't try anything just yet if we're not sure why V—why he's interested in it."

"You're not a strategist, Potter," Snape muttered at him. "Confine yourself to answering their questions."

"Don't say that, Professor Snape, I for one think Harry's got more experience with that dirtbag than any of us. If he's got suggestions, good or bad, I wanna hear 'em," said Congresswoman Leland.

"Unless he's the reason Lord…Thingy is coming here," said the bug-eyed witch in a quarrelsome tone.

"Impossible, Alex got kidnapped before Harry had the vision," said Senator Maury.

"Maybe he wanted to lure the kid here," the bug-eyed witch persisted.

"Seems a long way to lure him," snorted Darren Hoynes.

"But he—"

"Pipe down, would ya, this isn't the time for sound bytes!" snapped Congresswoman Leland, and the bug-eyed witch subsided with a scowl. "What's your impression, Harry? Do you think this vision is probably real or fake?"

Harry contemplated the tablecloth, thinking hard. "I…the times I've had fake visions, it was to get me—us—to do something. But there've been real ones that seem a lot like this, where I kept dreaming of something because V—because You-Know-Who was obsessed with it. This dream's a lot like that—but it could still be fake!" he added hastily.

"Could he be any less specific," grumbled the bug-eyed witch.

"I'm about thirty seconds away from turning her into a tree frog," muttered Congresswoman Leland, but she patted Harry's hand. "Disclaimer noted. And we should count ourselves lucky," she said to the room, raising her voice. "This is more warning than most people get from You-Know-Who."

There were mutters of agreement, and the faces watching Harry began to look a little less accusing. "Maybe we should take the kid to see the Pillar," someone suggested. "Might give him a hint."

"No!" Harry exclaimed, so sharply that people jumped. "I mean…once one of the fake visions got me to go somewhere, and Death Eaters were waiting."

"Well, we can't just do nothing!" protested Anita Green.

"Maybe that's exactly what we should do," said Senator Maury. "Until we know more about what he wants with us, we should leave it and concentrate on aiding the Ministry against whatever the bastard gets up to over there."

"But if we jump into it with the Ministry, we'll be inviting him to come after us sooner," said the bug-eyed witch. "Why get ourselves involved if we want him to leave us alone—"

"—He won't leave you alone!" Harry chorused with Snape. They glanced at each other, and Harry fell silent.

"The Dark Lord does not believe in 'live and let live,'" said Snape. "Every second you fail to oppose him is borrowed time; he will set his sights upon America. You already know of one object in your possession he may desire, and you have admitted yourselves that there are more. Your wizarding society is too powerful for him to leave alone."

His fierce announcement cowed the bug-eyed witch somewhat, but she still mumbled, "He left us alone last time."

"That's because he got himself un-bodied by trying to kill Harry Potter," said Congresswoman Leland. "You remember the trials—there were Death Eaters all across Eurasia. He'd have come for us eventually."

"Why not put it to a damn vote?" someone exclaimed.

"What exactly are we voting on?" demanded Senator Maury.

Congresswoman Leland leaned her head against her hand with her elbow on the table, rubbing her chin. "Whether or not to mess with the Pillar based on the information we've got, and whether or not to send general war aid to the British Ministry."

"Hell, sounds good to me."

"Are we in session today?"

"We've got nearly the whole Congress, let's call it an emergency measure and move on!"

"All righty," Congresswoman Leland cut off the conversations and turned to Harry, Snape, and Percy. "Gentlemen, we're going to take a few preliminary votes on this. While you're waiting, Harry, would you like a quick tour?"

"I…all right," said Harry, glancing at Snape.

"Pat, give our guests a walk around the Capitol. Be sure and take Don Spalding's people with you."

So Harry, Snape, and Percy were chased out the door, and Pat and Spalding led them back through the basement tunnels, this time under the sign that read, To U.S. Capitol.

They came up from the basement into one of the most beautiful buildings Harry had ever seen—and almost all Muggle-built, according to Pat and Spalding.

"The designer was a wizard, though," Pat told Harry. "And still sore about his bill not getting paid; we might run into his ghost at some point." She told Harry stories about the origins of some of the more spectacular murals and carvings on the walls, led them past an old-fashioned bathroom that still smelled of soap, and introduced Harry to the statues, who sometimes bowed or waved as they passed. "Each time a new President is inaugurated, they throw themselves their own Ball," she said. "I've never seen it, but only six of the statues are women, so their dance cards are full all night. They say it's marvelous!"

In the rotunda itself, while Harry was staring at a massive mural of the American Founding Fathers, sounds of arguing floated in. He turned to see two ghosts dressed not unlike the men in the painting, debating vigorously. Pat hissed, and even Spalding looked impressed. "Who're they?" Harry whispered.

"Two former Presidents," Pat murmured.

The ghosts spotted them and glided over. "Good gracious, is that Harry Potter?" asked the man on the left.

"Yes, Mr. President," said Pat in a reverent voice. "Harry, may I present President John Quincy Adams and President James Garfield."

"A pleasure, young man," said Adams, inclining his head. "We've all heard of you here, of course."

Harry was startled. "Wizards were elected President?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Garfield winked. "Our generation believed in a closer coexistence with our Muggle brethren, if still keeping magic itself a secret. American wizards weren't banned from seeking Muggle office until 1882—and I opposed that law," he added haughtily.

"I did not," said Adams. "Muggles had a right to elect their own leaders—and you of all people ought to have known the drawbacks!"

"It was a wizard who assassinated me, you imbecile! And we had a right to full participation…" they glided off. Pat watched them go in awe. Snape and Percy looked scornful.

Visibly pulling herself together, Pat said, "Let's move on; there's a nice view from that—"

Harry's scar suddenly flared with fiery pain, and he gasped, doubling over. "Potter!" Snape grabbed his shoulders.

"Something—think—he's here—" Harry choked out. His head felt ready to explode.

"You-Know-Who!" cried Pat.

"Is this real?" Spalding demanded to Snape.

"You'd best assume so," Snape growled.

"Sound general alarm! Evacuate the Muggles, lock down the conference room!" Spalding grabbed one of Harry's arms, and he and Snape pulled Harry upright. "Let's go!"

Blinking back tears of pain, Harry forced himself into a jog along with the guards, pulling out his wand. "Where will we go?"

"Security room—we've got 'em all over the building in case of magical intruders. Come on, come on, Pat, keep up!" Spalding barked, leading them down a magnificent staircase.

They came into another hallway full of statues, but one of them—the statues, that is—shouted, "Watch out! Hostiles ahead of you!"

Spalding spat an obscenity and yanked Harry back. "Other way!"

"Better get off this floor, Donald!" another statue of a man with a rifle warned.

"Are the elevators secured?" Spalding demanded.

"Take the freight elevator!" the statue with the rifle pointed, and Snape and Spalding lunged for the lift doors with Harry between them.

"Here they come!" shouted another, and Harry peered past the guards to see Death Eaters charging down the hall.

"There they are!" screamed a woman's voice. Harry felt a surge of hatred that was entirely his own—it was Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Stall them!" Spalding yelled, and the statues all leapt from their pedestals, some waving swords and rifles as they charged the Death Eaters. Spalding and the others piled into the lift with Harry and slammed the doors. Harry felt it descending.

Spalding tapped his badge with his wand, and his identification picture—Harry noticed close-up that it was actually a tiny portrait—looked up. "Problem?"

"Donny, hit the control room and find us a way out of here, fast!"

"Gotcha!" the picture Spalding vanished. The lift kept dropping. A moment later, the picture returned. "They're on all levels, we're at Condition Red." The guards and Pat began swearing under their breath. "Get off at the bottom level and head for the old Metro connection. No hostile entry at Eastern Market yet, you can get out there."

"Right, get me updates," said Spalding, and punched a button.

"What's your plan?" asked Snape.

"We're going out via a closed-off Muggle tunnel off MR and D, it connects to the regular Metro, if we can just get there before our masked friends. How's your head, Harry? Can you run?"

"I'll manage," Harry muttered.

"Get ready to haul ass," Spalding warned as the lift ground to a halt. The doors rolled open. "Go!"

They charged out of the lift and tore into a dimly-lit corridor that reminded Harry far too much of the Department of Mysteries. Moreover, his scar was getting worse. A portrait on the wall shouted at them, "Watch out, people, there's a seriously nasty character up ahead, heading straight for you!"

"Donny!" Spalding yelled at his own portrait.

"Monitors aren't showing anything!" the portrait protested.

Harry's scar was on fire. "It's Voldemort!" he gasped.

"Okay, now we're in trouble," Spalding growled, wheeling around and yanking Harry the other way. "Donny, ideas?"

"Bad news, MR and D's the only place still clear—the defenses took out two Death Eaters there."

Snape was muttering curses under his breath, looking back over his shoulder. "Given Potter's dreams, I question the wisdom of heading down that alley."

"Other exits are blocked," said Donny the portrait. "Unless you wanna take your chances with You-Know-Who."

"If he hasn't managed to get inside yet, we've got that much an advantage," said Spalding, not slowing at all. "Here, down here!" They came upon the two motionless, masked wizards on the floor. "If the defenses hold him out long enough, we might make it." He pressed his badge against a sign that read, Magical Research and Development, No Entry Without Authorization. The door swung open at once. "Come on, move, move!" they hustled through and pelted down the hall.

Harry's scar was throbbing so badly that he could barely stay upright. Snape had him by one arm, Spalding by the other as they ran. "He's coming," he gasped.

"Shut up and run, Potter," said Snape.

There was a thunderous crash behind them. "Uh-oh!" squeaked Pat.

"Quiet!" Spalding snapped, but then Donny came back.

"Gotta problem, Don, they're outside the south exit window!"

The Americans skidded to a halt. "Oh…crap!" Spalding growled as Harry and Snape hissed and looked behind them. Harry could feel Voldemort coming.

"What now?" Snape demanded.

"Please don't say we're trapped," Pat groaned.

"Then cover your ears, girl," Spalding retorted and rapped on a portrait. "HEY! Ben! Need help here!"

An immensely fat, balding man poked his head into view, peering at them over his bifocals. "Oh dear, Mr. Spalding, what are you doing down here?"

"We've got a Dark Lord behind us and Death Eaters blocking the exits. What's the most warded section in here?"

"Try the Muggle Methods laboratory—it is as well warded as any but less conspicuous. A dark wizard will likely seek you in the Defensive Development areas."

"Quick, let's go!" Spalding led them down the hall.

"What's this place you're taking us to?" demanded Percy.

"Muggle Methods—combining Muggle technology with magic—illegal in Britain. Franklin's got good instincts," Spalding said. "One corridor over—"

Donny appeared in the badge. "Don! Heads up!"

"Get down!" Spalding threw Harry into the wall as four Death Eaters came charging down the corridor in front of them. "Impedimenta!"

Harry couldn't see much past Snape's robes and the guard practically pinning him on the floor, but he felt as though there was a knife in his forehead. "He's coming!" he grunted.

Arms hauled him to his feet. "Petrificus Totalis! Move! Move!" Spalding yanked them down a side corridor as two of the other guards held the Death Eaters back. "How close is he?"

"Not a clue!" said Donny, and Harry just shook his head.

"What do we do?" came Percy's frightened voice.

"Keep running! Snape, get the kid ahead of us!"

Snape hauled Harry to the lead as curses rang out behind them. Suddenly, Harry blundered against another door, and came to a halt, looking back. His scar had stopped hurting! Yet something told him they were not out of danger. "Professor?"

"Potter, what are you doing! Run!"

"Wait! My scar—"

"Tantellagra!"

"Stupefy!"

"Expelliarmus!"

The noise was making it difficult to think, but Harry had both hands against the door. It was as though something inside was calling him, and blocking the pain from his scar. Snape fired off a few curses at the Death Eaters now gathering in force at the end of the hallway. Pat was stifling sobs of terror against the wall next to them, with Percy ashen-faced on her other side. "Potter!" Snape barked. "What about your scar!"

"I think…" Harry touched the door again. "I think we might be safe in here!"

"What?"

Spalding looked over his shoulder at them. "The Pillar's down there!"

Harry and Snape stared at each other. "Perhaps that's why he wants it," Snape muttered. "Spalding! Open this door!"

Spalding ran over and tested it with his badge. "Damn! They must've sealed it off when the attack began!"

"Oh no," Harry groaned, putting his hand on the handle.

The door opened. "What the hell…" Spalding gaped at Harry, but Snape pushed it open and yanked him inside. They could hear Spalding shouting, "Come on, come on!" behind them as the rest dashed in. "Donny, we need reinforcements down here!"

"Wait! Slow down, Potter, until we know what this thing is," Snape said, pulling Harry back. They reached the end of the hall, and another door swung open on its own accord to reveal a dimly-lit room containing the stone Pillar Harry had seen in his dreams. There were no Death Eaters as far as Harry could see, but his scar was prickling, even though he felt something was blocking the pain.

"Voldemort's behind us."

"Then we'll take our chances," Snape grunted, and they ran into the Pillar room.

A curse was shrieked out in a hissing voice, and the wall just above and behind the Pillar exploded. Spalding was yelling at them to run, just run, and Snape threw Harry behind him and turned to face the Death Eaters and his former master. Harry stayed in back of Snape, but drew his wand. "Impedimenta!"

Several Death Eaters stumbled, and Pat ducked past Harry, gulping back her sobs, to hide behind the Pillar. "Careful!" Percy pointed. Harry looked.

The Pillar was glowing.

The reinforcements must have come; some of the Death Eaters had turned around and were shooting curses in the opposite direction. Voldemort was in there somewhere—Harry could feel him—but did not seem to be going after Harry or Snape themselves. Rather, he kept aiming curses at the Pillar!

One smashed into the wall close to Pat, and she yelped and lost her balance. "Watch out!" Harry cried in alarm as she stumbled against the Pillar and Percy tried to grab her.

Snape looked back. Pat gasped as her shoulder struck the stone, but then froze, staring at the Pillar with wide eyes. An instant later, Percy's hand brushed the stone, and he too went rigid. While Pat seemed to almost smile amidst the chaos of curses, crashes, and flashes of light, Percy's eyes filled with tears. "Pat? Percy?" Harry whispered in alarm.

Pat blinked and realized there was a battle going on. With obvious effort, she broke away from the Pillar, drew her wand, and began firing curses at the Death Eaters. She was not very good at fighting, but it was still one more person harrying them. Percy took a moment longer, but he too rejoined the fight.

"What is that thing?" Snape yelled at him. "Potter, stay back!" Percy didn't answer. There was a very strange look on his face, while Pat simply seemed galvanized—until a curse caught her in the shoulder.

Harry ran to pull her back. "Potter, I said stay behind me!" Snape shouted, running after Harry. He let Harry pull Pat behind the Pillar, and growled, "Stay behind this thing—" he pulled Harry to the ground as a curse impacted the wall right where their heads had been. As he steadied himself, one hand touched the Pillar, and he frowned.

"Professor?" Harry exclaimed.

"Nothing," said Snape, tapping it again. With a shrug, he went back to stand in front of Harry.

Harry peered out from behind him, and saw Voldemort appear through the chaos, aiming his wand at Snape. "Out of the way, Severus, and I may let you live."

"Go to hell," said Snape. He was just standing there!

Voldemort hissed an incantation. Snape blocked it, but staggered. Another followed, and another. Harry watched, frozen in shock. Snape was a good dueler, better than Harry would have ever imagined, but not good enough—a curse finally caught him in the arm, sending him tumbling to the ground and his wand flying from his hand.

Panic jerked Harry out of his paralysis; Snape was going to be killed! Nobody but Dumbledore had ever faced off with Voldemort in an outright duel—Snape wouldn't last thirty seconds! Frantically, as Voldemort raised his wand, Harry fired a Stunner past Snape at him. Voldemort dodged it easily. "Professor, go!"

"Shut up, Potter!"

Voldemort's red eyes fixed on Harry behind the Pillar, and with a snake-like hiss, he took aim. Snape staggered to his feet between the Dark Lord and Harry, trying to conjure a shield. "No!" Harry made to run out from behind the Pillar to help, stumbling over debris on the ground and inadvertently putting a hand on the Pillar to steady himself.

The Pillar of Storgé exploded into millions of fragments with a deafening boom, showering them in all directions with a force that threw Harry backward into the wall, sending his glasses flying off.

It should killed him. It should at least have blasted the skin right off his face or given him a few broken ribs.

But it did not. It didn't even hurt.

Sprawled on the floor where he'd fallen, Harry looked up, blinking and trying to see through the cloud of dust. He could not feel Voldemort anymore, but…something else was there. Something very different. Harry looked around, sensing a presence, very close, but not altogether unfamiliar. Then the strangest sensation took over, and he forgot all about Voldemort, about the battle, about being afraid of anything at all.

It will be all right…

No one had said it. He was sure of that. But he felt it as surely as if they had. He couldn't see anyone for the dust in the air, but he was certain that arms were holding him, sheltering him, keeping him protected in a fierce embrace.

Never in his life had he felt so safe. So loved. He closed his eyes and let the arms hold him. He had no idea how much time passed until the smoke and dust settled, but he was content to stay nestled in the sheltering arms forever.

Eventually, he heard voices calling him. "Harry? Harry, are you hurt? Harry!"

Harry blinked. The arms were gone, and he felt a little dazed, not sure what had happened. He was lying amid the rubble. Percy emerged out of the fog, holding Harry's glasses. Behind Percy hovered Snape, staring at Harry, his face mingling shock and even fear. American wizards were running toward them, all talking at once. "Son, are you okay?"

"What happened? Why'd they leave?"

"Damned if I know! He was winning!"

Snape pushed past the approaching Americans and asked in a low voice, "Potter, are you hurt?"

Harry looked himself over. "N-no. What—where's Voldemort?"

Snape didn't even flinch. "Gone. Do you feel him?"

Everyone was coughing from the dust except for Harry. He rubbed his scar experimentally, then shook his head. "Nothing." Snape took Harry's arms almost gently and helped him to his feet.

Coming through the entrance to the Pillar room were members of the Wizarding Congress with Kate Leland in the lead. She took in the pile of rubble that had been the Pillar, and the uninjured Harry, and shook her head. "Wow, kiddo. I guess the usual rules really don't apply to you."

"What happened?" he asked in confusion, looking at Snape, Percy, and Spalding's men. They were all wide-eyed, staring at him.

"Who were those—" Spalding began, but Snape made a sharp gesture at him, and he stopped.

"Potter, what did you see?"

"See?" Harry blinked, taking his glasses from Percy. "I didn't see anything—why?"

Snape shook his head. "Never mind. What do you remember?"

Someone hugging me. "I just felt like something was there," Harry said carefully. "It was…a presence. But it wasn't hostile. Felt like it was…protecting me." Heaven only knew what Snape would make of it next time he got into Harry's head. Or maybe…blimey, that feeling might just be enough to beat him at Occlumency! The others were exchanging incredulous glances. "Did you see something?"

Snape was glaring hard at Percy, who replied slowly, "I'm not sure…the dust was doing strange things. We couldn't reach you for several minutes."

"That was minutes?" Harry exclaimed. They nodded, leading him from the room. "Strange, it felt—" As they came out of the small hallway back into the main MR and D corridor, Harry broke off with a gasp as agony lanced into his scar.

Fury, white-hot fury ripped through him…such utter infuriated, frustrated rage that he threw back his head and screamed at the top of his lungs…roaring at the ceiling…his anger would make the very sky crash down…

His scar had burst open…it was the nightmare to end all nightmares, one that even Snape had never seen…only Dumbledore had seen Harry like this…locked in the coils of a creature with red eyes, fused together, bound by pain beyond imagining, pain beyond endurance…

"Severus…behold now your wasted efforts…"

Harry had no control over his body, if it even was his body, he couldn't even draw breath, he was suffocating…

"He is mine, Severus…you have no choice but to destroy him…"

In his agony, Harry felt someone seize him—or did they seize the creature—dragging him backwards…

"Fool! You cannot escape me forever…you will die in the end…"

Then it was as if something wedged itself between Harry's body and the creature's coils and forced them away; the pain vanished, and Harry dropped like a stone. Someone caught him and eased him, shivering, to the floor. "Send for Albus Dumbledore from Hogwarts. Now."

"God Almighty, what was that!"

"Quiet, y'all, quiet! Do not discuss this!"

Harry was so cold; he felt someone wrap something warm around him. "Potter, do you hear me?"

Forcing his eyes open, he made out a blurry image of Snape, holding him in a sitting position, staring intently at him. "I…yeah…" he drew his knees up to his chest, trying to stop shaking. "Where are—how did—"

"We are in the entrance to the Pillar chamber; it appears to be shielding you."

There was a woman kneeling next to him, rubbing his cold hands. "Oh, sweetie, what did that bastard do to you?" She urged him to sit back against the wall, and Snape pulled the blanket tighter around him. Blinking at her, Harry realized it was Congresswoman Leland. She smiled tentatively at his confused face. "You scared the bejeezus out of us."

"Harry?" said a voice from the entryway. It was Dumbledore, silhouetted against bright lights that were now burning in the outer corridor. Harry could hear many people hovering around outside. Dumbledore came swiftly into the narrow hallway and knelt in front of Harry, looking to Snape and Congresswoman Leland. "What happened?"

"Well, let's just say he's a lot cuter with green eyes," said the Congresswoman dryly.

"Voldemort," sighed Harry, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself and leaning back against the stone wall. "Again."

"Again—my God, that's happened before!"

"Alas, it has, Katherine," said Dumbledore. "But as you may well imagine, these incidents could well be used by others to harm Harry. I trust we may rely on your colleagues' discretion?"

She nodded gravely. "I'll handle it."

"Thank you," Dumbledore grasped her hand. "Severus?"

Snape was frowning at the doorway. "Whatever force was in the Pillar is still shielding him from the Dark Lord, but as soon as we came out…I don't know what will happen when he leaves it again."

Dumbledore rose and went to the doorway of the Pillar chamber, taking in the wreckage. "Am I to understand this room was home to the Pillar of Storgé?"

"That's right," said Congresswoman Leland. "I didn't see what happened. One of my staffers says she felt something that made her fear go away, and the Weasley boy reacted to it as well. And everyone says the thing exploded the minute Harry bumped into it."

Dumbledore turned back to them. "Severus? Did you happen to touch it?"

Snape nodded, frowning. "I felt nothing, though the stone was slightly warm."

"Did you…" Dumbledore glanced at Harry, "see anything?" Snape gave him an unreadable look, and Dumbledore did not press the issue. Harry felt too worn out to be curious. "And Lord Voldemort?"

"I have never seen him so enraged," said Snape. "But he watched the Pillar explode, then did not pursue his attack. Both Potter and I must have been vulnerable at that moment."

"I believe, Severus, there were forces at work in that room that even Voldemort could not contend with."

"What was it?" Harry asked wearily, closing his eyes. "I felt something…"

"Yes, I imagine you did. I also imagine you would like to go home now."

Harry opened his eyes a crack and saw that Dumbledore was smiling. He let himself smile back. "Yes. Please."

"Headmaster, what happens when he leaves this place again?"

Dumbledore knelt in front of Harry again, who was feeling a twinge of apprehension about leaving this odd sanctuary. "Harry, do you remember what you felt after the Pillar was destroyed?"

The recollection was overwhelming; Harry nodded. "What—" Congresswoman Leland began.

"Shh. Can you concentrate on that feeling, on that memory, for a little while? It should be more than enough to dissuade Lord Voldemort from attacking you again."

Harry sighed, fighting the desire to crawl back into that room and let the arms wrap around him again. He'd never imagined anything could feel better than Mrs. Weasley holding him, but what he had felt there...no, he would never forget. It would be hard to not concentrate on it. But he let Dumbledore and Leland help him to his feet and lead him back to the main corridor. "Professor?" he asked nervously.

"Don't be afraid, Harry. Remember what you felt."

So Harry closed his eyes for a moment, letting his mind sink into those blissful minutes, then let himself walk out into the light and the chattering witches and wizards. Their whispers and stares did not bother him as much as they normally would; thinking about those loving arms he couldn't see, he felt nothing would ever hurt him again. His scar returned to twinging and prickling dully, but it didn't burn or stab.

It was a bit of a shock when they came back into the upper levels to a scene of shattered statues, broken masonry, and frantically-working wizards. "How will they explain this to the Muggles?" Harry asked, grimacing at the long burn now running through one of the murals.

"We report a bomb threat, then let FMS take care of the Muggle details. They've got it down to a game, seeing how few Muggle cops they wind up having to Obliviate," said Congresswoman Leland.

Harry sighed at the devastation. Then an alarming thought struck him. "How many people were hurt?"

"Nobody dead," said Spalding from ahead of them. "A few bad injuries at the hospital, but most of the Death Eaters were concentrating their efforts on getting into MR and D with You-Know-Who."

"Let's head back to my office," Congresswoman Leland told them.

Once there, Professor Dumbledore suggested that it would be easier on Harry to arrange a small intercontinental Portkey for the return trip, and left Harry with Snape and Spalding in Congresswoman Leland's office. The Congresswoman and her Chief of Staff made Harry lie down on one of the sofas and fussed over him in a way that made Harry wonder if they each had seven redheaded children, while Spalding bustled around talking to other guards via their badges. Snape just stood in the corner and stared at Harry until he nodded off.

He woke up less than an hour later to Congresswoman Leland patting his cheek. "Harry, sweetheart, the Portkey's ready. Time for you to go." As he sat up, she said, "I'm sorry your first visit to the States was such a bust!"

Smiling sheepishly, Harry replied, "Nothing I haven't had to deal with back home." Aside from the Pillar of Storgé, that is. "Washington is an amazing place."

She beamed and tweaked his chin. Professor Dumbledore appeared in the office doorway, holding an oval-shaped brown ball with white stitching. "Let's be going, Harry."

"Where's that Weasley kid from the Ministry?" asked Congresswoman Leland as they went back into her office lobby.

The look of intense displeasure on Dumbledore's face startled Harry. "He returned to the Ministry immediately after Harry was attacked outside the Pillar chamber." Harry's heart sank. Percy had seen him possessed by Voldemort, and would undoubtedly tell Fudge—and Fudge would tell everyone.

Congresswoman Leland visibly reached the same conclusion. "Well. That's not good. You think he'll be in any danger?" she nodded to Harry.

"I cannot say as yet, but I am willing to hope for the best," said Dumbledore, but he seemed to question her with his eyes.

She nodded. "Well, if there's trouble…" They smiled at each other, reaching some understanding that completely escaped Harry. "Oh, and tell your friend Fudge that while we were locked up in the committee room watching your Dark Lord rampaging around our Capitol, the United States Wizarding Congress voted by a wide majority to give full support and aid to the Ministry of Magic. Auror teams, research, equipment, whatever you need. It'll be formally announced to the American wizarding public tomorrow."

Dumbledore bowed to her. "We are immensely grateful, Congresswoman Leland."

The Congresswoman grinned wickedly, jerking her head at Harry. "What can I say, this one's just too cute to resist." Blood rushed to Harry's face as she turned and kissed him smackingly on the cheek. "Take care of yourself, honey—that's not my football you're using, is it?" she exclaimed, pointing at the ball in Dumbledore's hand.

"No, this was kindly lent me by one of the guards."

"That's not a football," Harry said in confusion.

"American football," she laughed, stepping back. Harry, Dumbledore, and Snape all put their hands on the ball. She raised her wand and muttered a spell. "Barrier's going down in three—two—one—"

And so Harry sped away from the American Wizarding Congress offices and Wizarding Representative Kate Leland in a whirl of wind and color.

They landed outside Hagrid's cabin. Harry stumbled and stifled a yawn. Dumbledore watched him closely. "How do you feel, Harry?"

"All right," he said. Snape was watching with the same intense expression he'd had since the Pillar Room, but when Harry looked at him, he turned and walked quickly toward the castle. Harry turned back to Dumbledore. "Professor…do you know what happened to me when the Pillar exploded?"

"I believe I do. Let us return to my office, and I will explain it all to you."

Harry couldn't walk fast enough. He saw the Gryffindors on the Quidditch pitch, but decided to go talk to Ron and Hermione about everything that had happened later. First, he wanted to know exactly what had happened. They arrived in Dumbledore's office to a greeting trill from Fawkes, and Harry sat stroking him as Dumbledore sat down behind his desk.

"Sir, when the Pillar exploded…I felt someone was there with me. They had their arms around me, and I felt safe. Whole minutes passed, and I didn't even notice."

Dumbledore nodded, "I am not at all surprised. The experience you had today must have seemed the briefest twinkle of a light you have been denied nearly all your life."

"What was the Pillar of Storgé?" Harry asked urgently. "And why did it…what did it do?"

Dumbledore's blue eyes glimmered at Harry behind his half-moon spectacles. "What had you heard of it from the Americans before you saw it today?"

"One of them, she said it brings good luck. That it was part of a building made of pillars that each contained powerful magical forces, and that some people could tap them. Is that what I did?" he asked in confusion. "Did I somehow…tap something?"

"I see the Americans are more knowledgable of the Pillar's history than our Unspeakables, in this rare case. They are correct, Harry: the Pillar of Storgé contains one of the most powerful magical forces in existence. In fact, it is one of the most powerful universal forces. There were once many of these Pillars, built to harness such powers and bestow them upon those in real need of them. But as you see, there was a slight design flaw: rather than bestowing the powers to all those in need, the Pillars merely reflected that power for persons in whom it already existed. And the reason nearly all of the Pillars are gone is that nearly all were encountered eventually by a person who possessed the matching power in such quantities that the Pillar destroyed itself."

Harry frowned, confused.

"Think on what you saw in the Pillar room today, Harry," Dumbledore went on. "Patricia Roarke, a perfectly ordinary young witch in every respect, touched the Pillar and found reassurance and strength. Percy Weasley, on the other hand, touched the Pillar and wept. And Professor Snape touched the Pillar…and felt nothing at all."

"And when I touched it," Harry murmured, "it exploded. And I felt…loved. I thought I heard someone telling me it would be all right." He gaped at Dumbledore. "The Pillar of Storgé was full of love?"

"Not just any love. There are many kinds of love, and all of them are immensely powerful magical forces. The Pillar of Storgé was in fact the last of the Love Pillars still in existence, but when you touched, it destroyed itself. The word, 'storgé,' means 'parental love.'"

Harry could not speak. He had wondered…he had hoped, but he'd thought he was mad…remembering the arms around him, how strange yet familiar they had felt, how sheltering…and those echoed words in the back of his mind… "It was my mother," he whispered. "She was holding me. Keeping me safe."

"Yes," said Dumbledore gently. "She was not a ghost, nor a spirit, nor the echo that appeared from Priori Incantatem, but rather the embodiment of the love that would not permit her to step aside when Voldemort came for you. Your mother's sacrifice was the most powerful, most complete act of parental love that can be—and that is why the Pillar of Storgé destroyed itself when you touched it. I told you long ago, the mark of her love lives on to this day in your very skin."

Harry had to turn away. He stroked Fawkes' feathers for a few moments until he felt able to talk again. Knowing now what had happened, he wondered aloud, "Then what would someone like Voldemort want with that Pillar?"

Dumbledore smiled. "He did not want the Pillar itself, Harry. He feared it. The power of one of the legendary Pillars of Magical Forces, could he risk your ever discovering it?"

Harry stared at his hands. "I don't understand…did the Pillar do something to me?"

"The power of your mother's sacrifice nearly destroyed Voldemort once. He overcame that protection by taking your blood—could he risk your finding the Pillar of Storgé, which might not only restore your protection but increase it tenfold?"

"So I'm protected again?" Harry asked. "He can't curse me? Is that why he left after the Pillar exploded?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I am not certain how powerful the Pillar is, Harry—but neither is Voldemort. But what we do know is that some measure of the power contained within it reverted to you. Voldemort will not wish to risk attacking you outright now. That was why he dreaded the possibility of your finding the Pillar."

"But…" Harry shook his head. "I didn't even know about it until he kidnapped that American wizard."

"There are many possibilities as to what happened Harry. One is that Voldemort was merely seeking information about the strength of wizarding America, saw the Pillar of Storgé in his prisoner's mind, and realized what it could mean for you. The other is that he knew of its existence from the beginning, and has been seeking it to prevent you from reaching it first. In any case, it was his own fear, his own obsession, that in the end led to his being thwarted. He is the one who drew you to the Pillar."

Harry smiled. "I don't imagine he's very pleased about that."

No," Dumbledore smiled too. "I don't imagine he is."

With a quiet sigh, Harry looked down at Fawkes. "I wanted to stay there forever. I wish I could have seen her."

"She was there, Harry. You felt her. And the power of that feeling will never leave you, because the Pillar of Storgé showed that it has been with you all along."

Harry was lying on his bed in the dormitory with the window open, thinking about everything and nothing, when Ron, Hermione, and Ginny came running up the stairs. "Harry!" Hermione sat down on the edge of the bed as Ron clambered over next to her. "We heard you were back early—what happened?"

Looking at the blue sky through the window, Harry murmured, "Same thing that always happens."

"Bloody hell, mate," Ron exclaimed, "what was he after this time?"

"He wasn't really after anything," Harry told them. "He was trying to keep me away from something."

"Was anyone hurt?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. His friends were quiet, then Ginny sat down against the wall under the window. "Were you hurt?"

"Not really." He smiled wanly at her.

She gazed at Harry's face and said softly, "He possessed you again, didn't he?"

Ron and Hermione hissed behind Harry. He swallowed. "Yeah. For a minute, anyway."

Hermione's hand touched his head. "But you stopped it?"

"Not me," Harry said. "Professor Snape. We'd been down in their Magical Research Department…there was an artifact there Voldemort was afraid I'd find. It was…a sort of shield." He couldn't tell them about the Pillar yet. The memory was still too overwhelming. "If I touched it, it'd protect me from him again. He came to try and destroy it, but I touched it and then it was too late. He left when reinforcements came."

"That's all that—" Hermione began, but Ron shushed her.

"If you're tired, we can leave you alone."

"No," he said, though he was tired. "I'm just a little…weird, after getting possessed and all." They settled down close to him then, Hermione rubbing his back. "The whole world's going to know about it, this time tomorrow."

"Oh no," Hermione gasped. "Did the Americans see it?"

"Yes, but they promised to keep it out of the papers," said Harry. He smiled. "They're a little odd, Yank wizards. But I liked them." Ron chuckled. "No, the reason the whole world's about to find out is Percy saw it." Ginny and Ron gasped. "And of course, he headed straight back to the Ministry before Dumbledore could even talk to him."

"That…that…" Harry looked over his shoulder and couldn't help grinning: Ron's entire face was turning red. "That…git If he even thinks about…I'll kill him!"

Ginny shook her head violently. "He can't. He may be a git, but he knows what will happen to Harry if word gets out about Voldemort possessing him. People would go crazy—Percy can't want Harry dead!"

Harry just shrugged at them, but privately, he thought, That's exactly what Percy wants. He yawned and changed the subject. "S'pose, I ought to get some homework done."

"Blimey, mate, you're turning into Hermione!"

"Oh, stop it, Ronald! If you like, Harry, we can do it up here as long as you're awake."

"I'm not an invalid!" Harry griped.

She folded her arms. "Don't get cross with me, you're the one who said you ought to do some homework. And the fact that you've barely moved a muscle in the past ten minutes suggests you don't really feel like going all the way to the library, so I was just trying to help!"

Harry groaned and buried his face in his pillow. "Would you please stop being right all the time?" he huffed out at her.

Answering giggles told him he was forgiven. Someone ruffled his hair again. "Stop petting the man!"

"Knock off, Ron, I'm just mothering him."

Harry flinched. Hard. "Harry? Something wrong?"

Harry sat up quickly and began rubbing his neck. "Just a spasm," he grunted. "All right, Hermione, you've convinced me. I haven't finished my N.E.W.T. Defense homework."

"Harry, shame on you, it's due tomorrow, and you owe it to Professor Lupin to give at least some real effort to his class…" Hermione's scolding echoed down the stairs as she and Ginny went to get their books.

Pulling his own DADA book from under his bed, Ron was grinning after them. "She never changes," he muttered, without losing the smile.

"Were you expecting her to?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Nah, I suppose not." Ron's ears went just slightly pink, but then he gestured to his book. "Have you read the chapter yet?"

"Yeah, that's done, I just haven't done the essay."

"Hah. We're ahead of you; we got it done Wednesday."

"When were you two doing homework together Wednesday?"

"Er…"

To Harry's complete astonishment, the Daily Prophet on Monday did not contain a banner headline that read, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Takes Over Harry Potter's Mind! or something else equally melodramatic.

Having spent Sunday night sleeping badly and waking up wondering if hordes of hysterical wizards would be coming to chuck him into the mental ward of St. Mungo's, the relief was almost unbearable.

"Are you sure Percy saw it?" Ron asked him when Hermione pointed out the damning article's absence.

Harry nodded, baffled. The attack on the American Wizarding Congress was mentioned, but the details were not included. "Professor Dumbledore seemed to think he did. He wasn't happy when Percy ran off afterward."

"Maybe it just scared him," said Ginny.

Hermione shook her head, rolling up the newspaper with a puzzled expression. "If he saw something like that, it'd be his duty to inform his boss—or at least that's how he'd see it," she said hastily, before Ron could get angry. "And even if Percy meant Harry no harm, Fudge wouldn't hesitate to leak that information."

"You think Fudge has it in for Harry?" asked Ron. "I just thought he was a whimpering little—"

"—Opportunist is what he is," Hermione growled. "He may not 'have it in' for Harry, but if it'd make him look good to the public, he'd make a human sacrifice out of him without hesitating." The reference made Harry queasy, remembering being tied to the tombstone by Wormtail.

Ginny patted his arm. "Never mind, Harry. Fudge isn't just a whimpering little opportunist, he's incompetent. It'd take more brains and courage than he's got to hurt you."

Maybe, but he could always just make everyone think I'm nutters again. Hermione was stuffing the newspaper into her book bag and giving Ron a meaningful look. She blushed when she saw Harry watching. "What?" he demanded testily.

"Nothing, sorry. Really, Harry, it's nothing, I promise!" she said, raising her hands defensively. Harry shrugged, but felt increasingly rankled—Ron's ears were red. It was not nothing.

Just then, Neville tugged at his arm. "Hey, Harry, what's the matter with Snape?"

"Snape?" Harry blinked.

"He keeps staring at you," Neville whispered, baffled.

Ron shrugged, going for another helping of porridge. "Nasty git hates Harry, he's always glowering at him."

Neville shook his head. "No, this is different."

Without even thinking, Harry looked up at the Head Table. Snape was indeed staring at him, but it wasn't the usual scowl of loathing that put Harry in the same category as a flobberworm. Not that it was friendly either. Snape seemed…perturbed.

As soon as he saw Harry looking back, the Potions Master got up and left the Great Hall. Dumbledore and McGonagall watched him go, but Dumbledore smiled. Harry looked at Neville and shrugged.

Occlumency that evening provided no answers. On the contrary: Harry was more confused than ever. When he arrived, Snape was sitting at his desk, reading essays. "Shut the door, Potter," he said without looking up. Harry did so apprehensively. Something was very odd. Snape got up, came around the desk, and ordered, "Take out your wand," all without looking at Harry.

Harry was baffled. No snide remarks about the last lesson, where Harry had wound up begging Snape to stop? No threats or taunts about what would happen if Harry's control didn't improve?

No, there was none of that—although when Snape finally did look at Harry's face, Harry thought his stare would be enough to burn right through his forehead. "On the count of three. One—two—three—Legilimens!"

Alex Marshall trembled on the floor of Voldemort's stronghold…Harry wrenched his thoughts to the Pillar room, seeking the safety of his mother's arms…Percy accused him of putting his family in danger…Snape was standing in front of Harry as Voldemort took aim, preparing to fight a hopeless battle…

Harry could vaguely see Snape's face in front of him, and as he, Harry, pulled the memory of the Pillar room to cover the memories Snape was attacking, Snape's eyes suddenly widened. Then all at once, it was as though a tug of war between two memories over Harry's mind suddenly ended. Percy's hurt, angry face in the American hotel vanished, and the Pillar room exploded into Harry's mind with such force that he lost all track of the here and now.

It will be all right…His mother's arms were around him again, fierce, desperate, loving him more than seemed possible, he closed his eyes, never wanting it to end…

Harry crashed to his knees with a gasp, trembling. He looked up and saw Snape standing over him, his face sheet white. From heaven straight to hell, he thought, and tried not to groan.

"Get up, Potter." Harry did, resignedly waiting for the abuse to start. Snape's face was expressionless. "That memory is too emotional to be an effective defense. It has too much power over you."

Snape's voice was utterly flat. It certainly was not friendly, not even that semi-approval he tended to give Malfoy and the Slytherins, but the lack of open hostility alone was enough to startle Harry. He stared at Snape in confusion. "What?"

Snape repeated slowly, "I said, the memory of…the incident in America will not effectively shield you from the Dark Lord."

"So…" Harry struggled to make his mind work. "I should use something else as a shield?"

"That is correct. The shield you used last week was a better choice. The objective is to clear your mind of emotion."

"I—all right." Harry mentally shook his head. He didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when the result was that this lesson was actually productive—but he couldn't help wondering if the battle had addled Snape's brains.

Snape raised his wand, and motioned for Harry to lower his. "Again. On the count of three: one—two—three—Legilimens!"

Sirius was laughing at Bellatrix…oh no, not this again…the next jet of red light struck him right in the chest…concentrate, CONCENTRATE!...Harry closed his eyes and struggled to think of the Quidditch tryouts last Thursday…His godfather's eyes widened in shock…come on, come on…He focused his mind on the sunlight flashing on his broomstick as he played Chaser…blue sky…red light…wind on my face…the veil fluttered as though in…NO! Playing Beater, he chased the Bludger toward the Gold Team's goals, faster, faster, and swung as hard as he could—whack!

Panting for breath, Harry opened his eyes, running the back of his hand across them as Snape lowered his wand. "Better," he said.

WHAT is going on here? Harry thought in disbelief.

Snape made as if to raise his wand again, then lowered it. "You have made some progress in defending your mind, but against an outright attack from the Dark Lord, merely focusing upon a distracting or pleasant memory is not enough. You still have not managed to clear your mind of emotion; each time you allow yourself to become distressed, he will penetrate further."

"Yes, sir," said Harry carefully, wanting Snape's strangely-human mood to last.

"That is enough for tonight. Before you go to sleep, concentrate on clearing your mind, as always. Work on it, Potter," said Snape sharply. "After his failure in America, the Dark Lord will be increasing his efforts."

Harry nodded and turned to leave, still wondering why Snape was being almost helpful. He didn't want to risk provoking anything, but…he glanced back. Snape was walking back around his desk. "Sir? Do you think he could come after Hogwarts?"

Snape stopped with his back still turned to Harry. "I have no doubt he is already preparing to do so, in some fashion. Hogwarts is the stronghold of his opposition, and the recent blows to him are seen as a personal insult. It is only a matter of time."

Harry was grateful that Snape didn't turn around then; the words had made him shiver.

Returning to the dormitory, Harry found Ron and Hermione sitting on Ron's bed. They jumped as he entered. "Well?" asked Ron. "How'd it go?"

Harry sat down on his bed and took off his shoes before answering. "Really…really…odd."

"Odd," Hermione repeated, frowning. "Odd in what way?"

"Well…" Harry scratched his head, still puzzling over all the things that hadn't happened during Occlumency. "I think…it went well. I think I'm starting to get the hang of it."

"And that's odd?" asked Ron.

Harry shook his head. "It was Snape who was odd."

"Oh bloody hell, what'd he do this time?" Ron snapped.

Hermione huffed in agreement. "Someone really ought to remind him there's a war on. He should be working with you, not against you. What's he done now?"

Harry huffed out his breath, shaking his head. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" they chorused.

"Well…I sort of blocked him at first, but he told me I wasn't doing it right. And he said what I ought to be doing. Then we tried again, and I blocked him, and he said that was better but I still needed to do better if I want to block Voldemort. And then he let me go." The story sounded strange to Harry even as he told it.

Ron and Hermione were quiet for a moment. "Blimey," Ron muttered. "That is odd!"

Hermione dangled her feet over the edge of Ron's bed, staring at Harry as if she thought he was touched in the head. "He didn't…insult you?"

"No."

"He didn't yell at you?" Ron demanded.

"No."

"He didn't sabotage you and then blame you?" Hermione pressed.

"No."

"He didn't act like he thinks you're an overgrown flobberworm?" Ron exclaimed.

"No."

"Harry…" Hermione pulled her feet back up and rested her chin on her knees, looking highly agitated. "Are you sure that was Snape? I mean…well, Crouch fooled us before…"

Now that was a thought! Harry frowned, thinking back. "I don't know…he was acting odd from the minute the Pillar was destroyed. The first time I saw him after, he looked almost…afraid." He shook his head.

"Maybe your getting possessed gave the old git a scare," said Ron. Then his eyes widened. "Or maybe…he's the one possessed!"

"No," Harry muttered, rubbing his forehead. It still ached, and his scar hurt, but he didn't feel nearly so drained and weakened in his mind as he'd used to. "Dumbledore was there, for a long time. He'd have noticed. And I…don't think I'd miss it if Voldemort was possessing someone else—if it hurts half as much."

Hermione and Ron's faces fell. "It hurts you?" Hermione asked softly.

Harry nodded. "A lot. And one of the Americans said something about my eyes changing color."

Hermione let out a little squeak of horror, and Ron cringed. "What color?" asked Ron, looking revolted.

It struck Harry in a bit of shock that neither of his friends had ever seen Voldemort. They didn't know what he looked like. "Red," he told them. "Voldemort's eyes are red." Hermione covered her mouth, and Ron scooted close to her, putting a hand on her back. Harry changed the subject. "Anyway, that rules out Snape being possessed, so I can't imagine why he's suddenly so…"

Ron leaned forward. "Are you trying to tell us Snape was nice to you?!"

Ginny had been coming up the stairs just then, but at hearing Ron's words, she froze, open-mouthed, then turned and made as if to head back down the stairs. They all had to laugh.

"Come back, Ginny," Harry called.

She did so with exaggerated hesitance. "What's this about the sky falling?"

"No, Snape wasn't exactly nice." They all laughed harder, and Harry found himself relaxing. Was it really worth getting all worked up about—well, perhaps it was a bit earth-shattering, but his agonizing would cast little light on it. "He just…wasn't nasty either."

"Very odd," murmured Hermione.

"Maybe he's just had a change of heart," suggested Ron. Then he grinned, and they all collapsed on beds and floor, laughing hysterically.

Hermione laughed so hard she wound up collapsed across Ron's lap, unable to get up, and Ron was draped over her back. Ginny was flat on her back, shrieking and kicking her heels into the floor. Harry laughed so hard he couldn't breathe.

Life was a bit odd for Harry around Hogwarts over the next few days. He opened up the Daily Prophet with great trepidation each morning, with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny hovering over his shoulder, wondering if this would be the day the story of his possession by Voldemort would be announced. What Fudge was waiting for, he couldn't imagine.

"He must know," Harry muttered on Wednesday during breakfast. "Why hasn't he even been to question me?"

"Maybe Percy didn't tell him after all," Ginny offered in a voice teeming with hope.

"No chance," said Ron darkly. "No chance. I don't like this. It feels like they're waiting for you to do something, Harry."

"Maybe proof," said Hermione. "Or maybe they're talking with the Aurors about what to do."

"Maybe Dumbledore stopped him!" Ron was happiest with that idea (as was Harry.) "Convinced or threatened him somehow."

"Who threatened who?" It was the twins, coming for their N.E.W.T. make-up work.

Harry shook his head vigorously at Ron, who told them, "Sorry, can't say just now."

"Oh, go on, we can keep a secret!" Fred insisted.

"Aren't we the souls of discretion?" demanded George.

Hermione snorted loudly. The twins shot her simultaneous wounded pouts and held them until she broke and started to giggle. Ron looked annoyed. "Flirt with someone your own age."

"What?" exclaimed George. "Hermione thinks we're charming, don't you?"

"Errr…" Hermione turned redder than Ron on his worst days and refused to look up. Ron glowered at the twins until they headed for the Head Table to meet Professor Flitwick, then he looked at Hermione. "Oh, stop it!" she exclaimed.

Harry shook his head in disgust. He had given up on asking them what they and the rest of the Weasleys were conspiring about—every time he turned around, they were whispering furtively, then breaking off and blushing when they saw Harry. Ron and Hermione flatly refused to say anything, and though Harry had questioned Ginny, she insisted it was for Ron or Hermione to tell him. The twins just sniggered and elbowed each other and winked at him. It was incredibly aggravating, so now he just glared at Ron and Hermione whenever they did it.

Everyone in this ruddy place is going absolutely positively stark raving MAD!

Last night's Occlumency lesson had gone well again; Snape had waited longer between each attempt to give Harry time to clear his mind of emotion. Harry hadn't quite managed it—he had lasted about five seconds into Sirius's death before he'd had to use his wand to end it. But at least he was able to end it now, although Snape was still quick to remind him that if he should come under attack by the Dark Lord, Harry would most likely not have his wand handy.

But it was a far cry from the near-gleeful way Snape had launched into the most painful of Harry's memories followed with a dose of beratement for his father's various failings. Not that Harry minded Occlumency lessons without abuse; it was just…strange.

And Potions was even stranger. As far as Harry could tell, Snape's public behavior toward him had not changed much; he still pretended Harry was invisible all through class—or at least through class until the day he was forced to pay attention to Harry.

Halfway through class, Harry was slowly pouring dragon's blood into his Cut Healing Potion when he was struck by a wave of dizziness so intense that he nearly pitched over into the cauldron. Instead, he managed to grab the nearest desk to steady himself, but dropped the entire vial of dragon blood into the potion in the process. The cauldron sent flames shooting into the air—fortunately, they went up rather than out, which narrowly prevented Harry and Hermione from being burned.

Snape stormed over, shouting a dousing spell as Harry righted himself. "POTTER! What the devil are you doing?!"

Hermione had her hands over her mouth in dismay. Harry muttered, "Dropped the vial of dragon's blood, sir."

Across the room, Malfoy snorted with laughter, and Snape scowled. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for carelessness with supplies, Potter, and that's a zero for today—for you and Miss Granger, as she did not have the good sense to keep the valuable ingredients out of your hands!" Then he stalked off, and Hermione sat down at her desk and buried her face in her arms.

"I'm sorry," Harry muttered to her.

With a sigh, she sat up, staring at her notes. "It's all right. I saw you sway. Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Just a dizzy spell. It's gone. Maybe it was the fumes."

She gave him a droll smile. "Well…at least he's back to his old self again!" Harry blinked, then couldn't help but grin.

That evening, when Harry went wearily down to Occlumency, bracing himself for the Return of the Old Snape, the Potions Master pounced on him the minute he closed the door. "What happened in Potions today, Potter? Dropping an entire vial of an extremely valuable ingredient into a cauldron seems a bit extreme even for a student of your native clumsiness. Was this merely yet another stunt to get attention?"

Harry, startled, snapped back, "I got dizzy! It was an accident."

Snape snorted. "Dizzy."

"I had…to grab…the desk…" Harry said, trying and failing to count to one hundred.

Turning away, Snape replied, "I thought as much."

His casual tone made Harry furious. "Then why did you take points for me being careless if you knew I wasn't?!"

"Number one, Mr. Potter, you were being careless, pouring the blood directly from the vial rather than measuring it into another vessel and pouring it from there—and Miss Granger was careless for failing to instruct you in that regard."

"For someone who hates 'insufferable know-it-alls,' you certainly seem to want her to be all-knowing," Harry shot back.

Snape went on as if Harry hadn't spoken, "Number two, you failed to mention your moment of dizziness when I demanded an explanation of you." He met Harry's astonished, indignant gaze, and finished, "Number Three, from now on, you will report any episodes of disorientation, pain in your scar, and any dreams that do not involve your precious Quidditch as soon as they occur, or I will find other ways to take points from you. Is that clear?"

"You—"

"Potter! Is…that…clear?"

Through clenched teeth, Harry ground out, "Yes…sir."

"Now. Clear your mind."

It appeared they were both back to their old selves: Harry couldn't seem to block a thing.

And life went downhill from there. While Snape never quite reverted to torturing Harry with memories of Sirius and Cedric and Uncle Vernon, he certainly had little patience with Harry's difficulty clearing his mind. On days when he and Snape didn't fight, Harry usually managed to push him out either with a memory he pulled up himself or with a curse. The rest of the time, if Harry was at all agitated at the start of Occlumency, he was lucky to get off a Stinging Hex.

However, Harry found that he did not have to report many dreams to Snape, as quite a few of them lately did seem to involve Quidditch.

Ron took his Captain duties seriously, and apart from regularly-scheduled practice, he often nagged Harry, Ginny, and any other team members who looked like they weren't busy (and even those who were) to come on unscheduled rounds when they were supposed to be studying. Harry was all too happy to join in, but Ron also tended to pester him with diagrams of flight strategies and rumours he'd heard about the other House teams when they were doing homework.

Thus, Harry very often had Quidditch on the brain, which was fine with him. The enlarged Gryffindor team was practicing well, but the episode of dizziness in Potions was only the first of an increasing number that started to worry both Harry and his friends. During Herbology the day after, his head began to swim so badly while he was walking in the greenhouse that he lurched into a Giant Spicularboium and got himself incredibly stung. That sent him to the hospital wing, but he chalked it up to tripping over his own feet, though he did tell Professor Lupin during Curse Defense that afternoon. Lupin would pass it on to Dumbledore and Snape if it mattered, and Harry strongly preferred to report any "incidents" to him.

The dizzy spells got worse over the next few weeks. Harry never actually fainted, but there were a few times where he wound up flat on his back on the floor, helpless to move until the world stopped spinning. The worst part was that no one could seem to figure out what was wrong.

Madam Pomfrey gave Harry a Vitalizing Potion, thinking that it was perhaps some lingering effects of the Draught of Living Death and all the excitement of late, but that didn't help, because Harry walked into a wall during Transfiguration the next day. She then took the shotgun approach and prescribed potions for everything from concussions to inner ear infections, with no success. Harry kept up with Occlumency, dutifully (and occasionally desperately) clearing his mind of as much emotion as he could before going to sleep, but that didn't help.

The worst attempt to diagnose the problem was when, at Dumbledore's suggestion, Snape attempted to probe through Harry's mind to see if Voldemort were somehow using Legilimency to affect Harry physically. They never found out, because every time he got through a certain number of memories, Harry would find himself panicking and push him out. Naturally, Snape was not pleased.

During the first Hogsmeade weekend around Halloween, Harry found himself in the Three Broomsticks with Ron and Hermione and the DA, discussing forming themselves into an official club. "We should probably change the official name to 'Defense Association,'" Hermione laughed. "I don't think it'd help Fudge's nerves if we stayed 'Dumbledore's Army.'"

Everyone laughed. "Not that the need's so desperate now, what with Professor Lupin being back," said Terry Boot. "But it'd be a nice way to keep practicing."

"Maybe Professor Lupin could be our sponsoring teacher," said Ginny. "We need one to give approval for us to form an official club."

Nibbling on a cherry from her drink, Hermione frowned, "It's a good idea, although Professor Lupin gets enough scrutiny from the Ministry as it is for his condition. I wouldn't want to invite more trouble for him."

Ron shrugged and took a gulp of butterbeer. "Maybe Professor McGonagall could sponsor us, then. No rule says Professor Lupin couldn't still help."

"Would we still meet in the Room of Requirement?" asked Cho Chang. "I liked that place."

"I don't know if we still 'require' it now that we're legal," said Ernie MacMillian, sitting on the edge of a table. "But we could maybe use the Dueling Room, or fix up an empty classroom with the things we need."

Hermione pulled out a quill and an official-looking parchment. "This is the application form to organize a new club."

"Do we have to sign it this time?" asked Zacharias slyly. Cho blushed while everyone else laughed smugly.

Grinning, Hermione said, "Well, we do need to submit the names of club members to show how many people are interested…but I promise—Wizard's Oath, if you like—I haven't done anything this time!"

They all laughed harder. Ron mock-wiped his eyes. "You're an inspiration to us all, Hermione!" Hermione blushed as the rest of the group voiced their agreement, some applauding.

Harry was quiet through most of the meeting. As glad as he was of the idea to get together and practice Defense, he knew they would want him to teach again, and he wasn't all that certain he wanted to.

Between the dizzy spells (he'd had one at Honeydukes today, and then another at Zonko's) and the catastrophes that had resulted from his visions, and Smythe-Wellington's class, he was suffering from a severe lack of confidence in his own defensive abilities. But when the form came round, he put his name down too, and Hermione took it with satisfaction. "I'll talk to both Professors McGonagall and Lupin, and see which one wants to sponsor us. And find out about the location."

"And now we can just post group meetings on bulletin boards like normal people!" laughed Ginny.

"Aw, I rather liked those fake Galleons!" said someone.

They got permission, and Professor McGonagall and Professor Lupin both sponsored them, giving the club extra legitimacy, although most of them still referred to the group as Dumbledore's Army. Their meetings now mostly centered around practicing whatever they had been learning in their assorted Defense classes each week, but the close camaraderie of the previous year still lingered like an unspoken promise among them all.

Quite a few younger students joined as well, and while Harry avoided taking up his old role as instructor of the group, it was his suggestion that the older students team up with younger ones to help them out. At first they used an empty classroom, but their ranks soon swelled to almost sixty members, and they were allowed to use the Dueling Room for practice.

Harry also discovered that he himself was far worse at the practice than he'd used to be, because his dizzy spells made his partners avoid hexing him, and he never knew when he might suddenly lose his balance and pitch right over.

The week before the Gryffindor Quidditch team's first match, against Hufflepuff, Harry was beginning to wonder if they shouldn't field Ginny as Seeker, and finally asked Ron about it when they were doing homework in the common room. "I'm not going to drop you just because of some ruddy dizzy spells," Ron told him. "Not from our first match, it's not fair after you got banned all last year!"

"I know," Harry said in frustration.

"I have faith in you, mate, just like Angelina wouldn't let me quit."

His scar was hurting again. Aggravated, Harry rubbed his rebellious head and finally just put it down on his arms. "We can't find the cause. Until we do, I don't know how to make it stop."

"Well…unless it gets really bad, you're playing," said Ron. "And if you get dizzy during the game, just wave at me, and I'll call a time out."

"All right," Harry sighed. Then he grinned, "Just don't be so busy watching me that you forget to guard the rings."

"Right!" They both laughed.

Harry glanced around. "Where's Hermione? Isn't Arithmancy over by now?"

Ron's ears turned red. "I…er…reckon she's in the library."

"But I thought she was going to help you with your Curse project."

"Oh, she will…that is to say, she'll come 'round…" The redness spread from the tips of Ron's ears down across his cheeks to his nose. "Okay, we had a big argument, and she's mad at me." He avoided Harry's gaze. "It was about Quidditch; she thought you shouldn't play too—but I think you should!" he said desperately. "We need to show the other Houses we're back in force, and that means having you and Ginny in the positions you play best!"

Laughing, Harry slapped his back. "All right. But make sure the others are able to watch for a time out signal too. I'd rather not fall off my broom during a Wronski Feint."

"You don't fall that often!"

"No, because I've got just enough time to sit down before I fall down. Didn't you see me in Specialized Defense this morning? Smythe-Wellington thinks I'm a complete wanker!"

"Oh, I don't know about that, she was pretty worried. She knows it's not normal for someone to keel over more than twice a week," said Ron. "And at least that made her lay off you about the way you draw your wand."

Harry groaned, remembering how Smythe-Wellington had called him a would-be Muggle gunslinger with his wand-drawing and made him do it over and over again in front of the class until she liked it. Then the dizzy spell had hit, and he'd barely been able to stand for the rest of class. "Maybe she is just doing her job, but she definitely thinks I'm not cut out to be an Auror."

"Well…" Ron couldn't deny it. Smythe-Wellington did not appear to think much of Harry's chances. "At least she thinks Malfoy's worse than you!"

Saturday dawned cloudy, but pleasant, and Ron couldn't have been happier. "No sun in our eyes, not too much wind, perfect."

Hermione was walking down to the pitch with the team. "Harry, are you sure you'll be able to play?"

"Hermione! Stop discouraging him!"

"I'm not, Ron!" she cried. "I promise I'm not! I'm just worried! That fall in Specialized Defense yesterday was really bad, what if you fall off your—"

"Don't worry," Ginny insisted. "We've got it all worked out. Everyone knows to keep an eye on Harry, and if he has trouble, we'll call a time out until it passes. They don't seem to come very close together, the dizzy spells I mean."

Andrew Kirk and Lavinia Watson ran up next to them, Andrew swinging his Beater's bat and Vinny swinging her long blonde braid. "Maybe you're having a growth spurt!" Vinny suggested.

Harry grinned. "There's a nice thought! I could finally start to catch up with Ron!"

"You know, that could be it, Harry," said Hermione, finally starting to look encouraged. "The Draught of Living Death freezes the body until you're just barely alive—you wouldn't have grown at all over the summer. Maybe now your body's sort of catching up."

"Hmm. I'll ask Madam Pomfrey after the match," Harry said as they reached the locker rooms.

Hermione hugged him, then whispered in his ears. "Any dreams?"

"Just about Quidditch," Harry said proudly, and she beamed.

"In that case," Hermione let go of Harry to grab both of Ron's hands. "Kill them, Captain Weasley!"

Ron whooped, and as Harry watched with an open mouth, threw his arms around Hermione and spun her wildly around. "For you, I'll make sure the score is at least a hundred fifty to zero! Got that, Harry? Catch the Snitch in the first thirty seconds!"

Ginny giggled behind them, and Harry mock saluted. "Yes, sir, Captain, sir!"

Hermione waved vigorously at them before running toward the stadium stairs. "Look at that!" Ron cried.

"At what?" Harry asked.

"She's…excited! Excited about Quidditch! Can you believe it! She always supported us ourselves, but never really the team!" Ron was practically skipping.

Harry followed in amusement. "It's your team, Ron. That's why. It's all our team. You, me, Ginny, with Fred and George helping."

"Wow," Ron mused. "It really is our team, isn't it? My team?" Harry and Ginny grinned at each other and nodded. "In that case…get in that locker room, you lazy sloggers!" Ron shouted, and chased them to join the rest of the team.

The Gryffindors were in high spirits, and Ron gave them a pep talk worthy of Oliver Wood, to the point where Harry had a funny feeling in his stomach as the rest of the team cheered and stomped their feet. The feeling unnerved him at first, until it dawned on him: he was proud of Ron. So proud, in fact, he thought he might explode. This was a far cry from the Ron whose ears had glowed red with embarrassment and self-doubt before every game last year. This Ron looked like he had been born to be Quidditch Captain.

Prefect and Quidditch Captain…I wonder if he'll make Head Boy next year. He was sitting, grinning stupidly, when Ginny poked him. "Hey! Are you coming?"

"Wha—yeah! Sorry!" he grinned and hurried after the others. Ginny was watching him, so he explained, "I was just thinking what a good Captain he makes."

She grinned broadly. "I know. I'm so, so proud of him! Fred and George are beside themselves. I only wish Mum and Dad could have come."

Harry frowned. "They couldn't…make it to his first game?"

"They and Bill are in Romania with Charlie, on…business," she said, giving him a significant look so he knew it was Order business. "Sorry, you weren't there when we got their letter. They'll be home tomorrow, but they had to miss the game. They're coming to the Ravenclaw match."

"That one will be exciting," said Ron, dropping back to join them. "This one shouldn't be too difficult—not that that's an excuse to be lazy," he added, pointing to each of them in turn. They giggled and nodded. "Right! Here we go!"

With whoops of excitement, the Gryffindors mounted their brooms and soared out into the Quidditch stadium to the roar of the Saturday crowd. Harry saw Fred and George with Hermione and Neville. There was no less than a sign for every member of the team—probably the twins' doing:

Weasley Is Our King!

Weasley Is Our Queen!

D.A. Loves Potter!

Harry laughed out loud, then pumped his fists over his head at the Gryffindors as the team took their positions. Ginny gave him a thumbs-up, and Ron winked before shaking hands cheerfully with a rather-tense Zacharias Smith. Harry couldn't keep the grin off his face; no, this wasn't same Ron who had nearly gone to pieces before the start of season last year!

I am so, so proud of him! And it didn't even occur to Harry to be jealous.

Then the Quaffle was thrown, and they were off. Ron was right; conditions were perfect. Harry circled smoothly, keeping an eye on the Hufflepuff Seeker and smiling to himself as the commentary from Dean Thomas indicated Ron had made a major save.

Ginny had the Quaffle, and shot across the field toward the Hufflepuff scoring zone with Dennis and Katie flanking her. Harry had a hard time keeping his eyes on the pitch and off Ginny as she streaked along with Zacharias hot on her heels. She'd tangled with Tom Riddle at age eleven; she could handle Zacharias, even if he was on a Nimbus.

As the Hufflepuff Seeker threw up his hands as Ginny scored, Harry spotted a flicker of gold high up near the teachers' stands. He shot upward and heard the shouts of excitement from the crowd. "Potter must see the Snitch, either that or he's got homework to turn in—" Dean fancied himself a comedian. "Jacobs is following, putting his Comet to the test even though he's chasing a Firebolt! There they go, but—aah!"

Harry ducked instinctively as a Bludger whizzed past his head, then managed swerved to avoid the other one, nearly crashing back into Frank Jacobs, the Hufflepuff seeker. "Close calls for both Seekers, there, but they're all right!" Dean yelled.

Harry gave an apologetic wave to Jacobs, and got one in return; the Snitch had vanished anyway. He was starting to drop down again when the whole stadium tilted crazily. Oh no, not now! He grabbed his Firebolt's handle tightly as his head seemed to detach from his neck. He was so off-kilter he didn't dare raise a hand to signal. No, no, stop it! Why now? Stop! Come ON! He tried desperately to focus his eyes on something, anything to get his bearings, but he couldn't. The Snitch could have been in front of his nose, and he could not have grabbed it.

Just then, he heard Madam Hooch blow her whistle and Dean announcing a time out. Thank goodness, someone had seen. There was a whoosh up next to him, then Ron had his arm. "Harry! You okay, mate?"

"No…I'm…bloody not…" Harry grunted, too disoriented to be tactful. "Can't…bloody…see!"

The rest of the team was rising toward him. "Let's get on the ground before he falls," said Ginny's voice, but all Harry could make out was a blur of red hair over a red uniform. Too much red on this team, he thought hazily.

With Ron on one side of him and Ginny on the other, they descended. "Just need…a minute," Harry mumbled, but Ginny shushed him.

"It's all right. We're well up on them. Just concentrate on staying upright."

Frustrated and embarrassed, Harry knew she was right. He could hear the jeers of the Slytherin section and kept his eyes shut, hoping his head would sort itself out. Madam Hooch was waiting to meet them when they landed. "You don't look well, Potter. Weasley, are you pulling him?"

Harry heard Ron sigh miserably, and opened his eyes. "Ron, I—" His scar flared, making him gasp, and grab his forehead, while the others reached out to steady him as he lurched off balance. "I…oh no…something's…happening…"

A stab of incredible pain in his scar brought him to his knees, and he squinted through it, desperately turning toward the teachers' stands. "Harry, what's wrong!?" Ron cried.

Harry grabbed Madam Hooch. "Something…here…now! Tell Dumbledore—"

The thunderbolt CRACK! of the first wizard Apparating INTO the Hogwarts grounds would stay in Harry's memory for the rest of his life. Screams of absolute panic rang out from the stands around them as a black robed wizard in a white mask appeared right on the field. With another crack, there were two. Then three, then four, then…

Harry heard a curse shouted, then the arms still holding him let go, and he fell. The entire world was spinning, and he couldn't move, even as he heard screams of terror, shouts of curses, and cries of pain ringing out all around him. His scar burning this way could mean only one thing: it was happening. Voldemort was coming to Hogwarts, and Harry could not stop him. He was even more useless than he'd been when Snape had dragged him out of Voldemort's stronghold. He couldn't even throw a curse.

"Harry!" someone screamed nearby, and then a body was hovering protectively over him. Long red hair brushed his face.

"Ginny—no—"

"Shush! Expelliarmus! Stupefy! There's a dozen," she whispered, her weight holding him still as she propped herself up on one elbow to shoot hexes. "Protego! Hang on. Help's coming."

Harry couldn't have protested or tried to stop her no matter how badly he wanted to. His head still refused to stop spinning and was only getting worse. If Voldemort appeared now and aimed his wand straight at Ginny, Harry would not be able to do anything. His scar was burning, but he didn't think Voldemort was coming any closer—yet.

Feet were coming toward them at a run. "Stay there, Gin!" said Ron's voice. "Hang on, Harry. Stupefy!"

With an effort, Harry looked past Ginny's shoulder. She was still crouched over him, but there appeared to be a ring of red heads around them—either three or six, Harry couldn't be sure. They were right in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, far too exposed in this chaos. Ginny was the only one with the sense to stay low—or maybe that was just because she was shielding Harry with her body. Didn't they realize that the group of them looked like a great big target with Harry in the middle?

And then what he feared most—what he had feared most for so long—finally happened. A flash of curse light blazed over their heads, making Ginny flinch above him, then they heard a cry and a thud.

George screamed. "Fred!"

"No! Stay there! I'll get him!" Ginny shouted. She scrambled off Harry, but then there was another flash close by, and she shrieked.

"Oh God! Gin!" Real panic was in Ron's voice.

With an effort, Harry turned his head. A Gryffindor Quidditch uniform was slumped beside a green jacket on the ground nearby. "No…" he moaned.

The world was spinning so madly around him that he thought he'd vomit, but he had to get to them. He managed to roll onto his stomach, keeping his blurry vision fixed on the pile of motionless clothing only feet away, then he dragged himself over to them and draped his body across them as best he could. This can't be happening…not you too…wake up, SOMEBODY wake up!

Ginny was moaning and twitching beneath him. In Fred beside her, there was no sign of life. Harry held onto both of them and wished for it all to stop.

After an eternity, the yells and curses and crashes gave way to moans and sobs and shouts for help. Someone yanked Harry off and began pulling at the bodies under him, crying, "Fred? Fred!"

Harry lay where he was on the ground, his head still spinning so badly that he couldn't see, his heart still pounding and stomach churning in anguish, and his chest heaving with silent sobs. This couldn't be happening…it couldn't…not them...why couldn't he just die if it would protect them…

Someone was sprinting toward them. "Harry! Ron—Ginny! Oh no, oh—"

"Harry!" he heard Ron choke out. "Herm—get—Harry!"

Then Hermione was kneeling beside Harry, searching for injuries. "D-did they get you?"

"No," Harry murmured, wishing they had. "Just…dizzy."

Hermione wiped her eyes furiously, then bent over him, feeling his forehead and poking and prodding him. "No fever…but your eyes look odd." Her voice still shook, but she was obviously trying to keep calm as she pulled him into a sitting position. "It's not your fault," she whispered. "It's not your fault."

Aurors and teachers were swarming around the Weasleys. Harry turned away and shut his eyes. Hermione hugged him, repeating over and over that it wasn't his fault. But with the cries and yells and George's sobbing in his ears, Harry couldn't even start to believe her. The only relief came because when the spinning finally subsided, oblivion swiftly followed.

Harry was standing in front of a tall window in a dimly-lit room.

Voldemort was staring back at him.

"Now you and Dumbledore and your blood traitor professor know the price of interfering with me, Potter!" the Dark Lord hissed mockingly. "And your pitiful worshippers, the Weasleys, know the price of your friendship!"

Voldemort dissolved into maniacal laughter, but the strange thing was that Harry too was laughing, just as madly. Then he realized: the tall window was not a window at all.

It was a mirror.

"NOOO!" Harry flew upright, sending bedclothes in every direction, thrashing wildly. "No—you—monster—I'll kill—"

"Harry! Harry, stop!" Hands grabbed at him, trying to catch his swinging fists.

Once he fell out of bed, Harry realized he was in the hospital wing—and had narrowly avoided pummeling Hermione. He leaned against the side of the bed as he sat on the floor, gasping, "Dream—Voldemort—laughing—he said—Ginny? Fred?" He tried to scramble to his feet. "What happened, why are you—what am I—"

"Potter!" Professor McGonagall intercepted him, grabbing his shoulders. "They're alive. No one was killed."

Relief washed over him with such intensity that he swayed. Professor McGonagall and Hermione caught him, moving to guide him back to the bed, but he pulled away. "Where are they—where's Ron and George?"

"Potter! Calm down!" Professor McGonagall ordered. Harry bit his lip and tried to get himself under control. Professor McGonagall's eyes were very red, he noticed, and her face was smudged, but her voice was steady. "I will take you to them, but you must control yourself." She squeezed his shoulders gently. "I know you are very upset, but we cannot have hysterics here now."

It was only then that Harry's eyes registered the rest of the hospital wing. Every bed was occupied. Madam Pomfrey was directing an entire team of Healers, all of whom moved with an air of tightly-controlled desperation. Near the door, some students were even sitting on the floor in stunned silence, being bandaged by Professor Sprout and Remus Lupin. Remus looked up at Harry and mouthed something that Harry was too agitated to catch.

There must be fifty people in here! he thought, cold horror settling inside of him.

And Voldemort had just rubbed Harry's nose in it. I'll kill you, you bastard. I'll KILL you for this!

Hermione and Professor McGonagall were still watching him closely. Harry took a deep breath. "I'll be fine," he said in a strange voice.

Professor McGonagall nodded and led him further down the hospital wing. Harry realized with a rush of nausea that the injuries were progressively worse as they went along. A few white-faced parents were already sitting at some of the bedsides. Harry quickly looked away. The beds that Professor McGonagall brought him to were at the very end of the hospital wing, behind a screen. Harry jammed his teeth into his lower lip as they came around it.

Two Healers were hovering over one of the beds, working feverishly. In the other bed was a red-haired girl with very pasty skin who looked only half awake. In a chair between the two beds, pushed back against Ginny's by the Healers was George, looking completely unaware of anything else in the room but the silent form being labored over by the healers. Standing behind George, with his arms tightly around his older brother's shoulders, was Ron.

Ginny saw Harry first and weakly stretched out a hand toward him. "Harr…"

Harry's feet carried him forward before he knew it. Ron gasped at the sight of him and quickly pulled George out of the way so Harry could go to Ginny. He didn't even think, just grabbed her hand tightly. "Hey," he whispered.

She smiled and took a labored breath. "You…okay?"

"Yeah," he fought back a lump in his throat. "You?" What a stupid question!

But she still smiled and murmured, "Will be," and closed her eyes. Harry gave her hand a squeeze and stood up to ask Ron and George about Fred.

The minute he turned around, Ron practically fell into his arms, shaking like a leaf. Harry held on, frightened, as Ron choked out, "He might—he might not—they say—he can't—"

No. Oh no… Feeling helpless to do anything else, Harry hugged Ron, looking past him at George, who was still staring fixedly at Fred. Harry could not imagine George without Fred, and he could see that neither could George. What would it do to him if Fred…he shuddered. The thought was truly too horrible to entertain.

Just inside the screen, Professor McGonagall was watching George. Harry mouthed to her, How bad?

"We do not know yet," Professor McGonagall said softly.

Desperate for something, anything, to think about, Harry asked Ron, "Are your mum and dad on the way?"

Ron nodded, not relinquishing his grip on Harry. "Yeah, but…Romania…could be hours, maybe days!" Sitting on the edge of Ginny's bed, stroking her hair, Hermione moaned softly and reached out for Ron's hand. Ron looked desperately at Harry as though expecting him to provide answers. "I can't do it," he whispered. "I can't…" He looked from the sleeping Ginny to the ashen-faced George to Fred's bed, now surrounded by four healers. "I was never…there's always been them, or Bill, or Charlie, or Mum and Dad. I never had to take care…I need…but they're all gone…I wish…Percy…"

Harry looked over Ron's shoulder at Hermione. Her eyes widened. Professor McGonagall saw their faces and came forward. "Your family will be here very soon, Ronald. Come sit down with your brother." She gently pulled him away from Harry and pressed him into another chair.

George didn't appear to have heard a thing. Harry tried not to look at him as he knelt in front of Ron. Maybe there was something he could do after all. "Want me to owl Percy at the Ministry and ask him to come?"

Ron blinked like a confused little boy. "Yeah," he whispered. "I want Percy. He'll know what to do."

"All right. I'll be back soon," Harry promised and jumped up. Hermione followed him out.

As soon as they were outside the hospital wing, Harry broke into a dead run all the way to the Owlery. Hermione kept up and was pulling out a parchment and quill to hand to him as soon as he called Hedwig down. "Percy'll come for this," he said to her, scribbling feverishly. "He may hate me, but he loves them."

Percy,

Please come to Hogwarts. There's been an attack and Fred and Ginny are hurt. Ron's asking for you.

Hurry please.

Harry wrote EMERGENCY in big letters on the outside and gave it to Hedwig. "Take this to Percy Weasley, Undersecretary to the Minister. Peck him to pieces if he doesn't open it right away. Fast as you can."

Hedwig launched herself and soared out the window. Harry grimaced. "I didn't sign it. I probably should've sent it with another owl, maybe then he'd be less likely to throw it in the fire without opening it."

Hermione watched him pacing. "Something happened in America, didn't it?"

"Yeah. If he didn't wish me dead after that, he will after this," Harry muttered. "And I rather agree with him."

"Harry, stop!" Hermione cried. "This isn't your fault, and I'll strangle him if he says it is. Don't do this to yourself."

As hard as he could, Harry drove his fist into the wooden wall with a loud crash, sending splinters flying everywhere. Hermione yelped, owls hooted indignantly, and the blow left an impressive dent in the wall. Harry slowly withdrew his bleeding hand, and Hermione stifled a sob.

His voice ragged in his ears, Harry said, "I had a vision."

"When?!"

"When it was over," he choked out. "Voldemort was talking to me. In a mirror, laughing…" he dropped to his knees, pressing his fists into his forehead, wishing he could crush his own skull. Hermione sniffled as she knelt in front of him.

"It's—still—not—your—fault!"

He got up, brushing dirt and straw off his pants absently. "Come on. Percy'll want to know what happened, if he comes."

"He'll come," Hermione said like a prayer. "They want him. He'll come."

They were walking toward the main entrance when Snape burst into the corridor ahead of them. "Potter!"

"Professor?" Hermione exclaimed.

From the looks of him, Snape had allowed the Healers to patch up the worst of his injuries, then run out of the hospital wing. His robes were still torn and stained, his face still dirty, and a small cut on his temple still oozed blood. Harry and Hermione waited as he strode toward them. "Granger, leave us, I require a…report from Potter."

Hermione obediently started to walk on, but Harry caught her arm and pulled her into an empty classroom, jerking his head at Snape to follow. He shut the door behind them and said, "You don't have to go, Hermione."

"Excuse me, Potter?" Snape was obviously in a very foul mood.

However, so was Harry. "You want to know if I had any dreams or visions about this, am I right, sir?"

"Correct," Snape growled.

"Well, Hermione already knows about them, so there's no point sending her away now." Harry scowled, though for once it wasn't directed at Snape. "Besides, it won't protect her or anybody else." Fury coarsed through him. "Voldemort told me."

"Potter!"

"Sorry, the Dark Lord told me. After I passed out. He was standing in front of a mirror, talking to me." I'll kill him I'll kill him I'll kill him…

Snape had forgotten all about Hermione's presence. His already-pallid face was losing what color was left in it. Harry even thought he heard a tremor in the Potions Master's low voice. "What exactly did he say?"

"He said that now I and Dumbledore…and you…know the price of interfering with him. And that the…" Harry's throat closed, and he had to swallow hard, "the Weasleys knew the price of my friendship. And then he laughed."

Hermione raised a trembling hand to her mouth and sank into a desk. The Potions Master's expression changed little, but Harry could see something smoldering in his eyes that was very scary. Snape nodded slightly, his attention no longer on Harry, and steadied himself on a chair. Then his head snapped down to glare furiously at it as if it were the cause of everything, and Hermione squeaked in surprise as he seized it and hurled it across the room to shatter against the wall. Then, breathing hard, he headed for the door.

"Do not mention this vision to anyone else outside the Order, Potter. Least of all the Weasleys."

Harry swallowed thickly. "I wasn't planning on telling them."

Snape paused in the doorway to glare back at them. "Granger?"

"I won't say anything, Professor."

Snape turned away and walked stiffly out the door, looking as if he were barely restraining himself from pummeling the first person he saw. Harry took a deep breath. "For the first time in my life, I know exactly how he feels."

"A group of Slytherins were seriously hurt," said Hermione. "I saw Professor Snape trying to get to you and Ron and the others, but he stopped to try and protect some of his first years. Those Death Eaters didn't spare anyone."

"I'll bet Malfoy got through it just fine," Harry snarled.

"I don't know; I haven't been thinking about him," said Hermione with a shrug, and she stood up. "Come on. Let's go wait for Percy. Hedwig ought to be arriving at the Ministry around now." They went down to the main entrance and sat watching the Aurors running around. "Everyone wants to know how Death Eaters could apparate into the grounds. Somehow the wards failed for a moment, enough for the Death Eaters to get in, but then when the Aurors came, the Death Eaters couldn't get out again."

"So they're all caught?" Harry asked.

"A couple are dead, but the rest are caught."

"Voldemort was close; I felt him. I wonder why he didn't join the fight himself," Harry mused.

"Hmm. Be sure and report that to someone."

"Right." Sitting outside the door with the grounds so unnaturally quiet was freeing up Harry's mind too much, and it was all coming back. Lying completely helpless and useless with curses flying everywhere, and only able to shield Fred and Ginny after they'd been hit…Harry began to shiver, and Hermione put a hand on his shoulder.

"It's not your fault, Harry."

He choked out a laugh. "You keep saying that."

"Because it's true, and you ought to believe it."

Harry rested his forehead on his knees. "George wouldn't even look at me."

Hermione sniffled. "George hasn't looked at anyone since they got to the hospital wing. He's completely in shock." Her voice grew more ragged as she said, "I can't…even fathom…what it'll do to him if…"

"OY! Watch yourself there, Weasley!" yelled Mad-Eye Moody.

Harry and Hermione sprang to their feet. A figure in Ministry robes was pelting up the road from Hogsmeade, rumpled, glasses askew from having nearly plowed into two Aurors and not even slowing to right himself. His eyes suddenly met Harry's, and he sprinted even harder. Harry had never seen that look in Percy's eyes before—he also had never imagined Percy was so good a runner. He looked to have run all the way from the edge of the anti-apparation wards.

Harry braced himself for a stream of condemnations, of furious epithets, even a blow, but Percy just grabbed his shoulders, his eyes wild with naked panic.

"Where are they?!"

"Hospital wing," Harry blurted, stunned. Percy released him and bolted through the doors. Harry and Hermione ran after him.

Percy sprinted for the hospital wing as if his life depended on it, and Harry and Hermione were several strides behind him when he opened the door. He stopped then; they both knew why. The sight of the place had taken his breath away. Harry and Hermione caught up and led him to the back of the room, past all the other beds. Percy's face went paler and paler as he took in the extend of the injuries.

Behind the screen, two healers were performing some kind of slow spell on Fred. Harry hadn't been able to see him before, and the sight of that mad, obnoxious, golden-hearted Weasley twin lying so still and ashen-faced made Harry weak in the knees—to say nothing of what it did to Percy. He let out a ragged sob, and this made Ron look up. Even George turned and fixed wide, haunted eyes on his estranged brother. Then, to everyone's surprise, George made as if to get up from his chair, but his legs simply gave way, and he wound up on his knees on the floor.

Ron jumped up, but Percy got there first, kneeling and pulling George into his arms and rocking him like a little boy. George quietly began to sob. Percy held him with one arm and reached out to Ron with the other. Ron fell into the embrace with George in between them.

Harry couldn't stand it anymore. He turned and left.

Hogwarts was deathly silent. Even Peeves was subdued; Harry saw him hovering next to the entrance to the Great Hall, but he didn't seem to see Harry. It reminded Harry a little of George, and then it occurred to him that Peeves must know what had befallen his favorite students.

He finally retreated back to the empty classroom where he and Hermione had spoken with Snape earlier. He was still sitting and contemplating the chair Snape had broken when Hermione burst in, her eyes full of tears—but smiling. "There you are!" she panted.

Harry jumped up. "What? What happened?!"

"He made it! Fred! He's going to be all right!" Hermione could barely speak for sobbing. "The Healers say the worst is over!"

Harry felt a few sobs escape himself before he got a grip. "Oh…I…" he laughed, wiping his eyes. "Thank heavens. And Ginny? And how's George?"

"Ginny's going to be fine too. They'll have a long recovery, especially Fred, but it'll be total. George…well, he still doesn't speak, but he's sitting next to Fred now that the healers are done, and Percy got him to drink some water. Ron's sitting with Ginny."

Harry let out a long sigh that echoed in the empty room. "That's great. That's just…" he dropped into a chair, light-headed with relief.

Hermione was still grinning. "There's something else. Percy wants you to come back."

With no small amount of apprehension, Harry allowed Hermione to lead him back to the hospital wing. Ron was sitting by Ginny's bed, Percy in the middle, and George was sitting next to Fred's bed, with his head resting on one arm on the mattress, and one hand covering his twin's. Percy looked up as Harry came behind the screen and smiled weakly. It made him look younger.

"You ought to be here too, Harry."

Well. Harry certainly hadn't expected that. Hermione had gone to sit down next to Ron, and Harry realized there was another chair there now. Shaking a little, he went and sat down.

George sat up and looked at Harry for the first time since the attack. Harry held his breath, but George smiled and held out an arm without speaking. The sparkle of mischief hadn't returned to his eyes—Harry knew it wouldn't until Fred woke up—but the haunted look was fading. Harry gratefully hugged George, then watched him return to the exact same position on the edge of the bed, staring at Fred's face.

A long time later, there were hushed voices outside the screen, then Madam Pomfrey came in with Professor McGonagall. She smiled at all of them, but said, "I suppose it's useless asking any of you to go and get some sleep?" Ron snorted, Harry and Hermione smiled, and Percy shook his head. "Well, George Weasley, you at least should rest." George ignored her, or maybe he didn't hear.

Professor McGonagall exchanged glances with Madam Pomfrey and rolled her eyes slightly. Then she went over to the bedside where George was leaning on the mattress and patted his shoulder fondly. Getting no response, she rested her hand on top of his red hair and began gently stroking his forehead with her thumb.

Harry and the others sat up in surprise as George's eyes drooped closed and his head drifted down onto his arm. When Professor McGonagall removed her hand, George was out. She smiled at them, took an extra blanket from Madam Pomfrey and draped it over George. "Shh," she said to them, and walked serenely from behind the screens.

Harry exchanged open-mouthed looks with the others. "Is that legal?" Percy wondered.

"Probably not," Hermione whispered, smiling at the twins, "but it was the right thing to do."

Movement from the other bed made them all turn. "Percy?" Ginny mumbled sleepily.

Hermione gave Percy her chair, and she and Harry stood behind Ron's, each with a hand on his shoulder as Percy went to sit with his sister. "How are you feeling, Gin?"

"Na' s'bad. When'd you get here?"

"A few hours ago. I'm sorry it wasn't sooner." Harry had never seen Percy this way before. His voice was very soft, his entire manner very…brotherly. And as close to tears as he was, he bore a striking resemblance to his mother.

Ginny smiled and said, "Glad you're back, you stupid git. Missed you."

"Me too. I…sorry, Gin. I'm sorry for everything." Percy rested his head on the edge of Ginny's pillow, talking softly with his eyes never leaving her face.

That was the sight that greeted Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie when they came in around midnight. "Percy!" Bill gasped.

Harry and the others spun around. "Mum!" Ginny said weakly.

Mr. Weasley's eyes darted from his bedridden daughter to the twins, and he quietly sobbed into his hands. Mrs. Weasley, to Harry's astonishment, did not cry. She went to Ginny first, embracing her carefully. Then she hugged Ron, then Percy (so tightly that Harry feared both their ribs would break), then she went to the sleeping twins, gently kissing each one on the forehead.

"They'll be fine, Molly," said Professor Dumbledore's voice from behind them. Mr. Weasley didn't look up from where he was sitting on the twins' bed, but Mrs. Weasley turned. "Fred had a close shave, but we pulled him through."

"What was he hit with?" Bill asked Hermione.

"Remember the curse Dolohov used on me at the Department of Mysteries?" she muttered grimly. "It seems to be a Death Eater favorite—and this one had his voice. We're lucky he wasn't as skilled as Dolohov."

Harry shivered. Just then, Mrs. Weasley glanced over and seemed to see him for the first time. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. Harry's heart began turning cartwheels, and it became hard to breathe. Ron, Hermione, even Percy in a roundabout way had told him they didn't blame him, and he had assumed Mrs. Weasley would be the same.

But now, with one son almost dead and her only daughter seriously hurt…Harry wondered: would she still care for him? She had once counted Harry as one of her sons—to Sirius, no less—but…after this…would she still? Or would she want nothing more to do with him? Harry swallowed hard as Mrs. Weasley came toward him, thinking matter-of-factly that if she pushed him away, he'd walk calmly up to the Astronomy Tower and jump off.

Mrs. Weasley stopped in front of him, then seized the sides of his face in her hands and cried, "Don't you dare blame yourself for this, Harry Potter!"

Behind them, Ron sniffled loudly, Hermione burst into tears, and Harry gladly hid his face in Mrs. Weasley's shoulder to stop himself from doing the same. The rest of the Weasleys came to echo their matriarch's sentiment, and soon after that, Fred and George woke up.

Fred stirred first, just a little, causing a hush to fall over the rest of them, and George was up like a shot, grabbing Fred's hand and watching him with wild eyes. With Madam Pomfrey's approval, Bill bundled Ginny in her blanket and carried her over to the twins' bedside.

As they all watched silently, Fred's eyelids fluttered and slowly opened. His groggy gaze traveled over all of them to finally settle on his white-faced twin. He licked his lips and murmured, "'Lo, old boy. Wha'd I miss?"

George collapsed onto the mattress, sobbing, as Fred grinned weakly and patted his head. Then Mrs. Weasley was crying, then all of them were crying—but laughing at the same time.

It was a fitting way for Fred Weasley to wake up.

HOGWARTS ATTACKED!

Wards Compromised Temporarily, Aurors Report…

The first inter-House Quidditch match at Hogwarts School was tragically interrupted Saturday by fourteen Death Eaters apparating into the grounds. Victims appear to have been targeted at random, resulting in more than forty injuries among the student body and faculty, however no deaths are reported. Some witnesses have told the Daily Prophet that the assailants paid particular attention to the Gryffindor House Quidditch team, whose Seeker is Harry Potter.

It is confirmed that the Boy-Who-Lived was among the wounded, but reports conflict over whether he was injured during the attack itself or immediately beforehand in a Quidditch accident. It is unquestionable, however, that Potter was targeted by the Death Eaters, and two of the worst injuries were sustained by Fred and Ginevra Weasley in their heroic defense of the Boy Who Lived.

Harry sighed heavily, looking at the picture of himself draped over the motionless Fred and Ginny as Aurors ran toward them immediately after the battle. "I wasn't injured," he muttered. "Just bloody useless."

"Stop talking that way!" Hermione scolded. "Obviously those dizzy spells happened because Voldemort did something to you to keep you down."

"She's right," said Ginny, taking the paper away. "He probably knew between you and Dumbledore, you'd make short work of the Death Eaters." She sat back against the piled-up pillows of her hospital bed and read aloud, "'Early Auror speculation is that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was present at the edge of Hogwarts grounds and that he was able to disable the wards in time for his followers to apparate in. However, as the Death Eaters were unable to apparate out again and thus were apprehended, the Ministry says that we may consider this a failed attack.

'However, many parents of injured students are finding this poor consolation, and demand increased security at the school.'"

Harry smiled at her. "You skipped the part about my being a potential danger to the school."

"I do not read twaddle," Ginny replied primly.

Hermione gave Harry a warning look, so he bit back all he wanted to say. Still, that didn't stop him from thinking it. They were the targets, not me. I've made them all targets.

Just then, Percy came in with Professor Dumbledore and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Fred and George were both asleep again. "Feeling all right?" Percy asked Ginny, kissing her forehead.

"Better," she replied.

Dumbledore remarked, "Perhaps we should obtain an extra bed for George while his brother is here."

"That might be wise," chuckled Mrs. Weasley. "I can't see anyone prying him out until Fred is released." She shook her head. "I suppose it's too much to hope they'll be less reckless after this."

"For one, maybe," said Percy, looking at the slumbering twins. "Fred might still think himself immortal, but I think George has had a scare he won't soon forget." He sighed. "I'd much prefer they hadn't."

Everyone nodded grimly. A quiet word with Hermione after being evicted from the hospital wing the previous night had revealed to Harry just how close to death Fred had come. It still made him sick to think about it.

Mrs. Weasley had gone to fuss over Ginny, so Harry stood up to give them space. Percy stepped toward him then. "Harry, may I have a word?" he asked quietly.

Harry's stomach lurched. With that hellish Saturday behind them, he had realized this morning that there were many things left unsaid between himself and Percy. And he wasn't at all looking forward to the interview. Still, judging by the meaningful looks Ginny and Ron were giving their older brother, this wasn't Percy's decision alone, and it would be easier on the rest of the Weasleys if Harry and Percy laid their quarrels to rest. So he nodded and followed Percy out.

They walked outside, where the shocked silence of the school felt less oppressive, and stopped near the greenhouses. Percy toed the dirt, avoiding Harry's eyes, a far cry from the pompous, posturing figure who had strutted along in Fudge's wake before. He took a deep breath and said, "I'm sure you know what this is about, so I'll just come straight out with it: I owe you an apology. Several, in fact—don't interrupt!" he added, as Harry opened his mouth to give the obligatory protest. "There's no denying…I've been…my behavior's been inexcusable to you for over a year."

Harry shrugged, looking awkwardly through the greenhouse windows. "I wasn't exactly nice to you in America."

Percy smiled bitterly. "No, but…you were right. About my family and…my actions."

Swallowing hard, Harry muttered, "You were right about me, too. My being a danger. I'm sorry," he forced himself to look at Percy. "I really am…I wish Ron had never met me."

Percy raised a hand. "No. That's not fair. Harry, I…I understand now. My parents and my brothers and Ginny. Why they care and what it means and…why that's not your fault. And why Ron would die for you."

"Don't say that!" Harry groaned, resting his forehead against the greenhouse wall. "I can't…can't think about that. He shouldn't have to think about that, I'm just his friend."

"You mean as much to him as Fred means to George," Percy said quietly, and Harry buried his face in his hands, hating himself for how those words made him feel. There was nothing good about it. Why did it seem like such a sure thing that Ron might have to die for Harry? Why couldn't Harry die or get hurt for Ron or one of the others? Why were the people Harry loved the ones who had to suffer?

He'd be better off if he'd never met me, Harry thought again. He'd be safe. They'd all be safe. Aloud, he said, "I'm sorry I can't protect them. I didn't know. I swear I didn't know."

"I know now it's not your fault."

"I should've realized," Harry protested. "If I had, if I'd stopped to think…it wouldn't have gone this far, but now it's too late. They'll never be safe."

"That's You-Know-Who's doing," said Percy, with such conviction that Harry stared at him. "Not yours."

Leaning back against the warm glass, Harry asked, "What made you change your mind?"

"Well…" Percy awkwardly looked away. "That's something else I need to tell you—but you'd better sit down first."

Puzzled, Harry followed him to a cluster of tree stumps, and they sat. "What is it?"

"There's something…" Percy glanced around them, then told Harry slowly, "I should have told you sooner, but I honestly didn't realize you hadn't seen anything at all."

"Seen? Seen what? When?" Harry demanded, growing alarmed.

Percy studied his feet. "That day in the Capitol, when the Pillar of Storgé exploded."

Harry's heart began to race. "Something happened…when I was…"

Percy nodded. "I thought you should know, but," he raised a cautionary hand, "it'll come as a shock. A big one."

Harry swallowed thickly. "I understand. Tell me."

With a deep breath, Percy began, "When I saw You-Know-Who…right there, dueling Professor Snape, I just…froze. I couldn't even…didn't even try to help." He shook his head. "Some Gryffindor I am. But then you touched the Pillar, and for a moment the dust was so thick we couldn't see a thing. When it started to settle, I saw Professor Snape getting up. He'd lost his wand, and You-Know-Who was going to kill him."

"I remember," Harry murmured, confused.

Percy continued, "Just then, when Lord…when he was about to kill Professor Snape, I saw something…it looked like the dust was just swirling, but then…there was someone there, next to Professor Snape. Then they got in front of him, to stop You-Know-Who."

"Mum!" Harry breathed, but Percy shook his head.

"No…Professor Snape was so surprised he fell over some debris, but when we looked…the person in the dust, in front of you…it was a man." Percy's face was solemn as he regarded Harry. "I've seen him in pictures, and…you do look just like him."

Harry's mouth was too dry for words. Dad? My dad was there too? "My dad…"

Percy nodded, looking at his feet. "I don't think I've ever seen Professor Snape so shocked, you see…your dad looked at him, just for a moment, before facing off You-Know-Who again. Then Professor Snape looked back for you, and so did I….that's when we saw your mother."

"I felt her," Harry whispered. "She…they…"

"You were just sitting up," said Percy. "The dust swirled up, then there was a woman, kneeling beside you. She put her arms round you, like she was shielding you, and you just sort of went limp."

"She was protecting me…"

Percy nodded. "You-Know-Who just stared at them, then disapparated. They scared him off somehow."

"Then what happened?" Harry demanded.

"It was…weird. Your father turned and looked at you and your mother, smiling a little. Then they both looked at Professor Snape. I couldn't really see your father's face, but your mother, the way she looked…almost like she was asking him for something. Pleading, sort of. Then they disappeared."

Harry was quiet for a long time. The truth was, he forgot Percy was even there. His mind was reeling, his heart pounding, his throat painfully tight; his parents had been with him. Both of them. His father had faced down Voldemort while his mother had held him and whispered in his mind that everything would be all right. His dad had even protected Snape

No wonder Snape had been acting so odd. Harry wondered idly what his father had looked like to Snape, and what his mother had been trying to ask.

Why had everyone else been able to see Harry's parents except Harry himself? He tried and failed to quash a surge of resentment. To Percy, he muttered, "Thanks. For telling me." But why did I have to hear it from YOU! Dumbledore must have known, and couldn't Snape have been decent enough for THAT if nothing else! They're my PARENTS!

Percy said reluctantly. "Harry…there's one other thing. You ought to know, but…I can't tell you unless you swear it goes to no one else. Not Ron, not Ginny, not Hermione. Especially not the twins."

Harry was startled; he didn't like the thought of keeping anything from his friends now, not with all the other things he had to hide to protect them. "Why?"

"Because the consequences for both of us will be very severe if this gets out," Percy said firmly. "I'm sorry, I know you don't keep many secrets from Ron, but if he or any of the others found out," he smiled wryly. "I'm afraid my siblings would be too proud of me to keep their mouths shut."

Baffled, Harry let curiosity get the better of him. "All right."

"I have your word?"

"Yes."

Percy looked sheepish. "You know I saw what happened outside the Pillar chamber." Harry nodded. "I was very…rattled; I went straight back to tell the Minister. It wasn't to hurt you," he added hastily. "I thought the Minister could help. He and Dumbledore, I mean. I thought they could find a way to stop You-Know-Who from…taking over you like that."

Harry nodded. "It's not fun. What happened?"

Percy sighed, frustration and bitterness vivid on his face. Harry recognized that look, of someone whose every ideal and faith had been beaten down. He'd worn it himself fairly recently. "He…the Minister…wanted to tell the Daily Prophet," he said, in a voice fraught with betrayal. "After I'd written my report, he told me to take it to them, and…he was talking about taking you from Hogwarts."

"What! What for?"

Percy's eyes were dark and a little frightened. "He said maybe the Aurors could watch you until the next time it happened, and then…"

Harry's heart went to his throat. He remembered Dumbledore's words: His aim in possessing you would not have been my destruction. It would have been yours. "But…that wouldn't destroy Voldemort," he said faintly. "Only kill me. That's why he does it."

"I know!" Percy exclaimed in despair. "I gathered that from what you—he—said to Professor Snape!" He clenched his fists. "And I tried to tell the Minister, but he didn't care. He was almost…excited when I told him, as though…he'd been waiting for an opportunity like this. He wanted…" Percy's voice was disbelieving, "I don't understand. He kept ranting about Dumbledore using you to get all the glory. I told him he'd be killing you, but he said…you were the reason You-Know-Who came back in the first place."

Harry had his arms wrapped around his knees, but still felt very cold. Fudge wanted him dead. That was what Percy was trying to say, trying to warn him. Fudge really did have it in for him. "So…how come I haven't been arrested?" he joked weakly.

Percy's ears began glowing red the same way Ron's did. It made Harry feel a little better, for some reason. "I…this is why you can't mention it to the others. When the Minister wouldn't see reason, I destroyed the report, and…I Obliviated him."

Harry felt his jaw drop. Percy Weasley! Attack the MINISTER OF MAGIC!

"Uh…thanks."

"Lee took over the shop for this week," Ron told Harry in the common room Sunday night. "And Percy and Bill are helping. Fred should be released next week, maybe by Sunday if he follows Madam Pomfrey's instructions."

"Fat chance of that," said Ginny, coming to join them. She'd been released that afternoon.

Hermione, sitting next to Ron checking his Transfiguration homework, nibbled on her quill thoughtfully. "I don't know. Percy may be right about George after this. He's at least realized they're not immortal."

Ron shuddered, scooting closer to her. "I wish they hadn't had to find out like this."

Harry tried to concentrate on his Specialized Defense homework. He couldn't stop thinking about what Percy had told him. Percy and Snape had seen Harry's parents. Cornelius Fudge was willing to kill him, and the Daily Prophet was already speculating that he was putting the school in danger.

And what had passed between his parents and Snape? The questions teemed in his head.

"Harry?"

He blinked. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were watching him with guarded expression, then they exchanged glances in a way that made him snap, "What!"

"Nothing!" Hermione exclaimed. "We just…you were looking distracted, and we wanted—I mean—if you were okay," she mumbled awkwardly.

Harry grabbed his books. "I'm fine," he said crossly. "And if you're all just going to whisper and nudge each other and not tell me what's going on, I'll go upstairs and leave you to it!" He stomped peevishly up to the dormitory.

After he'd been tossing around in his bed for some time, he heard someone come in. "Harry?" said Ron tentatively. "You all right?"

Harry sighed; he shouldn't have snapped at them. They weren't the ones he was really upset with. "Yeah."

"Is…anybody else in here?"

"Don't think so."

The sound of Ron investigating the beds and bathroom made Harry look up curiously. Ron's face was already fully red when he came back. "What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"I…guess I've got something to tell you." Ron stared at his feet. "Hermione's right; it's a stupid thing to keep secret from you."

Harry was getting nervous. What had they been whispering and elbowing each other about all this time? Bloody hell, I don't know how many more earth-shattering revelations I can face today! Nonetheless, he waited, and Ron came and sat on the foot of his bed, staring at the wall. "Well? What's going on?"

"Well…" Ron was so flushed there was sweat on his face. "Uh…er…it's me and Hermione, you see, we…ah…we're what's going on."

"You and Hermione…" Harry frowned in confusion. "What are you and Herimione…wait a minute…" In his head, something clunked into place. He gaped at Ron. "You and Hermione!"

"Shh!" Ron hissed, even though the dormitory was empty. His face looked like a tomato. He dared a quick glance at Harry, then stared at the floor again. "Yeah. That's it. I mean, that's all, I mean, not that it's nothing, but I mean…I wish she hadn't made me tell you myself," he grumbled. "She's better at this sort of thing."

Still in shock, Harry asked vaguely, "Why, er, why did she want you to do it?"

Ron shrugged. "Something about this being a 'man-to-man' conversation. I think she was just scared to tell you."

"Why would she be scared?"

"Well…" Some of the redness was starting to leave Ron's face at last. "You have been a bit…touchy. I mean, we'd have told you sooner, but you'd been sick, and then it just…never seemed the right time…" he trailed off, watching Harry as though waiting for an explosion.

Exploding didn't occur to Harry; he was too busy trying to put it all together. "So…" he said slowly, "you and Hermione…I mean…Hermione's your girlfriend?"

Blood rushed to Ron's face again. "Uh, well, I guess she's…kind of…uhm…yeah." He gave a jerky little nod of finality. "Yeah."

Harry rested his chin on his knees. "When did that happen?" he wondered out loud.

"Well…you see, we didn't actually mean for it to," Ron stammered. "It was kind of weird…it was over the summer, when you were missing, and we were just…sort of…crying on each other's shoulders all the time." He shrugged helplessly. "Anyway, it just sort of…happened. You're not upset, are you?" he blurted.

"No," Harry said automatically. "No, of course not."

But wasn't he? Why wasn't he happy for them? He ought to laugh, he ought to tease Ron and Hermione mercilessly, he ought to feel…something. But he just felt strange.

There was a very odd sort of queasiness in his stomach. He couldn't be jealous of Ron, could he? Over Hermione? Hermione was just his friend; he'd never felt that way about her, had he?

No, when it came down to it, thinking about her like that just seemed odd. So if he wasn't jealous, why wasn't he happy for them?

He heard Ron get up and leave, but was so consumed with his own thoughts that he didn't call after him. Why did this feel so funny? If they were happy, wasn't that all that mattered?

My best friend's got a girlfriend…who happens to be my other best friend. And they didn't tell me.

Why had they kept it a secret? Now that they were…them…would they keep other secrets? Would they want to go to Hogsmeade together without Harry tagging along? Will they still have time for me? whined a plaintive little voice in his mind.

Ron and Hermione were…Ron and Hermione. So where did that leave Harry?

I've got no right to think like this, he told himself angrily. I've never been a really good friend, and they're a lot better off with each other than with me! He thought of the way he'd treated them, especially last year, and cringed. No wonder this had happened, really, he'd practically driven them into each other's arms. But they said they'd stand by me, the little voice whined again.

A commotion in the stairwell broke through his musings. "Oh, honestly, Ronald, I told you what needed to be said!"

"Why couldn't you explain it then, I thought you were his friend too!"

"Will you two please—"

"Stay out of this, Ginny!"

"You're only going to upset him more!"

"We just have to explain—"

Harry braced himself as two red heads and one brunette burst into the dormitory, all talking at once.

"Harry, I'm sorry, Ron made it sound like—"

"This doesn't change anything!"

"Just let them sort themselves out, Harry—"

"You're our best friend in the world—"

"We're not going to abandon you—"

"We promise!"

Ron and Hermione looked on the verge of pouncing on Harry, but Ginny hauled them both away with a wave of her wand. "HEY! Don't smother the man!"

"This doesn't concern you, Ginny!" Hermione huffed.

"THAT'S IT! OUT! Both of you, OUT!" Ginny roared, causing Ron, Hermione, and Harry to jump in surprise. Ron and Hermione might have protested, but Bastet decided to enforce her mistress's command and launched herself at them with a screech, sending them sprinting for their lives back down the stairwell.

As the savage yowls echoed away down the stairs, Harry stared after them until Ginny turned around, calmly brushing a lock of hair from her face. "Well, now that the happy couple are taking a breather," she plunked herself down upon Ron's bed. "How do you feel about it?"

"I…aah…" Harry hemmed nervously. Her bluntness was both refreshing and disconcerting.

Ginny's face softened a little, and she came to sit on the foot of Harry's bed. "Are you okay with it? It's all right to tell the truth."

"Um…I…" Harry took a deep breath and pulled his scattered thoughts together. "I…really, I am okay with, er, with them being…"

"Them?" Ginny finished slyly. He forced a smile and nodded. "Pfft, I told Hermione that 'man-to-man' business wouldn't work. Ron, explain his feelings? Hah!"

Harry folded his feet beneath him, examining the bedspread. "I guess it just surprised me. It's just…" before he knew it, words came tumbling out. "It's always been the three of us, as long as I can remember. The three of us. I just…didn't expect it to be the two of them."

"It is still the three of you, Harry," said Ginny firmly. "Don't you see? Didn't Ron tell you anything about how they, well, got to be them in the first place?"

"Not really," he said. "Something about last summer."

Ginny looked solemnly at him. "You can't begin to imagine what it was like when you were missing. Ron and Hermione felt it worse than anyone, except maybe Professor Lupin." She smiled sadly. "They were worse than me—and that's saying something. They just sort of wound up…holding on to each other. All the time, it was just how they coped, until one thing sort of led to another." She grinned. "Between that and the fact that Ron's been mad about her for two years—"

"What!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," said Ginny, rolling her eyes in a fashion disturbingly like Hermione. "You boys! How can you not have noticed? He's been pining after Hermione since the Yule Ball!"

Harry pondered Ron's behavior at the Ball and since, and frowned to himself. "Is that why he gave her perfume last Christmas?"

Ginny giggled and nodded.

"And why he gets so cross when she writes to Viktor Krum?"

"Yep!" she said with a grin.

"Wow. I never did notice," Harry mused, feeling the tight knot in his insides starting to loosen. "I thought he was just being…Ron."

"Ron is mad about Hermione—and that's yet another reason why he gets cross when she mothers you," Ginny added smugly.

"What?" Harry felt blood rushing to his face. "But I…but she's not…"

"Just ignore it," Ginny said. "You know he gets jealous of you for silly reasons." She scooted closer to Harry and patted his knee. "Never mind. He knows he's the one she likes, even if she fusses over you." She rolled her eyes. "And he knows you need a little fussing over."

"I do not!" Harry exclaimed.

"Do too!" she teased.

"Do not!"

A little while later, Harry came downstairs to find Ron playing one-man wizard's chess in the common room. "Where's Hermione?" he asked.

"Upstairs, defending Crookshanks from Bastet."

"Oh." Harry sat down across from Ron and reset the board. Ron was watching him nervously. At last, Harry looked up at him and grinned. "So…does this mean you've kissed her?"

"Harry!"

Classes began normally on Monday, though about twenty students were still in the hospital wing. But Harry found himself once again the target of almost-constant whispers and hostile or fearful stares. It wasn't as bad as second year, when half the school had thought he was the heir of Slytherin, or fourth year, when everyone thought he'd entered himself in the Triwizard Tournament (or even fifth year when they'd all thought he was stark, raving mad.) But it was still unpleasant. People shied away from him, looking around when he passed in the corridors as though expecting to see Death Eaters trailing after him.

What made this so much worse was that this time, Harry knew their feelings were justified. As long as he was at Hogwarts, Voldemort would threaten the school.

It bothered him so much that he went to Professor Lupin after NEWT Defense and asked if he'd be better off at Headquarters. "I don't want to endanger anyone."

Lupin handed Harry a cup of tea and sat down at a desk next to him. "You don't really want to leave Hogwarts, do you? For Headquarters of all places?"

"No, of course not!" Harry exclaimed. "But I don't want Voldemort to keep coming after Hogwarts and hurting people."

He stared at the top of the desk as Lupin leaned toward him. "Harry, you are not the only reason Lord Voldemort is targeting Hogwarts. If you left today, it would not spare us his attentions."

Harry sighed. "Maybe divert them for a bit."

"Not likely. Besides, to send you away would greatly reduce your own safety."

"I'm not more important than everyone else!" Harry said angrily. "I'm not worth that. It's not fair!"

Lupin put a hand on his shoulder. "No one ever said it was fair. You're quite right that it isn't—and as for what your life is worth, I beg to differ, but that's another matter. You are as entitled to safety as any other student, and the safest place for anyone in times like these is Hogwarts."

Harry got up and walked over to the grindylow's tank. "I hate this," he muttered. "I hate them being in danger because of me."

"It's not because of you. It's because of Lord Voldemort. We keep telling you, Harry, all you need to do is believe us. You are not to blame." Remus came and stood beside him. "Stop hating yourself. That's the last thing your parents and Sirius would want."

Biting his lip, Harry nodded. "I…I know. I just wish I knew what to do."

"What you've been doing: live your life. And pay attention in Defense," Remus smiled, and Harry had to return it. "Just live, and don't give up. It's not up to you to save the world."

But it is up to me, Harry thought miserably. He wished he could tell Remus, but it would only upset him to hear the prophecy. Not to mention giving Voldemort another reason to go after him.

All day Monday, Harry found himself almost looking forward to Occlumency, although not because he missed the pleasure of Snape's company. Snape had seen Harry's parents in the Pillar chamber. They had looked at him; if Percy was right, they had tried to tell him something. Harry couldn't stop thinking about it—not even when he noticed that Ron and Hermione were holding hands under the table during dinner. They were his parents! He had a right to see them!

So when Filch came to collect him, he went almost eagerly, and had his wand out almost as soon as he walked into Snape's office. "I trust there have been no more…communications from the Dark Lord, Potter?"

"No, nothing else," Harry said distractedly.

Snape frowned at him. "Then what is the matter with you?"

"Nothing," Harry lied—badly. Why couldn't they just start?

But Snape did not raise his wand. His cold, hard gaze seemed to bore right through Harry, and Harry wondered bitterly what he was seeing. "Potter, answer me."

Harry's throat tightened, and frustration burned his insides. It wasn't fair! He glowered at the floor. "Why didn't you tell me what really happened in America?"

Well, that certainly got Snape's attention. The Potions Master stepped back so quickly he bumped into his chair, which in turn fell over and knocked a jar of dragon liver off the wall shelf. Snape repaired it before turning back to fix Harry with a fierce glare. "How do you know about that?" he hissed.

"Percy Weasley told me!" Harry burst out. "You were there, you must have told Dumbledore about it, every bloody wizard in the chamber that day saw it, and I had to hear it from Percy!"

Trembling with anger, Snape growled, "That is none of your affair—"

"They're my parents! It is! I had a right to see them!"

"That is not my problem, Potter—"

"They told you something, didn't they? What did they tell you?"

"POTTER! I have nothing to say about it!" Snape roared.

Shaking with fury, his stomach churning, eyes stinging, Harry hissed, "Why is it you got to see them?" The small, lingering fragment of rationality in him said that it wasn't Snape's fault, but Harry didn't care about being rational.

White-faced, easily as angry as Harry was, Snape snarled, "Had I the choice, I would not have, and this matter has nothing to do with the task at hand. Now stop this ridiculous whining and clear your mind!"

Harry had no intention of doing any such thing; he thought he knew one way to find out what had happened. He'd never tried to do this intentionally, but…he concentrated hard as Snape raised his wand. "Legilimens!"

It worked—at least the first part did. Images rolled past Harry's mind, but he was so set on his own objective that he paid no attention to them, and it was only a few seconds before he was able to raise his own wand. "Protego!"

He blasted into Snape's mind, no longer helplessly carried on the current of his spell but actively searching. He saw a blonde boy with his arm around a greasy-haired teenager…Voldemort was aiming his wand at Snape with the Pillar glowing behind them…There!

"ENOUGH!" A Disarming Spell hit Harry so hard that he was thrown backwards into the wall and crashed to the ground. Winded and gasping, he rolled onto his back and saw Snape glaring at him. "You're transparent as glass, Potter, I knew you would try that."

Harry scowled and pulled himself to his feet without answering. Snape went on, "If you do not learn to manage your emotions, you will be completely useless in this war."

"You're a fine one to talk!" Harry shot back. "Sir!"

Snape's lip curled. "Perhaps so. But I am not the one upon whom the fate of the entire wizarding world unfortunately rests. How many more will be dead or wounded before you shed your arrogant refusal to control yourself?"

"You bloody hypocrite!" Harry shouted. Snape's grudges were the reason Sirius had died, the reason Harry hadn't been able to shield himself last year, the reason Sirius wasn't freed and Lupin had lost the DADA job third year! Voldemort might never have come back if it hadn't been for Snape! "You've always got an excuse, don't you? It's okay for you to refuse to let old grudges die and make people as miserable as possible even when they're on your side! Wasn't your old job important? Why'd you spend so much time undermining the Order if this war was so very, very important to you!"

Snape bared his teeth, eyes blazing, and roared, "OUT!"

"GLADLY!" Harry shouted back and dashed for the door. He stormed back to Gryffindor Tower and went up to the dormitory without talking to Ron and Hermione. He tossed and turned for a long time, but couldn't sleep. Snape was such…a…bloody…bastard!

It's not my fault! I'm trying! Maybe if he weren't pulling the floor out from under me every other lesson… He fell asleep eventually, still fuming.

He was standing in a very dark doorway, looking out as moonlight filtered through a very deep green canopy of trees. There were no sounds from the woods, and the moon's light did not reach the forest floor, nor did it touch the stone stairs beneath Harry's feet.

There were people behind him; he could sense them, awaiting his decision. One of them, robed in black with a white mask like the others, stepped hesitantly forward. "Are you pleased with it, Master?"

As it happened, he was most pleased with it, but he had no intention of letting them know. His servants needn't become complacent. He turned his back on the dark woods, and the black-robed, masked wizards pulled back even so slightly.

Harry spoke, his voice high and cold, but betraying the slightest hint of the satisfaction he felt. "This will do."

"Harry? Hey! You're going to miss breakfast, you lazy—hey!" Harry woke up to insistent shaking, and a very exasperated voice.

"Mm? Wha—" His head felt heavy and foggy, and his scar was burning. He blinked repeatedly, and Ron came into focus out of a blur of red.

Once he'd put his glasses on, he saw that Ron was frowning. "You all right, mate?"

"Yeah," he muttered, untangling the bed clothes. "Just a little thick-headed."

Ron waited while he got dressed. "You looked upset when you got back last night. Did something happen in…detention?"

"Just Snape being Snape," Harry assured him, forcing a smile.

He was still in a lousy mood for most of the day Tuesday, to the point where he decided to go talk to Remus. But adding insult to injury, he arrived at Professor Lupin's office and realized it was full moon starting that night. Remus had looked peaky during class that morning, and now he would be gone until Friday.

Harry was leaving the empty room, feeling very cross, when Professor Smythe-Wellington came in. "What are you doing here, Mr. Potter?"

"I was looking for Professor Lupin," Harry said crossly.

"Indeed?" she said, raising an eyebrow, her tone faintly disbelieving. "You have noticed it is full moon, have you not?"

"I have now," Harry muttered, and stalked out to avoid giving her a chance to say anything else.

And, predictably, she got him for it the next day when he arrived in NEWT Defense and found her substituting for Lupin. "You're in for it now," Ron muttered at him. "She's looking right at you."

Smythe-Wellington stood up, running a haughty gaze over all of them. "I understand that Professor Lupin has been instructing you in matters of psychological defense." She was answered by a few nods. "In keeping with that subject, today we shall be discussing emotional discipline. Those of you in Specialized Defense will note that we begin this same lesson in Friday's class as well. Now. Who can describe to me the meaning of emotional discipline?"

Hermione very tentatively raised her hand. "It means…not letting ourselves be provoked?" She glanced sideways at Harry, and he felt a little prickle of irritation.

Smythe-Wellington had noticed the glance, and her lips twitched slightly. "Partially correct, Miss Granger, but you must go further. Particularly in a combat situation, what does emotional discipline manifest as?" No one answered, but she seemed to have expected that. "Detachment."

Harry was honestly puzzled. How could you be "detached" when someone was trying to kill you?

On the other hand, it was incredibly easily to "detach" himself from listening as Smythe-Wellington began lecturing—all class long, on the subject of emotional discipline, until Harry, Ron, and most of the class were lulled into a stupor. It was easily the most boring class he had ever sat through since History of Magic with Professor Binns (even Hermione had dropped that course after fifth year.) Their eyes were drooping, and there were even a few stifled snores coming from the back of the room when Smythe-Wellington finally glanced at the clock.

"Well. It is now five minutes until the end of class, and I am dismayed to see how very few of you have even registered what I said—let alone put it to use. And when I teach, if a lesson fails to be grasped by students, there are consequences." Harry and the others blinked awake, startled, and Smythe-Wellington smirked. "Rest assured, ladies and gentlemen, I have been keeping track of who has paid attention. And based upon that, I am deducting seventy points from Slytherin, forty points from Hufflepuff, thirty points from Ravenclaw, and sixty points from Gryffindor." She looked directly at Harry when she finished.

Fortunately, the bell rang, and Hermione dragged Harry out the door before he could say anything that would dock them more points. "That wasn't fair!" he raged as they went down the hall. "Half the Slytherins were outright asleep!"

"Well, you almost were," Hermione said timidly.

Ron shook his head. "Harry's right; we didn't deserve that big a drop. And she looked right at him! I think she's got it in for him!"

Scooting between Ron and Harry, Hermione told them, "Haven't you noticed? Everything she does has a reason: the puzzles, the exercises, even the boring lectures. She's trying to get us to think like Aurors. That's what lots of us want, remember?"

Ron snorted. "Yeah, she's just trying to whip you ito shape, Harry. Must think you've got potential."

"Oh, that explains everything!" Harry laughed along with Ron, athough Hermione looked disapproving. Shaking off his indignance, Harry said, "Is Professor McGonagall teaching this hour? I need to report something."

Forgetting all about Smythe-Wellington and the lessons, Hermione sucked in her breath. "Another dream?"

He nodded. "Pretty mild, but it might be useful."

But to Harry's intense dismay, there was a class with Professor McGonagall, and he didn't know how to find Professor Dumbledore. So he dragged himself down to the Dungeons and knocked on the door of Snape's office.

"Enter." Harry did, and Snape bared his teeth at him. "Well, Potter, what catastrophe have you caused now?"

He was not in the mood for this. "I'm reporting a dream, sir."

"Well?" Harry described it as quickly as possible, taking care to leave nothing out. Snape's face betrayed no reaction, but when Harry had finished, he said, "I suppose you've told your fan club?"

"Ron and Hermione know I had one, but not what was in it, if that's what you mean," Harry growled. Quidditch practice two days this week, DA on Thursday, Remus gets back Friday…

Snape sneered at him. "You will continue practicing and report this evening. Now leave."

Harry didn't have to be told twice.

With Remus gone, Wednesday was just as bad, and Thursday was worse. Smythe-Wellington was absolutely beastly, and having her every day was a nightmare. And she did seem to have it in for Harry. In Curse Defense, she gave them another round of those horrible drills that centered solely around how to draw one's wand, and paid particular attention to everything Harry did wrong. Malfoy she simply docked points from and gave detention, but it was Harry who once again had to do the bloody thing over and over in front of everyone until he thought his arm would fall off and he was so livid that two windows spontaneously shattered.

For that, he got detention.

He never would have imagined dreading anything as much as Occlumency with Snape, but after half an hour of getting his brain peeled apart in the dungeons, he had to trudge back upstairs to Smythe-Wellington's office, and found himself almost wishing the Occlumency had lasted longer.

Smythe-Wellington's office looked like a small library; the walls were simply bookshelves. Harry could see no sign that the room was occupied by a renowned Auror: no medals, awards, or commemorations of any kind, although Hermione would probably love an office like this.

"Don't hover in the doorway, Potter, come in," said a terse voice from a figure bent over some essays. Harry sighed to himself and obeyed. Smythe-Wellington put down her quill and folded her hands on the massive desk, watching him with critical eyes. "Do you know why you are here?"

Harry met her gaze coldly. "To serve detention."

One side of her mouth twitched. "And the reason you were given detention?"

"Because I broke a window."

She let out a snort of quiet laughter. "False ignorance is neither clever nor becoming, Mr. Potter. Try again."

His jaw was clenched so tight he thought his teeth might break. "Because I lost my temper."

She raised one eyebrow. "And?"

"And…" And what? Enough with the bloody mind games! "I don't know."

With an air of faint disbelief, Smythe-Wellington said, "You don't know?"

"No," he ground out.

Harry's blood was boiling—and now, so was the tea in the cup on Professor Smythe-Wellington's desk. She watched it emit great puffs of steam and bubble like a hot spring for a moment, then said softly, "You are an immensely powerful wizard, Mr. Potter."

It was the first thing Harry had heard from her that even remotely resembled a compliment. He blinked in surprise.

"Sit," she said. He did. She steepled her fingers and told him, "You are not here merely because of your temper. Manifestations such as these," she indicated the still-steaming teacup, "are indicative of two characteristics: strong innate magical talent—power in its rawest form—and dangerous lack of emotional control. You will find that unless you learn to check the latter, the former will go to waste."

Now having difficulty controlling the hot little fire of hope burning inside of him, Harry asked, "But does that mean…I'm strong enough to be an Auror?"

Smythe-Wellington snorted and waved a dismissive hand. "Strength of the magical variety has little to do with it. Where you now stand, Mr. Potter, no. You are not strong enough to be an Auror." Harry's heart sank—fast. Smythe-Wellington drove on, "You are powerful, yes, but so undisciplined as to make what talents you possess useless for real Defense. I despise waste, Mr. Potter, and at the moment, you are a waste of both talent and my time. That is why you are in detention."

Could that day possibly have gone any worse? By the time Harry had finished the assorted menial tasks Smythe-Wellington had given him for detention (and the critiques from her that went along with them) he was convinced he would be better off if Voldemort just offed him and got it over with, because his life would never amount to anything.

He was dragging himself back to Gryffindor Tower when he saw Professor Lupin coming down the hall, presumably on his way back from the Shrieking Shack now that the full moon had waned. Remus looked especially haggard, but he smiled when he saw Harry. That alone brought a lump to Harry's throat.

"Hello, Harry. You're out late—I say, are you all right?" Remus quickened his steps in concern.

Harry swallowed thickly and forced a smile. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just…bad day."

Stopping and leaning casually against the corridor wall, Remus asked, "Do you want to talk?"

"No, that's okay," Harry muttered, embarrassed. "It's nothing, really." Remus looked skeptical; Harry's voice had cracked. "Really, I…just school stuff, and you're tired, and I've got…homework…" he babbled as he started shuffling away.

"All right," said Remus. "If you're sure. But if you change your mind, I'll be in my office for the next few hours."

Harry nodded weakly and hurried away. But when he got back to the common room, Ron and Hermione pounced on him. "What happened in detention?" Ron demanded. "She didn't use any dodgy quills or anything, did she?"

"I can't imagine she'd use methods like Umbridge," said Hermione.

"She's crazy! Crazy! There was no call for her harassing Harry like that—Malfoy was worse!" Ron retorted. "And what's a gunslinger?"

"Long story. Well, Harry? What happened?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged and fell into a chair. "She just had me rearranging books and told me I'm a waste of time and not good enough to be an Auror."

Both of their jaws dropped. "I can't believe it," Hermione said. "She wouldn't say that!"

Harry nodded bitterly. "She says I'm undisciplined and too emotional."

Ron threw up his hands. "Everyone's emotional—except her and Snape, that is! Well matched pair, those two—"

"Ronald! Don't take it to heart, Harry."

"I may as well just drop this class."

"Oh no!" Hermione protested. "You need it to get into the Auror Program!"

"What, did you miss that last bit?" Harry snapped. "I haven't got a prayer, according to Smythe-Wellington."

Hermione glared at him. "Don't get cross with me. Snape's been calling you every name in the book for years, and you knew not to believe him. Are you going to let Smythe-Wellington's criticism discourage you?"

"What?"

But now Ron was nodding. "She's got a point; who cares what that crazy old bat says? Don't give up."

"My failing the class won't get me into the Auror program," Harry grumbled.

Hermione grabbed his arm urgently. "Then don't! Think about what she's teaching, Harry! Try to keep your feelings under control so things don't get to you so much. That's something you need for…the war…anyhow."

"I don't…know…how!" Harry ground out, furious and frustrated. "Everyone wants me to do this thing, but no one ever bothers to explain how it's done. I'm bloody sick of just being expected to know!"

"Hey! Don't yell at her, mate, she's just trying to help!" Ron said sharply.

"It can't be that difficult to control your temper, Harry," Hermione added tightly.

"Oh, sod off!" Harry shot to his feet and headed for the portrait hole. "I've had enough lectures for one day!"

As he stormed out, he heard Hermione mutter, "I rest my case."

Twenty minutes later, he found himself standing in front of Professor Lupin's office with no idea how he'd gotten there. But he was more miserable and frustrated than ever, and even though he dreaded Lupin's gentle understanding (the lump in his throat was painful enough already) he wanted to see someone who wouldn't make him feel inadequate. Funny how you could both want and fear something so much, he mused as he stood outside the office door—not to mention how knocking on a door could seem so difficult.

The door opened. Harry jumped. Remus was standing there with an amused look on his tired face. "I heard footsteps," he explained. "Come in." Harry did so quickly, with a rush of gratitude that forced him to keep his eyes on the floor. Why wouldn't his stupid throat stop being so tight? He could feel Remus's eyes on him as he sat down at a random desk. "I heard about your detention."

Harry buried his face in his arms, clenching his teeth painfully to keep from dissolving like a baby right there. But when Remus put a hand on his shoulder, he couldn't help the way his breath hitched. "You can do this, Harry. I know you can."

"She doesn't think so," Harry muttered.

"Then prove her wrong. I know how hard it is to master emotions at this age, even under normal circumstances. But you can do it."

Harry whispered, "I don't know how. I can't even do it for Occlumency."

"I've been thinking, actually, I may be able to help on that score. But it'll take patience, and real effort on your part."

Harry looked up at Remus, wide-eyed. "You could teach me?"

Remus grinned. "Sorry, are you very averse to the idea?"

"Of course not!" The lump was finally going away, but sheer relief was making Harry's eyes sting. "I—to learn—to have lessons from someone who doesn't hate me—"

Laughing, Remus said, "Oh, Priscilla Wellington doesn't hate you. She merely fails to relate easily to anyone who is not an Auror—nor does she have much tolerance for rule-breaking, whatever the reasons behind it."

Harry grinned. "Then how do you explain Snape?"

"Well…" Remus chuckled, then shook his head. "Professor Snape hates everyone—himself most of all. But Professor Smythe-Wellington holds no malice for you. She's an important and loyal supporter for our side."

"Is she in the Order?" asked Harry in surprise.

"No, although I suspect she knows of us and could join if she wished. But she prefers to remain entirely inside the law, and heaven knows she's caused Lord Voldemort more than enough difficulty in her capacity as an Auror. She saw him kill her husband during the first war."

For the first time, Harry felt a flicker of affinity for the harsh Defense professor. "That's awful. Was her husband an Auror too?"

"Oh yes. Charles Wellington, one of the legends. It was one of the most tragic battles; they were quite a team, those two. Their Auror division was given false information that led to a trap; six were killed. Mad-Eye Moody led the reinforcements that prevented that fight from being a massacre." Remus sighed. "That was when we truly began to fear Lord Voldemort might destroy our side. It was just a year before your parents died; so many were murdered during those last months."

"I'm sorry," Harry said softly. "That must have been terrible."

Remus smiled sadly and nodded. "Now you see why Molly Weasley and others are so frightened for their families. So few came out of the first war intact." Then he shook his head. "Well, I was hoping you'd come because I wanted to cheer you up, and this isn't helping. I've got something to show you."

Harry gaped as Remus went to his desk and brought back Dumbledore's Pensieve. "What's that for?"

Remus set it down carefully in front of Harry. "We—Sirius and I—were planning to do this when you came to Grimmauld Place at the end of your fifth year." He gave Harry a sad smile. "It was his idea, actually, when we saw how that memory of Professor Snape's had upset you. Sirius thought you'd feel better seeing us in one of our, shall we say, prouder moments."

Harry stared at the Pensieve. "You mean…"

"This is one of my memories," Remus confirmed. "A very fond one. Sirius is in it, of course; he had planned to show it to you himself."

"Is Peter Pettigrew there?" Harry asked.

"Yes," said Remus. "Although, what you must remember is that the Peter you will see is not the one who betrayed us. This Peter's just a boy, and still a good one in my belief. Sirius was a bit less charitable—not that I blame him—but in my mind, we lost our Peter as surely as every other good person who died during the war."

"I suppose," said Harry, though he privately agreed with Sirius. Still, above all, he was bursting with curiosity. "May I look?"

"Dive in," said Remus. Harry did.

Harry found himself in the Gryffindor common room. Three boys were huddled together at a table, and he realized with a thrill of excitement that it was Sirius, Remus, and Wormtail. He didn't see his father, but assumed James Potter would be along shortly.

"Come on, Remus!" Sirius was pleading, trying to tug away the book in Remus's hands.

"Do you two mind terribly? I'm trying to study!" Remus complained, taking it back.

"Doomsday's not for nine months," Sirius said dismissively. "And you'll never forgive yourself if you miss this momentous occasion."

"I doubt that. Besides, she'll say no again," Remus replied.

Wormtail was shaking his head. "No, no, this is it! I can feel it, I tell you! It has to be. If only to make him go away, she'll say yes."

"And if we ruin his chances, he'll never forgive us," Remus pointed out, finally closing the book and facing his friends. "So let him alone!"

"No!" Laughing, Sirius and Wormtail grabbed the protesting Remus and dragged him by the arms from his chair, propelling him down the stairs.

But Remus let himself be persuaded. "Where are they?"

"He's asking her when the Runes Club meeting is over," said Sirius.

Wormtail laughed. "I can't believe he joined that just to get close to a girl."

Sirius thumped him. "The lad's in love; lay off him. Here! Come on!" They hurried into a dead-ending corridor and eyed a closed door. "Besides, he's good at Ancient Runes. If he'd tried to join the Fortune Tellers Society, she'd have caught on."

Remus relaxed at last against the wall, grinning. "Remember when he got her to give him a Tarot reading?"

"Last year at Halloween, you mean? I know it took him three tries to get her to do it, but what'd she predict?" Wormtail screwed up his face in thought.

"Ah…he would live well, die a hero, and his name would be legend," Sirius said. "And she was rather disappointed; I think she'd hoped to see downfall and ruin or something."

"Shh!" Remus suddenly hissed, and they dove for cover in an empty classroom as a door across the hall opened.

Students began filtering out as Harry realized suddenly that his heart was pounding. A girl with long red hair, older and even prettier than she'd been in Snape's memory, came out first, absently tucking a parchment into her book bag. "Oy! Uh, I mean, Evans, is this yours?"

The girl paused as the other students wandered on down the hall. James Potter, his hair a little less messy and looking a lot less confident, hurried out after her, holding a Remembrall. "Oh," she shook her head and took it. "Ironic that I'd forget that. Thanks." She started to go, but the smoke turned red. "Oh dear."

James was fidgeting nervously. "Er…you did say you'd lend me that translation of—"

"Oh, right! Sorry!" Lily grabbed the parchment she'd been putting away and handed it to him. He didn't look at it, but she was too distracted to notice. "Sorry, with all the NEWT preparations, I'm forgetting everything else lately." She smiled, though it seemed more a general smile at her own absent-mindedness than at James, but he still blushed.

"Say, uh, Evans?" James asked quickly as she started to walk away.

"Hm?" She paused.

"I…ah…this weekend's the first Hogsmeade visit, isn't it—I mean, I know it is, and I…er…Iwantedtoknowifyouwantedtogo," he babbled out.

Lily blinked. "You mean with you?" James nodded, his face cherry red, and she sighed, though the idea didn't seem to revolt her as it had two years before. "Honestly, you never give up—"

"I mean it!" James protested. "I mean…I haven't not meant it, well, I mean, it's not a joke like…well, it wasn't before, but…I mean it," he muttered, looking at the floor. Then he dared a glance at her face. "Please?"

Lily looked first confused, then surprised, then she too began to blush. "Well…all right then."

"What? I mean, you will?" James looked stunned—and delighted.

With a sheepish smile, Lily nodded. "Yes, I will."

THUD! "Oh…damn! Shh!" Voices from the nearby classroom and the noise of someone crashing into the door made Lily, James, and Harry jump. They gaped in astonishment to see Sirius Black sprawled half-in, half-out of the doorway across the hall, and a mortified Remus and Wormtail peering down at him. Sirius looked at James and Lily and groaned. "Oh no."

"I might have known!" Lily exploded. "James Potter, why did I ever let myself think you'd grown up? Of all the juvenile, obnoxious, uncouth—"

She stormed off down the hall as James stared after her, looking devastated. He looked down at the parchment she'd given him, then at his friends. "James…" Remus whispered, aghast.

James' expression changed from anguish to utter betrayal, and he stepped back as Remus and Wormtail started toward him. Sirius was staring after Lily. "Well. That'll never do," he remarked, then jumped up and took off around the corner after her. "Evans! HEY! Evans, wait, you don't understa—OW! Please, just listen—AAH! All right, you've asked for it!"

From out of sight came a shriek of sheer outrage. "AAUUGH! SIRIUS BLACK, YOU BLOODY—PUT ME DOWN!!! GET OFF! LEGGO!"

And so Sirius came stumbling back into the dead-ending corridor with a furiously-screaming Lily Evans slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Remus and Wormtail had to grab James as he lunged forward, murder in his eyes. "Black, I will kill you for this—let her go, you bloody swine, haven't you bloody done enough already?!"

Between the two of them, Lily's and James' shouts caused such a racket that it was a wonder the entire school didn't turn out. As it was, Remus, Wormtail, and Sirius could not even begin to explain themselves over the din, and they could barely keep their respective charges restrained. Finally, Sirius managed to pull out his wand with one hand while keeping Lily aloft with the other, and took aim at James. "Petrificus Totalis!"

That cut off James' half of the cacophony, and then Sirius aimed over his shoulder at Lily. "Silencio! Whew! Much better. I do apologize, Evans, under normal circumstances I wouldn't dream of manhandling a lady, but this is rather important." He deposited her carefully on her feet, but kept his wand trained on her. She glared at him, shaking with fury, her green eyes blazing. "Now. You're going to listen to our explanation whether you like it or not. Oh, Peter, Evans dropped her wand just round the corner, run and fetch it for her, would you?"

Wormtail scrambled to do so. "Here it is, and your bag, er," he set them down a safe distance from the livid redhead. "Sorry."

Sirius nodded thanks and turned calmly back to her. "All right, Evans, what it boils down to is this: what happened just now with James was not a joke. He didn't know we were here…actually, the truth is, he entrusted his three best friends with the momentous news that he was asking a fair lady for the sublime honor of her company in Hogsmeade this Saturday…and said very poor friends decided to go spy on him. As you see, this social gaffe is the result."

Lily noticed for the first time the petrified James and frowned in confusion. Sirius went on, "So. If you want to hate us, please do, but don't blame James. None of this is his fault. Now, I shall return your wand, and you may hex us as you see fit—well, just hex me, all right? The whole ruddy disaster was my idea."

With that, Sirius took Lily's wand back from Wormtail and handed it to her. She took it, but pointed impatiently at her mouth. "Oh, sorry. Finite."

Lily huffed out a sigh, but turned toward Remus, putting her hands on her hips. "Lupin?" she asked curtly.

"It's true," Remus said firmly. "It's not James' fault. Don't change your mind about going out with him just because we're stupid," he pleaded.

Now genuinely puzzled, Lily looked back at Sirius, who gravely dropped his own wand to the floor and squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of being painfully cursed. Instead, she pointed her wand at James and un-Petrified him. "YOU—" James started to lunge at Sirius, but then his mind caught up, and he stopped, staring at Lily.

She stared back, then looked at his friends, all of whom wore expressions of combined chagrin and hope. Slowly, almost unwillingly, her lips curved into a smile. Then a small giggle escaped, then a louder one. Then she began laughing outright. The boys stared at her. Shaking her head, she folded her arms and said, "All right, Potter, I'll go with you on Saturday—just so long as you promise to turn these three berks into mops so I don't catch them spying on us from behind rubbish bins."

James' mouth fell open. "Wha—really?!"

She nodded, still laughing. "Yes, really." Then she walked up to Remus, Wormtail, and Sirius and dealt each of them a playful slap (well, Sirius's was a bit harder than the others) before collecting her bag and walking down the hall, still laughing.

The four friends watched her go. "My God," Wormtail breathed. "Sirius…you did it!"

Then they all piled onto each other, whooping and cheering, slapping hands, and Remus and Wormtail danced a jig around the hall singing, "She said yes! She said yes!" while James tackled Sirius and began beating his head against the wall.

Harry emerged from the Pensieve with a gasp. He looked at the grinning adult Remus, and they both began to laugh. Wiping his eyes, Remus declared, "And the rest, as they say, is history."

Friday was a better day. To Harry's delight, Professor Lupin appeared in Specialized Defense to lecture about mental discipline—and it was far easier to listen to him than Smythe-Wellington. "The concept of mastering oneself and one's emotions can be found in many cultures. This does not mean simply eliminating feelings; no one wants to do that." Harry couldn't help smiling. "It is about preventing our feelings from getting in the way of making the right choices. In combat, mastering our fear or anger can be the difference between life and death."

Harry saw Smythe-Wellington watching him and quickly looked away. Ron and Hermione were right. I'm not letting you scare me off. He supposed he ought to say he was sorry for snapping at them the night before.

The practical exercise Professors Lupin and Smythe-Wellington gave them was a little less than successful. They assigned the class into two-student teams for some simple duels—which would have been fine if they'd been able to pick their own partners. But Harry found himself partnered with Blaise Zabini against a team of Malfoy and Neville, of all people.

The duel went exactly as predicted.

When it was their turn, Harry and Zabini went scowling at each other to the front of the room to meet Malfoy and Neville, who were also exchanging glares. "If I see any of you pointing wands at your partners, it will be fifty points from your House," said Smythe-Wellington. Harry dared a glance at Professor Lupin and got a faint grimace in return. "Wands ready. No spells are to be cast that cause lasting injury. Ready…" Harry took aim at Malfoy, Zabini at Neville. "Begin!"

Calm. Right. Harry shot a Disarming Spell at Malfoy, who blocked it and threw a Jelly Legs Curse back. Zabini was firing off curses one after the other at Neville, who was impressively holding his own. Very impressively, in fact, Zabini and Malfoy were exchanging quick, confused glances. Harry thought proudly that maybe a few of them should have joined the DA. But eventually, Neville went down, and then Harry was stuck fending off Malfoy while Zabini stood by and smirked.

"Mr. Zabini! Kindly participate!" Smythe-Wellington snapped.

"Yes, ma'am!" Zabini fired a spell at Malfoy—that put up a reflecting shield which resulted in Harry being hit by his own Stunner.

Fortunately, it was a glancing hit, and while Harry floated in a greenish haze for several moments, he didn't quite lose consciousness. It faded, and he found Professor Lupin kneeling over him as Smythe-Wellington berated Malfoy and Zabini in the background. Harry had to grin, and Remus said cheerfully, "Well, your team won."

Harry grinned broader.

Hogwarts—Danger From Within?

Questions are being raised by concerned parents and numerous officials in the Ministry of Magic about the potential danger of the continued presence of the Boy-Who-Lived at Hogwarts School. "We sympathize with the boy's situation, but we must consider the safety of the rest of the student body," said the Minister of Magic at a meeting with the Hogwarts Board of Governors. "It may be necessary to remove Potter from Hogwarts for the duration of the war."
The proposal still met with considerable opposition from witches and wizards who expressed concern for Potter's safety outside of the school. "This would be a terrible overreaction to the Quidditch attack. Obviously the Boy-Who-Lived was not the only target, nor will his absence guarantee the school's safety," said Madam Amelia Bones. "We cannot consider expelling an innocent student out of hysteria."
Proponents of the measure argue that the move would be considered a 'temporary suspension,' during which time young Potter would have the choice of seeking private tutoring or resuming at Hogwarts when the danger is deemed to have passed. "I don't think it's extreme at all," said Minister Fudge. "How many more innocent students will be hurt the next time You-Know-Who's people invade Hogwarts looking for Potter?"

Harry yawned as he folded up the paper. "Can't say I'm surprised."

"He really does have it in for you," Ron muttered before taking a bite of toast.

"He blames me for all this," said Harry. "For Voldemort coming back." At Ron and Hermione's frowns, he explained, "Percy told me."

Ginny paused from feeding bacon to Bastet and stared at them. "Is that why he didn't tell Fudge about…" she raised her eyebrows.

Harry nodded, feeling a pang of regret imagining their faces if they knew what Percy had really done. But he'd given his word, and for once, Percy was dead right about the consequences if anyone found out. "Yeah, and we'd better not mention it. Percy would be in serous trouble for withholding information like that." They all nodded gravely, and Harry yawned again.

"You look awfully tired, mate, are you sleeping all right?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. "Not really, but there haven't been any dreams for almost a week."

"Do you think you're getting better?" asked Hermione.

Pushing away his half-eaten porridge, Harry frowned. "I don't know. Maybe Voldemort's just being quiet lately. I don't think my mind's any clearer. Professor Lupin's going to start helping with that."

"That's nice of him," said Hermione. "He uses a lot of that disciplining for his…condition. Mental calm all the time makes full moons easier to get through."

"That must be how he's so cool with Snape," Ron whispered, and they all laughed.

The bell rang, and Neville came to join them for the walk to class. "We're doing more teamwork in Professor Lupin's class today."

"I just hope he doesn't carry on Smythe-Wellington's spirit of inter-House partnerships," Harry groaned, picking up his book bag.

"Hey, your team won on Friday!"

"True, but I still got ten points off for not hexing you!" Harry laughed, and stood up. Then the world tilted and turned green. "Ah—"

"Whoa! Harry!" Ron and Neville grabbed and steadied him. "What's the matter?"

Harry sat heavily back down, and the dizzy spell passed as quickly as it had come. "I…think I just stood up too fast."

Hermione and Ginny had joined them, wearing identical worried expressions. "Are you sure? Should we get a professor?" Hermione offered.

Slowly, Harry got up again, ignoring the glances being cast in his direction. This time his vision was clear. He took a deep breath. "No, it's gone."

"Didn't see anything?" Ron muttered at him.

"Nothing." Harry rubbed his eyes.

Hermione glanced at the table and Harry's picked-at food. "Maybe you should eat a little bit more—"

"Hermione!" Harry and Ron chorused.

She raised her hands in protest. "Sorry! I just don't want you to faint in class!"

Harry sighed. "I'm fine, just a little tired—I promise, if it happens again, I'll talk to someone," he told her placatingly. Ron visibly stifled a laugh, but smoothly ushered Hermione off to Defense class while Harry and Neville trailed sniggering behind.

In class, to Harry's relief, they learned team defensive maneuvers like the Reflecting Shield Zabini had used on Malfoy against Harry the previous week. For the time being, Professor Lupin told them, they would be allowed to choose their own teams. "But eventually, I'll be pairing you off myself, and your entire mark for those exercises will be how well you back your partner—no matter who it is." Remus didn't look directly at Harry and Neville, but he smiled in a way that made them chuckle sheepishly.

That class was fun; Harry and Neville partnered against Ron and Hermione, and the match was fairly even. Harry didn't even mind so much when he and Neville lost (Ron and Hermione had ganged up on Harry before finishing off Neville, laughing all the way.) Professor Lupin gave Gryffindor ten points for how well their two teams worked together.

After class, he held Harry back. "Shall we start working on discipline today?"

"I'd like to," Harry said eagerly.

"All right," said Remus with a smile. "Report for yet another 'detention' this evening."

Harry giggled, but asked, "What about Occlumency?"

"I'll speak to Professor Snape; this may be just as important in the long run."

"Thank you, Professor," said Harry with such feeling that Remus laughed. "How is Care of Magical Creatures coming?"

"I think Daisy's beginning to like me."

Remus laughed harder.

As predicted by all concerned, Professor Snape was all too happy to relinquish Harry for the evening to Professor Lupin's instruction, so it was with a much lighter heart that Harry said goodbye to his friends after dinner. Remus was waiting for him in his office. "I warned you this would take some effort. Complicated spells like the Patronus come easily to you, but what you're trying to master now is far less controllable than your own magic."

Harry joined him by the fire. "If you could do it, I can. I have to, don't I?"

Remus smiled. "I know you can do it, or I wouldn't suggest it. Now, what you're learning to do is find a way to detach yourself from emotional responses. This does not mean losing your emotions, Harry, only limiting their power over you. This will aid you in not panicking if you find yourself in serious danger, and not being provoked to anger when certain people try to goad you." He gave Harry a knowing look, and Harry felt himself blush. "Obviously, the latter is particularly important in your case."

Harry grinned sheepishly. "It'd be nice if Snape couldn't get to me so easily."

"Professor Snape, Harry. Just remember, it is up to you to prevent him," said Remus. "Are you ready?" Harry nodded. "All right. What you're going to start learning are ways of calming yourself. It'll seem easy now because you are calm already, but in time you will automatically draw on these methods when you become agitated. Can you try that from now on?"

"Yes," said Harry, feeling a little nervous. Would he be able to gain that control over his emotions? The only time he had ever felt untouchable had been that first week of summer at Privet Drive—and he didn't want that hollow feeling to come back again.

But Remus said, "Right, then. What you're just going to do now is breathe." Harry blinked at him, and he laughed. "I'm serious! Go on. Close your eyes." A little giggle escaped Harry, but he obeyed. "Now breathe, deep and slow. In through your nose, out through your mouth." It felt a little odd at first, but Harry forced himself to keep doing it so he could pay attention to Lupin's soft voice. "Now what you are searching for is a place where you can evade emotional urges. It's deep inside you, your center, your grounding point. When you touch it, no matter how upset you are, you will orient yourself and calm again."

"I don't understand," Harry said, looking at him.

"It takes practice. It's not like a Patronus—a specific thought is not enough, although some people do envision their center as a place, somewhere very peaceful. Not emotional or powerful. Just calm." Remus regarded Harry. "Close your eyes again. Can you find a place?"

Harry thought for a moment, his mind going instantly to his mother's arms in the Pillar chamber. "There was…a place. It's a memory, actually, but Sn—Professor Snape says it has too much power over me."

"Hmm. He's probably right; you don't want to use specific memories as blocks in Occlumency. They can be used as stepping stones further into your mind. Try to imagine a neutral place, one that looks peaceful to you without being closely connected to your memories or feelings," Remus said.

Harry closed his eyes obediently, thinking of something peaceful, and finally settling on a quiet clearing in the woods, with the ground nice and grassy. Then it reminded him too much of the Dark Forest, so he imagined bright blue sky through the trees and sunlight streaming down. "All right…I think I have it."

"Good," said Remus. "Now, anytime you start to become upset or afraid, try to find that place. Remember to breathe, that's important. It's a place where no one can reach you. Even if you're, say, standing in Potions getting grief from a certain professor who shall remain nameless," (Harry sniggered) "inside, you will be in that center, where he and others can't reach you. Let it be your escape inside yourself."

Harry opened his eyes. "How will that help me in Occlumency?"

"You have used specific memories to block him before, haven't you?" Remus said pointedly. "Now use your center instead. Concentrate on it when he attacks."

Harry nodded. Perhaps…it just might work! "I think…this will help. Thanks."

"Don't mention it. And before you go to bed, be sure and sit for a few minutes and do what we've just done. Breathe as I showed you, and find your center. Use that to clear your mind before sleeping." Remus smiled. "Speaking of which, have you had any more visions?"

"Not since last week," Harry said. "In fact, I can't remember much in the way of dreams at all."

Remus's centering technique did seem to work. It was amazing how easy it was to take seriously when it was taught by someone who didn't treat Harry like a bloody punching bag! Harry dutifully practiced every night before going to bed, and found that it even seemed to stay with him in his sleep. Although the odd thing was that when he saw his forest hideaway in his dreams, it was always nighttime.

Even though he was feeling rather tired lately, Harry felt a little better about life after starting the lessons. During their next D.A. meeting, Harry took the lead once more, and they worked in groups practicing the reflecting shields and group defense spells they'd started in Defense that week, and then the First Aid Spells they'd begun learning in Charms.

"After all, it seems unlikely we'll come out of a duel with Death Eaters unscathed!" Hermione observed.

Everyone laughed, and they went to work on the dummies that Harry had persuaded Professor Flitwick to let them borrow. Harry and Ginny were the first to get the Resuscitating Spells down (well, aside from Hermione) and were soon grouped with Ron and Neville gleefully performing a spontaneous melodrama of Resuscitating their dummy who had befallen one of the various gruesome deaths that Harry and Ron used to dream up for Divination. By the time they were done, the entire club was convulsed with laughter.

"Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is us, the evil and highly-subversive Dumbledore's Army!" sobbed Justin, slapping the floor. "Reviving wizards who have had the misfortune to be trampled by herds of randy hippogriffs!"

"Or fell off the Astronomy Tower during a mad snog!" cried Dean.

"What'll Fudge make of it?" laughed Neville. "Us doing First Aid Spells?"

"Aiding fugitives from justice, of course!" said Ernie, without seeing the look on Harry's face.

"Er…or storming the Ministry and wrapping people in conjured bandages!" said Ron quickly. Harry had to laugh at the image.

"Yes, we're dangerous!"

"We're fearless!"

"We're eeeeevil! Enemies of incompetent ministers everywhere!"

Later that week, Harry went with Ron, and Hermione to visit Fred in the hospital wing. George was still staying with him, refusing point-blank to be pried out of the hospital wing until Fred was released, and the rest of the Weasleys visited nearly every day. Once Fred got to the point of complaining about boredom and nagging Madam Pomfrey to let him out, the visits became a little less tense for everyone.

Most of the Weasley siblings were comfortably spread around the room when Harry, Ron, and Hermione arrived. Fred, George, and Percy were sitting on Fred's bed, playing cards and mulling over inventory reports from Lee in Diagon Alley at the same time. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Charlie were in the far corner of the room, quietly conversing. Bill and Ginny were sitting on the bed next to Fred's with Lupin's fifth year Defense textbook open next to them. She was in his lap and appeared to have dozed off while showing him the OWL subjects they were working on. He shifted her weight so that he could wave at Hermione, Ron, and Harry. As they shook hands, Ginny awoke.

"Oh, Bill! I didn't mean to fall asleep. You must have lost all the feeling in your legs by now."

Bill laughed out loud. "You're not that big yet, love." He scooped her into his arms.

Charlie stepped away from his parents, and held out his arms. "Just pass her over here, Bill."

That odd request set off an explosion of activity that had Harry and Hermione jumping in surprise. Parchments, quills, and playing cards went flying in every direction as Fred, George, and Percy dove off the bed and into the center of the room between Bill and Charlie. "Excellent! Ginny-ball!"

Ron whooped and ran to join the group without missing a beat. As Hermione and Harry watched in amazement, they began chanting, "Block that shot! Block that shot!"

Ginny shrieked and grabbed Bill's neck in a strangle hold. "No! Mum, Dad, make them stop!"

Mrs. Weasley managed to sputter out, "Oh, for pity's sake, boys—"

"That's enough!" Mr. Weasley's voice, surprisingly stern, quieted the group. With all eyes upon him, Arthur Weasley broke into a boyish grin. "Ginny-ball is an outdoor game!"

The entire Weasley clan exploded in laughter at the look of outrage Ginny turned on her father. Bill set Ginny on her feet and fell to the floor himself, laughing helplessly.

Hermione's face had a look of horror on it. "Ginny, they didn't really…?"

Ginny looked around at her hysterical brothers. "Oh, yes, Hermione…they did."

Ron and George came up from the where they'd been rolling on the floor, laughing. "Come on," yelled Fred. "Ginny-ball is a great game! Oooh…" he rubbed his ribs and grimaced, but still laughed as he sat back on his bed.

"Yeah," echoed George, plunking himself down next to Fred. "We didn't drop you that often, Gin-gin!"

Hermione shook her head. "How did you survive growing up with six older brothers?"

Bill put a hand gingerly to his still tender neck. "By being just as tough as the rest of us." That started the laughter up again, and Harry and Hermione joined in. Ginny tried for a moment longer to maintain her air of wounded dignity, then she too, burst out laughing.

Madam Pomfrey, brought running by all the commotion, shook her head at them and muttered, "I cannot take much more of this."

True to her word, she released Fred at last that evening, and there was much rejoicing—not just from the living either! Peeves happened to be in the corridor when the Weasleys departed as a group (he'd taken to spending quite a lot of time near the hospital wing) and swooped down on the twins. "Hooray! Free! Free at last! What would we have done without you! My ickle Wheezies! My beloved beasties! Worried old Peevsie sick, you did!"

To the astonishment of everyone, he seized Fred by the ears and began planting big, wet, smacking kisses all over his face. Fred let out a yowl of horror and dove for cover, scrambling to get away as Peeves swept after the two of them, uttering loud declarations of adoration that echoed down the corridors.

Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys looked at each other in amusement. From the hospital wing doorway, Madam Pomfrey observed, "And all is right with the world."

Indeed it was: the Quidditch teams had been given permission to start practicing again, and the make-up match against Hufflepuff was rescheduled for late November. With tension building as the wizarding world awaited news of Voldemort, everyone at Hogwarts seemed to seize on the game as a distraction, and so excitement ran as high as if it were the Quidditch Cup final and not the first game of the season.

But, as luck would have it, Harry's dizzy spells had returned.

This time, they were different. Instead of simple disorientation, Harry saw green light, and the world seemed to fade away for a moment. It never lasted long, but it was highly unsettling.

None of the teachers in the Order could shed any light on it. "Perhaps this is a sign that you are beginning to successfully block Lord Voldemort, Harry," said Dumbledore during an impromptu meeting in his office after Harry had faded out in Charms. "Ah, Severus," he said as Snape came in. "Have you noticed any progress in Occlumency recently?"

"Yes," said Snape, in a tone that made Harry think he loathed acknowledging it. As Remus entered the office, Snape scowled but admitted grudgingly, "Lupin's centering instructions appear to have had an impact."

"I don't have to use my wand anymore," Harry said proudly, looking at Remus. "Well, not most of the time, anyway."

Remus smiled broadly. "Excellent, Harry!"

"So what's this light he keeps seeing?" Snape asked, obviously wanting to get off the subject of praising Harry.

"Maybe Lord Voldemort is trying and failing to penetrate Harry's mind," said Dumbledore, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

Harry frowned, watching Fawkes preening on his perch. "Then what happened before when I was dizzy? I couldn't block him then."

"Our Miss Granger offered the theory that Voldemort was using the dizziness to prevent you from seeing his preparations for the attack on Hogwarts, and to keep you immobilized while it was carried out," Dumbledore said.

Harry grimaced. "It worked, then."

Remus looked troubled. "But why would he waste energy attacking Harry's mind during the strike when he needed to hold the wards open? His Death Eaters might have escaped if he'd given his concentration to that fully."

"The Dark Lord can't fear Potter that much," Snape said, in a scornful tone to hide the fact that he was agreeing with Lupin.

Dumbledore popped a sherbet lemon in his mouth. "I think it possible that his attack on Harry may have had greater motives behind it."

"How did he bring down the wards?" Harry asked.

"I believe Voldemort managed to enter the school underground through the Chamber of Secrets," said Dumbledore. "Our protections are most compromised there. Salazar Slytherin left a means for his heir to drop the wards—yet this is what puzzles me. Voldemort would have had to venture further into the grounds than he did, yet our investigations have found that he came no farther than the Chamber."

"None of the Death Eaters went with him? Perhaps some of them augmented the spell from further inside," suggested Remus.

"The Death Eaters he sent to attack the Quidditch stadium were new initiates, of limited power and use to him. I suspect he intended to abandon them all along."

"What about Malfoy or Lestrange?" said Snape.

"Neither of them possess the power needed to serve as a conduit for Voldemort in a spell strong enough to bring down the Hogwarts wards," said Dumbledore. "It would require a sorcerer of Voldemort's strength to deliver such power." Then he looked at Harry. "And this is what puzzles me."

Out of nervous habit, Harry had been avoiding Dumbledore's eyes, but now he forgot and looked up in astonishment. Dumbledore in turn focused just beyond Harry's shoulder, as usual. "Me?" Harry blurted. "But how…"

"I suspect your dizziness was the result of Lord Voldemort entering your mind and using your own power to probe for weaknesses in the wards, and during the attack, to bring them down while he remained in a position to escape cleanly," Dumbledore told him gently. "You are the only wizard in the world whose power equals his, Harry. The only one capable of being of use to him in that fashion. Perhaps he is doing this in the hope of countering the protection of the Pillar of Storgé."

"That would require a very strong magical bond," said Remus. "Could his scar alone be the cause?"

Snape made a disgusted sound. "The torch. The green flame torch. He said it would bind them."

"That is my suspicion," said Dumbledore. "And there may be a means of testing it. Harry…I would like you to look at me."

Harry swallowed, not quite meeting his eyes. "You think he'll try to possess me?"

"Most likely, if we maintain eye contact for any length of time. He fears what I might confide in you. But try to Occlude your mind. If it is only your scar that connects him to you, he may not be aware of my presence with you. With the torch, he would have the means of tracking on your comings and goings to a much greater extent."

Remus and Snape both slowly took their wands out, looking very apprehensive. Harry said, "But…what if I can't? What if I can't keep him out?"

"We will be here. Don't be afraid," Dumbledore said softly. "Look at me. We will see if Tom shows his hand."

Trembling, Harry concentrated, breathing slowly despite his pounding heart and seeking his center. He had to be calm if he was going to keep Voldemort out, especially considering how Voldemort always reacted to his looking at Dumbledore. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet Dumbledore's directly. It had been a long time since he'd done so, and he'd forgotten how gentle and kind the Headmaster's eyes were. It was—but suddenly, he hated them. He felt his face flush, and a powerful desire to strike the man, to hurt him—

"Close your mind, Harry!"

No, he would not, Dumbledore was wrong, the boy was his! Harry squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force out the foreign thoughts and feelings. Ground, center, find the forest…breathe…push him out…

Harry's scar stabbed with pain. He would fail…Dumbledore…they would all fail…the boy was not strong enough…Think! Breathe…center…the clearing…calm…get away—oh!

Then Harry's scar burst open, and he only had time to gasp out, "No…" before the red-eyed creature's coils surged up from somewhere inside his head and wrapped themselves around him, crushing him.

"You cannot stop me, Dumbledore," the creature hissed as Harry's mind screamed in agony. "The boy is mine!"

"Harry! Fight him!"

"Destroy him if you wish your school to survive…or I will destroy all your children…is this one worth all their lives?"

"Harry!"

Remus…help me…can't breathe…

"I will destroy all of you, Dumbledore, your school, your students, and the traitor!"

From the blinding haze of pain, Harry heard a shout. "Legilimens!"

Then images began to roll past his mind's eye, vivid to him because he couldn't see beyond the creature's coils, and the Pillar room rose up from his memory. Harry plunged toward it as a refuge, seeking the shelter of his mother's arms…safety…love…

The coils loosened, and Harry fell into Professor Lupin's arms, shivering helplessly. "Harry, my God…"

"Cold," Harry gasped, trying to burrow into the shabby robes, and Remus pulled him to the fireside, sitting him almost directly in the hearth and wrapping Harry in his cloak. "Sorry," he mumbled, his teeth chattering. "Couldn't…block…"

"Ssh, it's all right, Harry," said Dumbledore from behind him as Remus vigorously rubbed his back. Fawkes flew down to Harry's side and began to sing, very softly. Harry felt the cold melt away. "Better?"

"Yes."

"Forgive me, Harry, I fear that was a foolish decision on my part. The green flame torch has given Voldemort a far stronger hold on your mind than any of us anticipated," Dumbledore sighed.

"'Sokay," Harry muttered, though he wondered why Dumbledore had thought he'd have any more success without the green flame torch than with it. It wasn't as if he'd ever had much luck preventing Voldemort from possessing him.

Remus kept rubbing his shoulders, looking stricken. "Albus, we have to do something. If this happens in public…"

"I know, Remus, believe me, the possibility of such an event occupies my mind constantly. Percy Weasley may have only bought us time."

At the first chance he got, Harry told Ron and Hermione about what had happened in Professor Dumbledore's office—and what they were all beginning to fear might happen. "I'm getting better at Occlumency, but I can't stop him from possessing me. If it happens in public, the whole world will find out!"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione moaned. "This is awful!"

"Did it hurt?" Ron asked solemnly.

Harry nodded. "Each time, I think this time I'm going to die. I can't see or breathe." He swallowed hard. "He could use my body to attack someone, and I couldn't stop him. He could hurt you." He leaned back against the tree they were sitting under near the lake and closed his eyes. "Sorry. I'm always tired lately."

"Don't blame you, mate," said Ron. "Have you been dreaming?"

Harry shook his head. "I just keep seeing green. It's odd."

"Green," Hermione mused. "Like a curse?"

"No, it's like a…light. Or a haze. I'm not sure. But it doesn't feel like a vision."

"Hm. Maybe Voldemort's taken to swimming in pond scum," said Ron, and they all groaned.

"Still," said Hermione, "there must be something we can do. Remus was right, if Fudge and his lackeys found out…"

"I'm dead," Harry finished. They both winced. "Percy told me Fudge would go that far."

"Why the blazes is Percy still working for him!" Ron exclaimed.

Hermione grinned, stretching out on the grass. "Think, Ron. Remember why Fudge hired Percy in the first place? Let's just say Percy probably is still spying…"

Ron's mouth fell open, and Harry nodded. "Just for our side now. He spent a lot of time talking to Dumbledore while he was here visiting the twins." Then he sighed. "But Dumbledore said last night Percy may only have bought us time."

"All the same, remind me to hug him next time I see him."

"Do you think he'll be able to warn us if Fudge makes another move against you?" asked Hermione.

"I don't know. Let's hope so," said Harry. He yawned heavily. He'd slept all night long without any real dreams except the green haze; why was he so tired?

Ron and Hermione were watching him. "Maybe you should take a nap during lunch," said Ron.

"But you need to eat too," said Hermione. "I'll steal you some sandwiches and bring them up before Transfiguration."

Harry grinned, "Yes, Mum and Dad."

"Oy! We've got practice tomorrow!" Ron said defensively. "I want you in top form!"

"Aye-aye, Captain!"

But he did take their advice.

"Harry? Harry, wake up, there's been an attack!" He woke from more green haze, feeling less rested than ever, to Hermione shaking him. "Did you see anything?"

Harry shook his head, rubbing his eyes. "Nothing at all," he said as he got up. "Ooh," he sat down again.

"All right, mate?" asked Ron. He was holding a plate of sandwiches.

"Here," said Hermione, thrusting one at him. "Eat up. Everyone's going to be pestering you."

Harry obediently took a bite. "What'd they hit?" he asked around a mouthful of bread and cheese.

"The University of Edinburgh and the American Capitol again. It was almost simultaneous, and they stole some things being studied," Hermione told him.

"Anyone killed?" he asked quietly, dreading the answer.

Ron nodded grimly. "We don't know details yet, but everyone's really worried. They say two buildings at Edinburgh got completely blown up."

"Probably to hide what they'd taken," said Hermione. "Eat up, Harry!"

With an effort, Harry finished his sandwich, but they made him eat a seond. "People are already wanting to know if you knew anything," Ron warned.

Harry sighed, feeling less of an appetite than ever. "Not this time."

"That's not your fault; you're not supposed to be having visions from Voldemort in the first place," huffed Hermione. "And anyone who complains about it is an idiot."

"Do we still have class?" Harry asked, finishing the second sandwich.

"Yes, although how much will get accomplished remains to be seen," Hermione said grimly. Feeling equally grim, Harry headed out of the dormitory with them.

In Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall was most definitely distracted. She assigned them to practice the spells they'd been doing last class, then sat at her desk as owls came and went in a steady stream, snatching and scanning their letters and writing hasty responses. She didn't even notice that the students were even less effectual than usual at turning quills into flowers.

Class was halfway over, and Ron had just managed to turn their quill into an earthworm, when the door opened. Professor McGonagall looked up, and all the students turned around in their desks. In the doorway was a tall wizard that none of them recognized. He was an older man, with a well-receded hairline and neatly-trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, wearing a dark robe trimmed with green tartan. His keen black eyes took in the curious faces of the students before settling on Professor McGonagall, whose chin was resting on her hand as she regarded him.

Her lips curved into a faint smile, and she remarked sardonically, "Typical. Every witch or wizard I have ever met in Edinburgh has managed to owl me that they are well except for you."

The strange wizard replied blithely, "Forgive me, in that case I'll return to Edinburgh at once and send an owl from there to inform you that I am well."

Professor McGonagall let out a single snort of laughter and stood up, walking briskly toward the door. "Class dismissed," she said as she passed the desks without giving the students so much as a glance.

Everyone in the class stared after her, confusion written all over their faces. All except Hermione, that is; she was beaming. "What was that all about?" demanded Ron.

Turning to them, Hermione said, "That man is a very well-known wizarding barrister from Edinburgh. He also does magical research at the University."

"So he came to report on the attack?" asked Neville from next to Harry.

"Among other things," said Hermione with a sly smile. "I'm astonished that we've been here so long and none of you know of him." At their blank stares, she finished triumphantly, "His name is McGonagall. Murdo McGonagall."

"McGonagall…" Ron's mouth fell open. "You mean…" he gaped at the door.

Hermione grinned and nodded. "Mr. McGonagall is Professor McGonagall's husband."

"Did you know she was married?" Ron asked Harry when they went downstairs for dinner.

"Not me," Harry said.

"Me neither," said Neville. "I feel badly, like I shouldn't have assumed she wasn't."

"It's not as if she's told us much of her life story," protested Ron. "Other than what she told Umbridge during the 'inspections,' that is."

"But Hermione knew," said Neville.

"Hermione knows everything," said Harry dismissively. "I do wonder what he's doing here."

"Ask Hermione," chuckled Ron.

"Ask me what?" Hermione scampered down the stairs behind them, trailed by Ginny.

"What McGonagall's husband is doing here," said Harry. "None of us have ever seen him before."

"She usually goes to Edinburgh during the holidays," said Hermione. "But I heard him telling her his offices got destroyed during the attack. She introduced me. He seems nice enough."

"His offices?" Ron frowned. "I thought he was a barrister."

"He does lots of things," said Hermione. "He's very brilliant. A great mind in the wizarding world, from what I've read of his work."

"Sounds like Professor McGonagall's type," said Ron, earning a smack from both Hermione and Ginny.

"I think he's handsome," Ginny said archly.

"What! He's ancient!" Ron exclaimed. Harry privately agreed, but didn't want to risk the girls' wrath by saying so aloud. (At present, they were pummeling Ron with their notebooks.)

Harry and Neville trailed behind Ron and his assailants, and were just deeming it safe to catch up again when Harry began feeling light-headed. The staircase began to tilt, but it didn't have anything to do with the usual idiosyncrasies of Hogwarts. "Hey, Harry—Ron!" Neville yelled as Harry started to sway.

"Harry—what is it?" They all ran back up the steps as Harry bent over the banister.

"Just…dizzy…"

"Sit down," Hermione ordered, and he sank onto the stair with Ron on one side and Ginny on the other. His vision was blurry, and green was edging everything. The haze seemed to be closing in, blurring away the world.

"He's fading out! I'm getting help!" Footsteps thumped off down the stairs as the green fog carried Harry away.

He came round to find himself propped up against Ginny's shoulder, and Remus bending over him. "Harry? Can you hear me?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, sitting up with their help.

Remus looked at Harry's eyes and felt his face. "You're a bit warm. Did you see anything?"

"Yeah," Harry smiled dryly. "Green."

Remus chuckled. "I see. Let's get you to the hospital wing."

"I think I'm all right now," Harry protested, but they all looked skeptical.

"All the same, I want Madam Pomfrey to check you out," said Remus firmly, and helped Harry to his feet.

Hermione was giving Remus a very intense look, and Harry glared at her. "What?"

"Nothing."

Likely story, he thought, but checked his temper in front of Remus and allowed himself to be ushered off to the hospital wing.

When they arrived, Madam Pomfrey poked and prodded Harry for an irritating length of time before concluding, "Above all else, Mr. Potter, you are over-tired."

"But I've been sleeping fine," Harry insisted.

"Hermione told me you are seeing this green light in your dreams?" Remus said pointedly. Harry nodded, confused, and the werewolf sat down, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hmm. That must be the key, but I can't imagine what it means."

"I believe it is time we found out," said Professor Dumbledore, coming into the hospital wing with Snape behind him. He patted Harry's hand without meeting his eyes. "Harry, would you permit us to see your dreams?"

Harry blinked. "Well…yes, I mean…how will you do that?"

Dumbledore gestured to Snape, who was holding his Pensieve. "While you sleep, it is possible to view what your mind sees."

Harry frowned, considering it; he wasn't certain he liked the idea of people poking around in his mind while he was unconscious. "Do you think you'll be able to see more than I can tell you about?" he asked, stalling.

Dumbledore nodded. "As is always true with a Pensieve, we will see all that surrounds your mind's eye, beyond what you carry with you back to wakefulness."

"It would help, Harry," Remus said.

Slowly, Harry nodded. "All right. What do I have to do?"

"Madam Pomfrey, a sleeping draught, please," said Dumbledore. Lupin and Snape set up screens around Harry's bed, while Harry sat there wondering if it was possible to feel any more self-conscious. He studied his hands until Madam Pomfrey returned with the potion. "Give me your hand, Harry." Dumbledore pressed Harry's palm against the Pensieve in a way that reminded him of the green flame torch. Fortunately, no blood was involved, or Harry's imagination might have run away with him. Dumbledore murmured an incantation that caused a little tingle to run from the top of Harry's head to the tips of his fingers, then released him.

Madam Pomfrey handed the little vial to Harry. "You'll sleep for about half an hour." Harry took it and nodded.

"Sweet dreams," Remus said teasingly, and Harry relaxed a little, smiling at him. He didn't need to be worried if Remus was there. He gulped down the contents of the vial, then lay back on the bed and let the green fog roll over him.

He floated in it for a time he couldn't measure, until someone's shaking brought him around. "Mr. Potter? Wake up now," said Madam Pomfrey.

Harry sat up and put on his glasses. At a bed next to his, still behind the screens, Dumbledore, Snape, and Lupin were crowded around the Pensieve, and when they looked at him, they were all frowning. "What did you see?" he asked.

Remus looked very worried. "Nothing. Did you see the green light?"

Puzzled, Harry nodded. "The whole time. Why didn't the Pensieve work?"

"Because," said Madam Pomfrey gravely. "You were not dreaming. I watched you closely the entire time; your eyes never moved."

"What!" Harry looked at the teachers for confirmation.

Remus nodded. "That explains why you've been so tired; good or bad, people need to dream. Whatever this green light is, it's disrupting your regular sleep so you don't get truly rested."

"And so I don't have visions," Harry finished.

"Precisely," said Dumbledore. "Lord Voldemort's doing, I've no doubt."

"So what do I do if I can't really sleep?" Harry asked in despair. All that sleep and still being so tired…

"There are ways of inducing undisturbed sleep," said Dumbledore. "We shall have to place some additional wards around your dormitory."

Snape had been staring at Harry with that same perturbed expression he'd been wearing very often lately, but then he stood up. "I will get started, Headmaster."

"Thank you, Severus." Snape walked quickly back down the empty hospital wing and out the doors. Harry tried and failed to stifle a yawn, and Dumbledore smiled, his eyes on the stand next to the bed. "We'll make every effort to allow you to begin sleeping normally tonight, Harry."

Harry sighed. "That'd be nice."

Between the new wards and another sleeping draught, Harry got real rest over the next few nights. He was still plagued with "green spells," as Ron and the twins came to call them, outside of the dormitory, but inside, he slept free of green light or visions. He never wished for them to come back, even when the Department of Mysteries was attacked and three Unspeakables disappeared. As before, Voldemort's followers destroyed the places they raided to hide what had been taken.

On the other hand, with Voldemort cut off from Harry's mind at night, in the place of the old visions came garden-variety nightmares. Except that there was nothing garden-variety about Harry Potter's nightmares.

He woke more than half the dormitory more than once yelling in his sleep, then constantly had to convince Ron and Neville that it was ust an ordinary dream. Ron took to refusing to go to sleep himself until he was certain Harry would be able to, and once or twice, stayed up with Harry for hours. One night he raised such a racket screaming and flailing around that he woke to Ron and Neville's violent shaking and found half the population of Gryffindor House hovering in the doorway.

Hermione pushed to the head of the group and took a few steps further into the room. "Harry. You're in Gryffindor Tower, in the dormitory. Whatever you were dreaming, it's gone," she said in a firm voice that reminded Harry of Professor McGonagall.

Harry felt his muscles slowly beginning to relax and managed to fumble himself free of the bedclothes, blinking in the darkness. Neville soberly handed him his glasses. "Merlin's beard, Harry, you scratched me!"

"Sorry," Harry muttered, wishing he could jump out the window.

Ron paused from rubbing his jaw, where a new bruise was forming, and said, "All right now, mate?"

Harry nodded, hating the fact that he was still shaking. Bloody nightmares. He'd been dreaming of the Veil and… "Sorry," he muttered again.

Several of the students still crowded into the dormitory were begin to mutter amongst themselves, and Harry distinctly heard someone say, "Sirius." His blood turned to ice.

"What were you dreaming about?" Hermione said loudly. "You kept saying 'listen to me,it's serious.'"

Harry heard more than one person in the room suck in their breath, and forced himself to think. "Er, uh…I was…it was last year, I was trying to convince people Voldemort was back," several students flinched. "They wouldn't listen, even though…people were getting killed."

He dared a look around the darkened dormitory, lit only by a few lamps people had carried in. To his intense relief, most of the students seemed to have bought his story, and some even looked ashamed. "Harry," said Ginny quietly. "Should someone get Professor McGonagall?"

Harry hesitated, then shook his head. "No, not this time. Just an ordinary nightmare."

Someone muttered, "You call that ordinary!" then grunted after apparently getting an elbow in the ribs.

To his relief, his friends didn't press, but Hermione nodded briskly. "Right, then. All right, everyone, back to bed! Nothing to worry about!"

Ron eyed her as she shooed the rest of the girls out and grinned at Harry, "She reminds me of my Mum sometimes."

Harry forced a smile. "I noticed that too. I'll just go to the—"

"—bathroom," finished Ron, and got up to follow him. Harry sighed to himself and closed the door. "Sirius again?"

Harry nodded. "The Department of Mysteries. I can never pull him back in time." That wasn't quite the whole truth: in the dream, Sirius had cried out to Harry for help, and Harry had failed. Again and again. The same with Cedric and Uncle Vernon. They had all called to Harry for help, and he hadn't been strong enough, fast enough, smart enough to save them.

"You're sure these are just regular nightmares?"

"Yeah," he said, trying to get his heart to slow down. "Yeah, they're memories, not visions. I'm sure of it. And what with the extra wards…anyway, good thinking out there. Thanks for covering."

"Anytime, you know that. But you might want to talk to Remus about them anyway," Ron told him, sitting down on the edge of a bathtub. "Or maybe Dumbledore."

Harry let out a long, groaning sigh. He'd been doing that a lot lately. "Ron, I…I don't think this is anything that Dumbledore or Occlumency or…anything magical can deal with."

Ron came and sat down on the edge of one of the bathtubs. "What do you think it is then?"

Forcing himself to stop biting his lip, Harry leaned into over the sink and said tightly, "It's just…nightmares. About how…" he jammed his teeth back into his lip and ground out in a whisper, "it's my fault, Ron. My fault he died."

Ron sprang to his feet. "Don't you say that, mate! It was not your fault," he hissed.

"You don't know!" Harry whispered back furiously. "It was just like Hermione warned me before we left—trying to be a hero, trying to save people! Voldemort counted on that, and now Sirius…now he's…" he shook his head, turning away. "Voldemort always lies, Ron. That's how I know this isn't any dream from him. These dreams…they're strange, but what they say…it's not a lie. It's the truth! I might as well have thrown him through that archway myself!"

"Harry, no! Sirius wouldn't want you to—"

"Of course, he wouldn't," Harry shot back, hoping Ron wouldn't notice the tears prickling his eyes. "He just wanted-me-to-be-more-like-my-dad—oh damn!" His throat had closed up too much for words, so he began punching the sink as hard as he dared.

Ron watched in dismay, then sprang into action: he turned on the tap in the next sink to ice cold, and when it had half-filled with water, he bodily hauled Harry over to it and dunked his head in, managing to remove Harry's glasses at the last second. "That'll set you right, mate!"

"Blurgllellagll!" Harry sputtered in surprise as he was soaked from hair to ears in near-freezing water. "Mgfliggle! Blurgf! Pffbbtt! Aah! Ron, stop!" By the dint of flailing and yanking, he got his neck and shoulders out of Ron's grasp and scrambled away, only to slip and fall with a thud on the bathroom floor.

Ron stood over him with folded arms that made him look disturbingly like Hermione. "Better?" He tossed Harry a towel.

Harry scowled at him, then vigorously attempted to dry his hair. "Thanks," he said dryly. "Nothing like a little hypothermia to take my mind off things."

"Oh, stuff it," said Ron. "Had to distract you somehow. Feel better?" Well, if chattering teeth counted as better, Harry nodded. "Good. Then go to bed! If you fall asleep in Potions tomorrow, you're done for!"

"Yessir, oh-high-and-mighty Prefect!"

"The man makes the badge, mate, the man makes the badge!"

"Hey, Fred and George were right. You are taking this too seriously!" muttered Harry as he followed Ron back out the door. "I'll have to warn them to step up their joke testing on you!"

"Don't you dare!"

During Occlumency the week before the make-up Quidditch match, Snape was being oddly quiet and businesslike again. Which was a good thing, because the nightmares were leaving Harry constantly unsettled, and Snape kept dredging them up. "Potter, are you still holding lessons with Lupin?" he asked impatiently when Harry failed to block him.

"Yes," Harry replied.

Snape had known that, of course. "If you do not learn to detach yourself from distressing memories, you will be providing the Dark Lord with an open door into your mind."

"I'm trying!"

Snape fixed him with a hard glare. "Judging by the amount of attention the Dark Lord is devoting to you, you had better do more than try. Now," he raised his wand again, but something suddenly clicked in Harry's mind.

"Professor, wait, I…" he frowned, thinking hard.

"What?" Snape did pause, to Harry's surprise.

"I…there's something, I'd forgotten." In truth, there were some things he'd tried very hard to forget until the nightmares had brought them back into his mind.

"Another vision?" asked Snape in an exasperated tone.

Harry shook his head. "No, it happened when Voldemort—"

"Potter!"

"Sorry, when the Dark Lord had me, back in June. It…" Why was his heart pounding like that? Feeling frustrated with the way his heart began to pound and his palms began to sweat at the mere memory, Harry took a deep breath, trying to center himself. "It was early," he said slowly. Center. It can't hurt me now. It's just memory. Breathe. It helped a little, but his hands still shook. "It was before…before you came, and I'd…forgotten," he said weakly. He didn't like remembering that night at all. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears in spite of all Lupin had taught him.

Snape's face had lost the disgruntled look. "Go on," he said quietly.

Harry swallowed thickly. "It may not be that important."

"I'll be the judge of that. What happened?"

His mouth was incredibly dry. "When he first asked me about the prophecy, he looked at me…I thought he was trying to get—I mean, I knew he was, trying to get into my head, I mean, and I was too sc—couldn't close my mind, so…I just started thinking about dragon's blood. Then he just went right into torturing me, as if he hadn't been able to find out about the prophecy," Harry said.

Now Snape simply looked baffled. "Dragon's blood?"

"I finished your summer essay the day it happened," Harry explained absently. "What I don't understand is what he did—I was so…I can't imagine I really blocked him. But he didn't…I don't know."

Snape was so perturbed he sat down on the edge of his desk, staring at the jars on the wall shelves. "While your emotions provide him access," he said slowly, "he also finds them highly repulsive. With torture as a more convenient alternative, and you entirely in his power, he may have chosen to forego attacking your mind."

"You persuaded him that I didn't know it pretty easily," added Harry. "Maybe he believed that from the beginning and just tortured me for fun."

"That does run with his taste in amusements," muttered Snape, not really speaking to Harry. "You've been face-to-face with him at his full power four times. Has he never made a concerted attempt at attacking your mind?"

"Well, there was the Department of Mysteries. He said he knew I was telling the truth about the prophecy to Bellatrix Lestrange," Harry said. "Other than that, aside from possessing me and sending me sham visions, no. And whatever it is he's done to make me stop dreaming."

Snape abruptly straightened. "Lower your wand, Potter. Call to mind the memory of the possession."

Harry froze. "Why?"

"It may explain why he does not hesitate to attack you in that fashion but has not yet made a serious effort at Legilimency against you."

Harry took a step back. He did not want to relive that. Snape frowned at him, and he muttered, "Do you have to?"

"Potter…"

"Sir?"

Snape sighed in annoyance. "We require answers, Potter. Now, do as I said."

"Fine," Harry sighed and lowered his wand. "Which one, the last, in Dumbledore's office?"

"No, the first, in the Department of Mysteries."

"Not that one!" Harry blurted desperately. The first time had been the worst for a variety of reasons.

"Potter, I do not have time for niceties!" Snape snapped. "Legilimens!"

And Harry was in the atrium, trapped in the coils of a creature with red eyes, blinded and dying, terrified, his heart and soul still reeling from the loss of Sirius only minutes earlier…he felt the creature use him, telling Dumbledore to kill him…he wanted to die, the pain…Sirius…

"NO!" Harry fought out of instinct, and without even raising his wand, but Snape suddenly staggered back.

A dark-haired man carried a limp form out of a dark tunnel into the starlight, then realized the boy in his arms was not breathing…cursing, he laid the thin figure on the ground and began rattling off spells, shaking and desperate…

"POTTER!" Harry stumbled backward. Snape was glaring at him. "What have I told you about—"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!" Harry blurted, still trying to process what he'd seen in Snape's memory. He knew the spells Snape had been using; they'd been practicing them during this week's DA meeting. They were Resuscitating Spells. Shaken, he looked at Snape and whispered, "Did I…die?"

Snape made a very small movement, almost like a wince, before he snorted and replied, "Don't be melodramatic. Your pulse and respiration stopped for less than thirty seconds; I revived you and continued on our way."

"Oh. I…but why did my heart stop?"

"Effect of rushing your awakening from the Draught of Living Death," said Snape tightly. "I took it into account and was prepared for such an event."

Harry thought, with Death Eaters and Voldemort on his tail every second, before he could stop himself. "Thank you," he blurted without meaning to.

It was difficult to say which of them was more shocked. Snape stared at him for a full minute, then evidently decided to ignore those two words altogether. "It appears that in possessing you, the Dark Lord has attempted to crush your mind to the point where you lose mental consciousness. But your emotions have driven him out."

"That's why it hurts so much?" Harry asked wearily.

"Yes. If your mind fails completely, your body will be his to control, but thus far it has not," said Snape.

"I guess these emotions are good for something after all," Harry couldn't help muttering.

Snape shot him a withering look. "The Dark Lord's recent activities indicate the time is fast approaching when he will stomach his dislike for your emotions in order to gain control of you. That barrier will not hold forever."

"Point taken," Harry sighed. "Though…I tried closing my mind when I felt him coming in Dumbledore's office, but it didn't even begin to work. It felt…different somehow. Different from Legilimency."

"It may require a different means of closing your mind," Snape said. "We shall have to examine it further." He glanced at the clock. "That is enough for tonight. Clear your mind before going to sleep."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, and headed out the door. He was halfway up the stairs when he realized that by the end of the lesson, his conversation with Snape might almost have been called civil!

The realization made him laugh aloud, but then his vision blurred and became tinged with green. "Oh no." He sat down quickly, trying to will it to pass, but it didn't.

Over an hour later, Mr. Filch found Harry passed out on the stairs.

The next morning, the Daily Prophet reported another breach in the Department of Mysteries. Hermione had given Rita Skeeter free license to report any news about Voldemort's attacks (if she had a real, reliable source,) and it was paying off: Voldemort had been seen in person in a room called the Death Chamber.

"Maybe we should just field Ginny," Harry told Ron miserably during practice. "We don't need a repeat of last game."

"Last game we got attacked, that wasn't your fault," said Andrew Kirke.

"Jack doesn't agree with you," Harry sighed. Jack Sloper still refused to look at him in the hallways.

"Jack needs someone to blame for Joe, and you're convenient," said Ginny. "Come on, Harry, buck up! I want to play Chaser!"

"If I have a green spell mid-game, we could lose!" Harry insisted. "I can't stop them, and we've only got three days until the match. They might even get worse."

Hermione was sitting close by, listening with the twins. She'd taken to coming to watch practice lately; Harry suspected it was beause of Ron, and found he was glad she'd made that gesture. Hermione knew how important this was to Ron, being captain this year. She scooted closer and said, "Perhaps we should try to find a way to prevent them."

"Such as?" Ron demanded eagerly.

"Well, we know these 'green spells' are coming from Voldemort—oh, stop that, you lot! And they're keeping Harry from really dreaming." She pulled out her NEWT Defense text. "That's some kind of magical attack on his mind."

"And?" asked Fred.

"So…" she leafed through the book. "We may be able to find a way to cut it off. Only for a short time, but it might last through the game." She looked up firmly. "We'll need to try some detection spells to see what it is, or at least what type of attack."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" demanded Vinny Watson. "Get to it!"

"What do I have to do?" Harry asked eagerly.

Hermione grimaced. "Let me knock you out for a minute." He gaped, and she explained, "Since it always happens when you're asleep."

"Uh…all right, then," said Harry. Why is the whole world suddenly so keen to watch me sleep? "Right here?"

"If you're comfortable," she said tentatively. He nodded, and she ordered, "Sit back and relax, then. Durmius!"

The world faded into green, but when he woke up, it was still there. "Bloody…hell…" Ron breathed.

Harry saw a curling, thick line of what looked like bright green smoke surrounding him, leading away into the distance. His friends and teammates were scooting fearfully away from it. "What is that?" gasped Seamus.

"That's what Voldemort's sent after Harry," said Hermione, not looking up from her book. "Don't be afraid; it's always been there. The spell just made it visible."

"Looks like a snake," said George.

"That makes sense," muttered Harry. Then they all jumped as Hermione slammed her book shut and waved the Revealing Spell away.

"I think I can do it."

"Do what?" the team chorused.

Hermione eyed Harry speculatively. "Block the spell temporarily. Cut the connection, as it were."

"How? A moving ward?" asked Ginny, reaching for the textbook.

"In a manner of speaking," said Hermione. "I'm going to make you an amulet."

Hermione and Ginny made protecting Harry for the duration of the game their special project. Most of the ingredients they needed could be obtained from the students' supply cupboard (and Harry and Ron didn't ask where they got the ones that couldn't.)

For the remainder of the week leading up to the game, green spells continued plaguing Harry, until none of his friends would let him go anywhere alone. "The last thing we need is you fading out in a hallway and one of the Slytherins finding you," Hermione told him when she insisted on walking with him back to Gryffindor Tower after he forgot a textbook.

"Any chance you can make this amulet permanent?" Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head. "Not against Voldemort. The reason I think this one might hold for a few hours is that he's probably used to thinking big. An amulet's really very simple protection; it might throw his spell off for a while before he recognizes it and compensates."

"And then what happens?"

"It stops working," said Hermione with a shrug. "And you'll probably faint again."

"Oh. Lovely."

They refused to let Harry try the protection out or even see the amulet before Saturday. "We don't want the old bugger catching on ahead of time," Ginny told him at breakfast the day of the match.

"I wonder if we ought to be wasting a protection like this on a game," Hermione mused, patting the pouch she was carrying.

"What!" Ron looked wounded. "What do you mean 'wasting!'"

"Well…I know Quidditch is important to you, but this will only work once, maybe twice. We might want to save it—"

Harry shook his head, interrupting her. "I'm not going to let that red-eyed mutant skrewt ruin my life! I haven't played a full game in over a year, Hermione. Let me have this!"

Hermione sighed, but smiled at them. "I thought you'd say that. Have it your way. I'll give it to you as soon as you get to the pitch. In the mean time, eat!"

Harry obediently shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth, but grinned. Nothing would spoil this game.

To ensure that nothing did, there were Aurors scattered around the grounds and stadium. Tonks waved at Harry and the others as they passed, and tugged open the top of her red robes to reveal a red Gryffindor Quidditch T-shirt underneath. "Good luck, you lot!" she whispered loudly.

As soon as they reached the locker rooms, Hermione pulled out the pouch. "You may feel a bit odd for a minute, depending on how strong the spell's hold is on you."

"Will it last the whole game?" Ron asked.

"Probably, but I'd catch the Snitch quick if I were you," Hermione warned. She opened the pouch and pulled out a knitted lanyard with a small gold disk engraved with runes and figures.

"Is that real gold?" Ron exclaimed.

Ginny nodded. "We had a beast of a time finding a place to soften it up for this."

"Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?" Harry guessed slyly. Ginny grinned and nodded.

"Here we are," Hermione slipped the lanyard around Harry's neck. At once, it felt as though a hand had been holding him very tightly and then let go; he swayed. "All right?" she asked, steadying him.

Harry rubbed his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, I think it's worked!"

Ron hugged Hermione gleefully. "You are a saint, Hermione Granger, a saint! I love you!" Then they both realized what he'd said, and turned scarlet simultaneously. Ginny jerked her head at Harry, and they slipped out ahead.

"Here," she said, tucking the amulet under his Quidditch robes.

"Thanks for all this," Harry said.

"Not at all; just be sure we win today!"

Ron came running to join them, and they met the rest of the team at the entrance. "The Daily Prophet's here!" Dennis said excitedly.

Ginny frowned. "That's odd. What could they want?"

"Maybe to show that Hogwarts is back to normal," said Katie.

"The Prophet interested in normal?" scoffed Ron. "No, sir. They're hoping something'll happen with Harry."

"You mean an attack, or that I'll just faint and fall off my broom?" asked Harry dryly.

"I'm sure either works for them," said Andrew.

Ron clapped his hands. "Enough of that! Ignore them; the only show we're giving this lot is how solidly we can whip Hufflepuff, so mount up."

Giggling, they obeyed, and swept out onto the field to the roar of the crowd. Harry's heart soared along with the rest of the broomsticks as the wind rushed past his face, giving him a feeling of freedom he hadn't experienced in a long time. "Ever imagine playing the Quidditch World Cup?" Ron asked him as they flew to the center.

Harry laughed. "When we went to see it, sure. But for now," he pointed to the huge Weasley is Our King banner. "I'll settle for this!"

Ron pumped his fist at the Gryffindor stands as they flew into place. "The players take their positions for the first game of the season!" Dean Thomas announced. "Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff!" Raucous cheers went up from the stands as a few Aurors circled on broomsticks.

The balls went off, and Harry went into his circling pattern as Jacobs began on the opposite side of the pitch. "Bell takes possession of the Quaffle, passes to Ginny Weasley—here comes Finch-Fletchley—ooh! Nice dodge by Weasley! They're heading for the scoring area—Watson blocks a Bludger heading for Creevy, Weasley enters the scoring area, shoots—goal for Gryffindor!"

The Gryffindor stands burst into song:

Weasley is our queen,
Weasley is our queen,
She always gets the Quaffle in,
Weasley is our queen!

Harry grinned and doubled up his search. A few minutes later, Ron made two saves in a row, and the Gryffindors sang the "king" version. Then Harry heard a new verse that made him whoop with delight:

The Weasleys are a perfect team,
She makes the goals,
He blocks the rings,
That's why Gryffindors all sing,
The Weasleys are our king and queen!

As Harry glanced over his shoulder to see Ron, red-faced but beaming at an equally-delighted Ginny, he spotted a flicker of gold near the Gryffindor hoops. Ginny spotted it too and promptly zipped across Jacobs' line of vision.

Thank you, Ginny! Harry crowed mentally and raced after the Snitch.

"Watch out!" Ron shouted, pointing, and Harry barely managed to duck in time to avoid a Bludger. In that moment, the Snitch was gone.

"A narrow miss there for Potter!" Dean yelled, but Harry heard a new chorus of voices, these much younger that seemed to be coming from the Slytherins.

"How do you spell LOSER, P-O-T-T-E-R!" a large crowd of Slytherins was chanting.

Harry wasn't the only one who let out an incredulous burst of laughter; he saw Ginny heading toward Zacharias again with the Quaffle, and she shot him an astonished look, grinning helplessly at the absurdly bad line. He agreed: it was so bad it was funny! As he circled, the Gryffindors were draped over their section of the stands with laughter as the Slytherins trailed off, not having achieved the effect they'd been hoping for.

"Whoops! Finch-Fletchley gets one by Weasley, goal for Hufflepuff!"

The Slytherins cheered lustily. Close to their stands, Harry saw the Snitch again and took off without hesitating; he was closer than Jacobs anyway.

Call on Potter,
Anytime we're in a pinch!
Call on Potter,
He's the one who gets the Snitch! the Gryffindors sang, drowning out the Slytherins.

Harry was so surprised he nearly lost sight of the Snitch—but not quite. Jacobs never even caught up. The Gryffindors sang even louder. It was a little distracting, but in a good way. Harry was so intent on the Snitch that he followed it right through one of Hufflepuff's goal posts.

"Oy! How many points does Gryffindor get if their Seeker goes through the rings?" Dean yelled over the cheers.

There was no time for anyone to answer: Harry caught Snitch.

The stands went as wild as if the Cup had just been won. Harry was nearly knocked off his broom by Andrew and Lavinia, then Ginny and Ron circled him all the way down. "A decisive victory for Gryffindor!" Dean cheered, but he could barely be heard over the singing of Weasley is our king, Weasley is our queen, and Call on Potter.

Once on the ground, Harry found himself hoisted onto his teammates' shoulders along with Ron and Ginny (made possible by their larger-than-normal team.) They were carried out of the Quidditch stadium with much fanfare to the rest of the Gryffindors, who sang them all the way back to the school.

He didn't let the Quaffle in,
Weasley is our king!

"You let it in once!" Ginny was yelling at Ron. "After the Slytherins started up!"

"Because I couldn't stop laughing!" Ron yelled back.

"You get the impression they're running out of ideas?" Harry laughed. "How do you spell 'Loser?'"

"S-L-Y-T-H—something like that!" Ron replied. "Oy! Watch your head!"

Too late, Harry got a solid bonk on the noggin and lost his glasses when he failed to duck the threshold as they were carried inside. "Ow! Oh, Harry!" Hermione cried, and he was hastily lowered to the ground. "Are you okay?"

Seeing stars, Harry shook his head. "Ow is the word. Does anyone see my glasses?"

"Here—oh dear. Reparo!" Ginny restored them as he stumbled to his feet. "There. Good as new."

"Thanks," Harry went to take them, but his head suddenly swam, and he dropped them again.

"Harry! Reparo! Really, you—Harry?"

Harry couldn't seem to focus his eyes. "Hermione…I…think amulet's…wearing off…"

"Oh dear. Sit down, quick." Red Quidditch uniforms and black robes swirled around him.

"All right there, mate?" Ron was on one side of him, Hermione on the other.

Ginny reached under the collar of his uniform and tugged out the amulet. "It's warm. Should we take it off?"

"No, leave it. I want to try something."

"Hermione…" Harry felt smothered; the world was closing in…he couldn't breathe.

"Hold on," said the black and brown blur in front of him. "I can't hold him off completely, but I may be able to ease it a bit." Hermione began murmuring an incantation, and Harry began breathing more easily, although the dizziness didn't abate.

"At least he waited until after we won to faint."

"Shut up, Seamus!" snapped Ron, so sharply that several people exclaimed. "Hold on, Harry."

"Hermione, this thing is burning hot!"

Harry saw green again. "It's…back…"

"I don't like this!" said Ron's voice beside him.

"It's more violent than we thought. Get a professor, someone, quick! I'm sorry, Harry, this was a mistake!"

Harry could barely hear her. The green light was closing in, he barely felt Ron and Ginny easing him to the ground and calling his name desperately as the green haze rose up and swallowed him.

The greenish haze swirled around him, cold and damp, making him shiver. The hard ground was damp beneath his back, but the amulet burned painfully hot on his chest.

Harry blinked weakly, trying to clear his vision. The haze flickered with green light. He couldn't seem to move at all—

Long white fingers suddenly closed around the gold amulet. Harry watched in confusion as they raised it from where it hung, then his eyes followed up the black clad arm in the dim light to a pair of glowing red eyes only feet away.

"No!" Panic shot through him like lightning, and he gasped.

Voldemort bared his teeth and yanked the amulet from around Harry's neck, breaking the lanyard—

"AAAUUUGH! NO! NO!" Harry flailed and thrashed with all his might.

Arms were holding him; he kicked in terror. How had he—where was he—"HARRY! You're here! You're here!"

It took a minute for him to realize he was hearing a girl's voice shouting, then he gasped with relief and stopped fighting. The world came back into focus; he was still lying on the floor of the main entryway of the school. And his head was currently in Ginny Weasley's lap. He hurriedly tried to sit up; fortunately, everyone else seemed too alarmed to notice. "Harry, what happened?" Ron asked.

"A…vision, I think…only not…" he stammered, still shaking. Seeing Voldemort that close had brought back very unpleasant memories.

"I'll say not! We thought you'd died!" Neville exclaimed.

Harry stared, and Ron explained, "I've never seen you have a vision like that, you sort of went…"

"Insubstantial," Ginny finished. Harry twisted around in shock to look at her, and she nodded. "Like a ghost. And the amulet's disappeared completely."

Harry's heart seemed to freeze in his chest. He slowly felt under his uniform collar with shaking hands: the amulet was gone, but there was a rough, raw weal on his neck as if it had been forcibly torn off. He began shaking harder. And the back of his Quidditch uniform was damp, even though the floor beneath him was dry.

Harry's heart was pounding furiously. It had been real, not a vision, Voldemort had snatched him right out of Hogwarts…

"Harry! Harry, what is it?" Ginny exclaimed.

"Mr. Potter!" Professor McGonagall pushed through the crowd to kneel in front of him. "Breathe. Calm down and breathe."

"He had me," Harry gasped. "He took the amulet…"

"Amulet? What amulet?"

Hermione and Ginny exchanged glances. Professor McGonagall narrowed her eyes at them. "I made him an amulet so he could play," Hermione said quickly.

"We made it," Ginny said firmly. "Harry, relax, it was just a dream!"

"Wasn't," he choked out. He had me he could get me again I couldn't stop him—

"POTTER!" Professor McGonagall grabbed his shoulders; he had somehow wound up against the wall with his knees against his chest, shaking like a leaf. "Look at me."

Harry forced himself to look up, even though the shaking refused to stop. He'd been in Voldemort's hands twice now, with no way of knowing when he might be dragged back…I don't want to go back there please don't let me go back there… The entry was very quiet. "All students, return to your dormitories immediately," came Professor Dumbledore's voice through the crowd, sending most of the occupants of the other Houses scurrying away. Then the headmaster came towards Harry, smiling briefly at Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, who had not gone with the others. "Minerva, perhaps you would speak with Miss Weasley and Miss Granger. Harry," he held out a hand. "Come with me."

Harry accepted Dumbledore's help getting to his feet and allowed himself to be led to the headmaster's office. Professor Snape was waiting for them. Dumbledore pressed Harry into a chair and beckoned to Fawkes, who flew over to sit with him, singing gently. But even the phoenix's song wasn't quite enough to make Harry's heart slow down. Dumbledore sat down behind his desk, watching Fawkes rather than Harry himself. "Tell me what happened, Harry."

He swallowed and said softly, "I wanted to play, but the dizzy spells…we knew they'd cause trouble. Hermione and Ginny made me an amulet."

Standing against the wall next to Phineas Nigellus's portrait, Snape made a startled noise. "Go on," said Dumbledore.

"I made it through the game, but when it started to wear off, I got dizzy and…saw green again. Then I faded out and…" Harry's mouth went dry. Fawkes scooted closer to him and made a soft crooning noise. He shut his eyes. "I went somewhere else. I saw…Voldemort was there…right there…I was lying on the ground, and I couldn't move, and he pulled off the amulet…" Please let it have been a dream please let it have been a dream… With shaking hands, he tugged aside the collar of his Quidditch robe.

Snape jerked away from the wall as if it had burned him and came to inspect the telltale mark on Harry's neck. "What sort of lanyard was it?"

"Yarn, I think. Just the stuff Hermione knits with," said Harry.

"What else do you remember?" Dumbledore asked softly.

Harry shrugged. "The ground…hard, wet. My robes…there was haze, like fog, really cold and damp, and flickering green light. When the amulet came off, I was back." Dumbledore came around his desk to look at Harry's neck as well. He and Snape were very quiet until Harry couldn't stand it any longer. "It wasn't just a vision, was it?"

There was a brief silence, and then, "No, Harry. It was not."

"Hermione and Ginny got twenty points docked each," Ron told Harry in the common room that evening. "For meddling with advanced magic unsupervised. Remus was really upset with them."

"Is that where he was?" Harry murmured, sitting in an armchair and staring into the fire. What he wouldn't have given to see Sirius in it.

Ron was playing with Bastet. "Yeah. Getting protective of you, that one. He got on me for putting the team ahead of your safety." Harry glanced at him, but Ron didn't appear too bothered. "Can't blame him, I suppose. You are all he's got left." Harry winced. "Oh, sorry, mate!"

"'s okay," Harry muttered.

The common room was very quiet. Parvati and Lavender were reading Tarot cards in the corner, but most Gryffindors were still down at dinner. Harry hadn't been hungry. Ron was watching him. "You want to tell what the vision was? It must have been bad."

"Wasn't a vision," Harry muttered. Ron scooted his armchair closer to Harry's. "Somehow…I went somewhere else. Voldemort was there." He showed Ron the mark on his neck. "He took the amulet."

"Bloody hell!" Ron gasped. "That's why you almost disappeared?" Harry nodded. Ron pulled his knees up to his chest. "What's it mean? I mean, what'd Dumbledore say?"

"I've been seeing this place in visions; it's a forest somewhere. It's cold and damp," Harry tucked his legs underneath himself in the armchair. "We think it's Voldemort's new headquarters. That's where I was."

"How'd he get you there? The amulet?"

Harry shook his head. There was still green on the edges of his vision. It seemed to be becoming a constant. "You remember that torch I told you about, that he used when he had me this summer?"

"Yeah. I thought it was just to make sure you didn't wake up."

"That's what I thought too. I remember it going out when…Snape woke me. But Voldemort said it would bind us. That's why I keep seeing green." Harry forced his gaze from the fire and looked at Ron. "He's using it to get to me. The connection from it is even stronger than the scar. He can curse me from a distance."

Ron shivered. "So what do we do now? I mean, how do we make the torch...er...stop binding you?"

Harry stared into the fire. "I don't know."

Hermione was stricken that the amulet might have caused more problems than it solved, and apologized every chance she got for the next few days. She also took it upon herself to determine the location of Voldemort's new hideout, and plagued Harry with questions aout his visions. "Woods, dark, cold, damp," she frequently muttered to herself. "Well, that only describes about a hundred places in the world."

Ginny was much calmer about the whole thing. But it was hard for anyone to remain calm when Hermione did another Revealing Spell on the dormitory. They found the same greenish snakes of magic—lots of them—pressed against the invisible shield made by the wards and attacking it with all their might. "I'm about ready to switch to Hufflepuff," muttered Dean Thomas as they watched it through the window.

"It wouldn't make any difference for you," said Ginny. "They're only interested in Harry."

Even in the dormitory, Harry was starting to see green in his sleep again. He didn't have to ask Hermione or even Dumbledore to realize what it meant: the wards were failing.

Voldemort threw them down at Privet Drive, and Dumbledore said that was the most powerful protection there was. Thanks to that ruddy torch there's nowhere he can't get to me.

Harry wasn't the only one getting used to life under siege. The Daily Prophet arriving with headlines of another attack on the Ministry of Magic or some poor Muggle or Muggle-born family no longer caused an uproar, just a lot of muttering and shivering. Harry and his friends were more interested than their classmates in Voldemort's strangely frequent forays into the Department of Mysteries.

"What could he be after in there?" Ron mused one day at breakfast.

"Any number of things," said Hermione. She glanced at Harry and lowered her voice. "What I want to know is what he's so interested in in the Death Chamber."

Harry knew she was afraid to mention that place in front of him—and it did still make his stomach turn—but he shrugged and said, "How often has he gone there?"

"Last night was the third time he's turned up," said Hermione, scanning Rita Skeeter's article. "With a Death Eater he called Wormtail."

"What could Voldemort and Pettigrew be doing in the Department of Mysteries?" Harry got the nerve up to ask Snape one night during Occlumency.

Why he'd thought Snape might be forthcoming, he could not imagine. "I have no earthly idea, Potter," the Potions Master snapped. "Kindly concentrate on the task at hand."

With an effort, Harry pushed aide his aggravation and worked on the breathing and centering Lupin had taught him. The forest he used to use as his escape now reminded him too much of the dark place where Voldemort's fortress was, so he'd switched to the seashore, with lots of blue sky and sun. That seemed to work. "Ready," he said calmly, not raising his wand.

"Legilimens!" Harry concentrated on the waves rolling over golden sand, and on a whim, made them bigger. And it was breezy and very warm and quiet. Snape stepped back. "Well. At last you are showing real progress. However, the Dark Lord will not give you time to clear your mind. You must learn to do so quickly."

"Right." Harry braced himself, but Snape did not attack again. Instead, he went and inspected some horned squid he had in a row of jars on the shelf. Harry waited, first puzzled, then annoyed, as Snape ignored him. Finally, he demanded, "Whatever are you waiting for!"

Snape turned to him. "Legilimens!"

It was a tidy trap; images began to roll past his mind. Damn! He fought to bring the seashore back, but he was too rattled to bring his emotions under control. He was lying on the wet stone floor as Voldemort snatched the amulet...he was lying on the dry stone floor screaming, as Bellatrix Lestrange poured torturing potion over him…he was struggling against Death Eaters forcing the Draught of Living Death into his mouth, scared, so scared….

"No!" Harry gasped and fell to his knees as Snape pulled suddenly back, but then Harry's mind was flooded with foreign memories: A greasy-haired man watched robed wizards sealing an unconscious boy in a stone tomb, forcing a cheerful smile…a gaunt, black-haired woman flirted with the man as he stood at a red-eyed wizard's right hand…the greasy-haired man crept toward the tomb and shot a jet of green light into the wizard guarding it…

"POTTER!" Shape bellowed, and Harry dropped his head.

"Sorry, didn't—"

Snape hauled him to his feet. "If the Dark Lord takes you tomorrow, your defenses are still pitifully weak; he will break through them in minutes!"

"I'm trying—"

I don't want your excuses, Potter!"

I got you out, didn't I?" he protested angrily.

"No, you did not, I—" Snape broke off. Harry blinked, remembering that last attempt, and something clicked in his mind.

He had never raised his wand or cleared his mind, but Snape had pulled away, as if recoiling, so fast that Harry was pulled with him, into his own memories. Harry remembered the last memory before it happened, of being so very, very afraid…so that was why Snape had started remembering that same night.

Snape was watching him, still breathing heavily. "If you intend to be of any use at all during this war, you will have to master your emotions," he said tightly.

That's what you always say. You and all the rest of them. Even though yours aren't nearly as airtight as you'd have me believe, Harry thought. Was that why Snape had always avoided his memories of that night? Aloud, he muttered, "I didn't know I was supposed to be useful in this war."

"If I was forced to lose the advantage of obtaining information from the Dark Lord's ranks in order to save your miserable life," Snape growled, "you had bloody better be useful. Now get out."

With a frustrated sigh, Harry headed for the door. His mind kept wandering back to what he'd seen and remembered of Snape spying on Voldemort. As he reached the doorway, something made him pause. He looked back and saw Snape reading something at his desk, his head resting on his hand.

"Sir," he heard himself say. "You may not be able to spy anymore…but at least you don't have to play their game anymore." Snape's head shot up, looking at Harry in disbelief. "You're free now, aren't you? You told Malfoy that day…"

A very odd expression took over Snape's face, but when he spoke, to Harry's surprise, his voice was quiet. "As long as he and his followers live, Potter, none of us are free."

"Our next Hogsmeade visit is this weekend, "Ron said, trying to cheer Harry up.

Harry poked without interest at his shepherds' pie, saw Hermione open her mouth to comment, and hastily took a bite. "Thought you two would be..." he waggled his eyebrows. Both of them turned red. "We want you to come," Ron muttered. "We told you, nothing's changed."

On Ron's other side, Ginny winked at Harry and asked, "So, what are you going to do then?"

"The twins are demonstrating some of their wheezes at Zonko's," said Ron.

"Wow," said Harry. "Zonko doesn't consider them competition?"

"If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, "Ginny quipped. "He wrote them and said he's interested in selling some of their products. So, Percy went with them to meet him, and they signed a contract, as Percy put it, to make sure they got every Knut those things are worth! There'll be a party to premiere them on Saturday."

Harry was impressed. "That's great! And nice of Percy to do that."

"Believe it or not, I heard Fred—or maybe it was George—saying he's never appreciated Percy so much," said Ron.

"Does Fudge know?" Hermione asked, lowering her voice.

Ginny nodded. "But Percy said he fed him a good excuse, something about a commission. Apparently, Fudge is greedy enough to believe it."

"The twins paid him?" asked Harry.

Ron shook his head. "They offered, but he wouldn't let them, even though they were really excited about the deal he got them."

"I think he's trying to make up for last year," Ginny remarked. "Not that I'll discourage him. But he's still edgy around Dumbledore."

"Why, Dumbledore's—"

Harry interrupted Hermione. "Dumbledore's not infallible. I'm still edgy around him."

"He's doing his best," Hermione insisted. "Maybe if you'd have a little faith in him, you wouldn't be so—"

Harry leaned across the table furiously, putting his face inches from hers and causing Ron and Ginny to start. He glared at Hermione's wide eyes and hissed, "My godfather's dead because of Dumbledore expecting me to have bloody…blind…faith!"

"Hey!" Ron protested as Hermione's eyes filled, but instead of choking out an apology as he'd expected, she reached toward his cheek in a gesture disturbingly like Mrs. Weasley. Harry pulled back and started to leave the table, but only made it a few steps before the Great Hall tilted and turned green. Neville and Seamus had to jump from their seats to keep Harry from toppling over.

"Oy! Harry! You okay?" exclaimed Dean.

While some students jumped up to see if Harry needed help, others remained in their seats and muttered amongst themselves. Loud jeers could be heard from the Slytherin table. Harry, with the aid of several supporting hands, sat slowly back down and rested his head on his arms, willing the green light to go away. Another frustrating constant in his life of late, his scar was prickling. His head felt terribly heavy.

His friends' questions and exclamations broke off suddenly, and someone put a hand on his shoulder. Without thinking, he mumbled, "Sirius?"

Someone hissed, then Ron said quickly in a shaky voice, "Missed that, mate. What's serious? Is it a vision?"

Oh…damn! Harry fought to keep his mind working in the green haze and muttered, "This spell…more serious. I feel really weird."

Someone sighed. "Let's get you to the hospital wing, Harry." said Professor Lupin's voice. Harry let himself be pulled to his feet and ushered out of the room as the entire student body stared at him.

Halfway to the hospital wing, he fainted altogether. For a time, he was lying helpless in the green-lit mist, cold and damp, but then his surroundings changed.

He was standing in front of the stone archway, its veil waving gently, watching a small, black-robed wizard uncorking a vial of potion. "This had best succeed, Wormtail."

"It shall, Master. I'm certain." Wormtail simpered. "Once we have perfected it, even Death cannot stop you!"

"If I find you have brought me here pointlessly once more, I will feed you to Nagini," Harry hissed.

"This is the last time, my lord!" Wormtail pleaded, cringing. "Then we will have the technique should any harm befall you!"

"And how will we know for certain?" sneered a gaunt-faced, black-haired woman.

Wormtail actually paused to smile at her. "You'll confirm it yourself, good lady."

Bellatrix and the man next to her, Lucius Malfoy, exchanged dubious glances. "Enough," Harry told them. "Malfoy, assist him!"

"Yes, Master." Malfoy picked up several blood-red candles and laid them at the base of the archway, very close to the veil. He wavered a moment before stepping back, looking paler than usual.

Wormtail handed Malfoy a handful of something silver and powdery, then took the opened vial of potion – now emitting red steam – in one hand, and his wand in the other. "Get ready," he said, his voice quavering.

Harry watched as Malfoy and Wormtail pointed their wands at the veil, and began chanting softly. A breeze began to rustle his robes…the chanting rose in volume. Harry felt nothing, but the Death Eaters shivered; it was growing cold in the chamber. The three candles burst into flame; the chanting grew louder. The wind was blowing the veil. It was rising.

But Harry sensed something; a presence, not an intruder…he felt a surge of fury…the boy!

Harry gasped. He was back on the damp stones with green light flickering in the hazy air. He turned his head. The green flame torch was burning on a raised stone above him. Looking the other way, he saw an opening in the slimy stone walls. He was high up, looking down upon the dark canopy of trees and a single mountain glowing silver beyond them.

"Nott!" a voice suddenly shouted. "He's back!"

From a dark hallway across from Harry, two Death Eaters were staring at him. He recognized them: Nott and Avery.

"He's awake," Avery muttered, and pointed his wand at Harry. "Stupefy!"

"NOOO!" Harry cried in panic, fumbling for his wand.

Arms wrapped around his chest. "Harry! Harry! You're here! You're safe—don't fight!"

"R-Remus?" Harry let out a gasp of relief and sat still. Professor Lupin let go of him and sat back on the side of the bed in the hospital wing. "I had—vision…"

"Easy, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall. She was standing at the foot of his bed with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny wide-eyed behind her.

"Breathe," Remus reminded him gently, and he closed his eyes, trying to calm down. "Can you tell us?"

"I think Voldemort's in the Death Chamber again," Harry said, keeping his eyes closed. "With Wormtail, Lucius Malfoy, and Bellatrix Lestrange. They—some sort of spell, candles and potions—on the—the veil." Don't think about it, don't think about it! "So Voldemort—if any harm—Wormtail said even death couldn't stop him."

Dumbledore appeared next to Professor McGonagall. "Did you see anything else, Harry?"

Harry tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. Remus handed him a glass of water, which he sipped gratefully. "I think…he realized I was there. Then I was back in the green—it's somewhere high up," he exclaimed, remembering what he'd seen. "Made of stone, there's a big window that looks out over a forest—really dark," he added, shivering. "And a mountain beyond it, glowing silver. But I didn't see a moon." He frowned in puzzlement, wanting to ponder something other than the veil.

Hermione gasped and opened her mouth, but Dumbledore raised a finger to his lips. "Hush, Miss Granger. I too recognize the place Harry has described, but we must keep it to ourselves."

Hermione nodded, and Snape, who Harry hadn't noticed until now, moved closer to Dumbledore. "If he's found it, we have a serious problem."

"I had considered the possibility after Harry's first two visions of the forest, but deemed it most unlikely," sighed Dumbledore. "But if Lord Voldemort's followers have succeeded in the Death Chamber, I fear 'unlikely' rules nothing anymore."

"What is that place?" asked Harry. "It felt…weird."

"I imagine it did," said Dumbledore, "but I cannot tell you just yet—I'm sorry, Harry," he added as Harry bristled. "There is much to be done, very quickly. I will explain these events to you as soon as I can, but now, I must see if there is any chance of stopping them."

Harry nodded sourly. Snape glared at him and said, "This does not concern you, Potter."

"Then perhaps you'd tell that to your old mate, Voldemort, so he'll stop giving me these bloody visions!" Harry shot back.

Snape bared his teeth. "Twenty points—" Dumbledore put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Come, Severus." They went. Harry watched them walk out of the hospital wing and fumed.

"Harry," Remus put a hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off.

"I am sick of being kept in the dark!"

"They don't have time to explain things if Voldemort's out doing dodgy experiments—" Hermione started to say.

"Not even to tell me the bloody name of the place I keep getting spirited off to?" Harry demanded. "I've been there, my robes are still wet, and it was real enough for Avery to hex me! What happens if I wind up there again and have no way out? And I don't even know where there is!"

Hermione's lip trembled, but she lifted her chin. "I'm sorry, Harry. The Headmaster told me not to say yet, and I'm not disobeying him."

"Fine!" Harry flopped back onto the pillows, shaking with frustrated anger. "Then leave me alone!"

"Hey! You're not being fair!" Ron exclaimed, putting a hand on Hermione's shoulder.

Harry didn't especially care about being fair just then. "Leave…me…alone."

They left. Remus stayed, obviously hoping to calm Harry down, but Harry didn't want to stop being angry. He was so tired of this! He didn't choose to be Voldemort's messenger, or spy, or anything, when were they going to start helping him fight it, instead of patting him on the head!

And besides, anger was starting to be the only thing that distracted him from being scared. Voldemort had realized Harry was inside his head this time, and something told Harry that the dark lord intended to make him pay for the intrusion.

Harry slept for awhile, and when he woke up, Remus was still there. "It's called the Forest of Shadows," he said.

"That place?" Remus nodded. "What is it that's worrying everyone?"

Remus sat back in the chair next to Harry's bed and rubbed his eyes. "It's very powerful—a great advantage to anyone who can possess it. The building you were in, rising above it, is called the Fortress of Shadows, and it is the focal point of the forest's power. Some say Salazar Slytherin made it his stronghold after he left Hogwarts, which would explain how Voldemort found it."

"Found it?"

"It's unplottable, and no wizard has seen it for hundreds of years. Only those to whom its builders would have granted entrance can find it," Remus explained. "It's thousands of years old. We don't know who the builders were, but don't much care for their taste."

"I agree," Harry muttered, shaking his head. Then he noticed Lupin's expression, and felt blood rushing to his face. "I'm sorry about…before."

"You owe your friends an apology," Remus said quietly.

Harry cringed. "I know."

"I know it's hard, to have to live like this," Remus told him, leaning forward in the chair and resting his elbows on his knees. "And I at least know exactly when life will spin out of my control." He pulled a face that made Harry smile a little. "But we must maintain control of everything we can, Harry. Especially our emotions. Otherwise, the monsters win."

Harry fiddled with the bedclothes, feeling very ashamed of himself. "I know. And…I really am trying. It's just…" he looked helplessly at Remus. Maybe he was the only person other than Ginny who could understand how Harry felt. What it was like. "I feel like…" he thought of his seashore center, "driftwood. He's carrying me along, anywhere he pleases, and I can't stop him."

"I know, Harry. I know." The gentle hand on his shoulder made his throat tighten. He stared down at his hands.

"I miss Sirius."

He hadn't meant to say that out loud; he didn't want Remus to think he mattered any less to him. He wanted to say that, but his throat was too tight to say anymore. But the hand on his shoulder tightened, and Remus said simply, "Me too."

Madam Pomfrey came over at that moment, to Harry's relief. "Where's Professor Dumbledore?" he asked Remus.

"At the Ministry. He asked me to explain to you what's happening. He reported your vision, and it's confirmed that Voldemort was in the Department of Mysteries again." Remus shook his head. "But the Minister seems most preoccupied with the potential danger of you rather than the question of how Voldemort keeps entering the Ministry with such impunity."

Harry blinked. "Fudge's still on about me?"

"Absurdly so. Then again, such behavior is consistent with Cornelius Fudge's record," Remus muttered, sounding disgusted.

"What do you mean?"

Giving Harry a droll smile, Remus explained, "In times of trouble, it has long been Fudge's policy to simply kill the messenger."

Understanding, Harry nodded. "And I'm the messenger."

"You are. And after last year, you are no longer connected in the public eye only with Lord Voldemort, but now also with Albus Dumbledore—whom Fudge still nurses a very real grudge against, believe me. To him, you're no longer just the Boy-Who-Lived, but the personification of the prestige and respect in which Dumbledore is held."

"And that's why he has it in for me?" Harry asked wearily.

Something dark flashed suddenly in Remus's gentle brown eyes then, something that startled Harry. He didn't quite know what it was, but it seemed vaguely menacing. But it was gone just as quickly, and Remus shrugged. "In any case, the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall are trying to sort it out. Are you hungry?"

Harry looked up at the clock over the hospital wing doors. "Can we go back to the Great Hall? I could…talk to Ron and Hermione then."

"Madam Pomfrey?" Remus asked. "Is Harry free to go?"

Madam Pomfrey tutted over Harry for a few minutes, but pronounced him fit to be released. "And I don't expect to see you here again for at least four days, Mr. Potter!"

Grinning sheepishly, Harry said, "I make no promises," and he and Remus laughed their way out the door.

Ron and Hermione were already seated at the Gryffindor table when Harry arrived. Remus went up front with the teachers, and Harry approached his friends with some trepidation. But when they noticed him, they both smiled and beckoned him over. Harry's stomach churned with relief; he didn't deserve them.

Ron scooted over so Harry could sit between him and Ginny. "Feeling better, mate?"

"Yeah," Harry said, taking a sip of pumpkin juice to ease his dry throat.

"Did you see how many teachers have gone?" asked Ginny, pointing at the head table. "We heard there's a big security meeting with Fudge." Harry nodded. "I wonder if Percy'll be there."

"I hope so," said Hermione. "Fudge may still listen to him."

"Yeah," Harry muttered, staring at his empty plate. Just say it, you prat, just apologize!

"Harry?" Hermione asked. "Did you hear something else about it? You look worried."

He felt himself blush. "No, I mean, I'm all right. I…I've got something I need to say." Both their eyes widened, and he said hastily, "It's not important—I mean, well, it is, but it's not…serious…"

Ron and Hermione blinked curiously at him. Harry forced himself to look at their faces—and felt a surge of utter loathing.

Hermione frowned and leaned toward him. "Harry?"

Mudblood…

WHAT! What was he…how could he think that…oh no…

"Harry?" Ron and Hermione were both leaning toward him now. "Harry, what's the matter?"

His mind was only half his own. Two sets of thoughts were trying to inhabit his brain at the same time; his scar was beginning to throb, lancing pain deep into his skull. Desperately, fighting for control against alternating waves of cruel anticipation and sheer horror, Harry looked at his best friends and whispered, "Run."

"What?" exclaimed Ron. "What are you…"

Blood traitor whelp…he wanted to hurt them—No! NO! His fists balled from both panic and malice. His scar was stabbing, throbbing, trying to burst open, he was angry—he was afraid—he had to warn them, but if he lost concentration for even an instant, it would happen—he was splitting in two—

"Harry! What's wrong!"

He turned toward the speaker. The Mudblood—Hermione!—was wide-eyed, staring at him. No. NO! GET OUT! I WON'T LET YOU—He'd kill her. He would destroy them all… "N-No…not here…run, please, run…"

"Harry!" So many faces, staring, crowding around now, he would hurt them – he had to warn them!

"Run!" he gasped. It was coming, the creature, to crush him in its coils, he could feel it rising up inside his head—he would destroy Dumbledore's charges—"Get away!"

"What's the matter with his eyes?"

"Oh my God—PROFESSOR!"

Fight it fight it fight it! Harry turned his face toward the head table – the werewolf and the traitor were rising to their feet—help me…make it stop—Remus and Snape saw his face, and both men vaulted right over the table, sprinting toward him.

"OUT! All of you, OUT!" Snape roared.

Our moment of reckoning is coming, traitor… "Help me…"

Harry's scar burst open. The red-eyed creature was rising; through the roaring in his ears he heard the Great Hall erupting in a chorus of screams.

"He's turning into You-Know-Who!"

"Harry! Fight him!"

"Run! Get out! Get away from him!"

"POTTER! CLOSE…YOUR….MIND!"

The coils were closing, he could hardly breathe, the world was going black, his scar was tearing open… "I…can't…" He could barely see Snape and Remus only feet in front of him.

"Hermione, Ron, Ginny, out of here, now!" Remus was yelling. "Severus, help him!"

"I have a better idea." Despite the agony from being slowly crushed, Harry gasped as Snape suddenly grabbed Ron, pinning his best friend in front of him.

"Hey, what are you—let me go! Harry?" Ron fought to break free, staring at Harry in shock.

"Ssseverussss!" Harry heard himself hiss.

"Let him go—let him—" Hermione rushed toward Ron, but Snape pointed his wand at her.

"Stupefy!" She collapsed at Snape and Ron's feet.

Remus drew his wand. "Snape, what the hell are you—"

"Shut up, Lupin!" Snape pointed his wand at Remus, but kept his eyes on Harry. "Push him out, Potter! If you want your friends to survive this day, push…him…out!"

The coils were trying to blind him, but Harry could still see Ron, held tightly by Snape, and Hermione on the floor. He couldn't take his eyes off them. Voldemort would kill them, both of them, all of them…No…

The creature surged around him, trying to smother him, and the world was growing very dim, but Harry could still see them even as his mouth moved against his own will. "The boy is too weak, Severus."

RON! "R-Ron…"

"Harry?" The world seemed to brighten a little with the sound of Ron's voice. Harry could just barely see him, shaking and terrified, in Snape's iron grasp, staring at the red-eyed thing that was supposed to be his best friend. "You can do it! Fight him, Harry!"

The creature tried to hiss; Harry sucked air past his teeth in a wheezing breath. Hermione was awake, sitting up and watching him with intense, desperate eyes. "Come on, Harry. Come on!"

It hurt…it was killing him…crushing him…hissing in rage at his resistance…he couldn't, he couldn't, it was too strong…You cannot win, pitiful child! I will destroy them! hissed a voice inside his head.

Ron and Hermione…not them…I—won't—LET YOU! Harry let out a scream of agony that might have been the creature's or his own, then his head exploded—or at least, he thought it had. Light and color erupted in front of his eyes, his ears rang, but the coils and red eyes had gone. Then he was falling forward.

Someone caught him, holding him upright, and he caught a blurry glimpse of red hair. "Harry, my God, are you—"

"Here, Ron." Other hands came to guide Harry back onto one of the benches. He slumped in their grasp, shaking, as someone handed him his glasses.

The first person he noticed when he put them on was Snape, staring down at him. Without raising his head from Ron's shoulder, he muttered dully, "I hate you."

Hermione was sitting on Harry's other side, and she wrapped her arms around him. Harry went rigid, gasping, and she quickly pulled away. "I'm sorry, I—"

"It's okay," he groaned, shutting his eyes. He's gone, he's gone, he's gone! "I just…he was crushing me."

"Clear the area, Miss Weasley," Snape barked at Ginny.

"Sod off, Professor," Ginny replied, and knelt on the floor in front of Harry, putting a hand on his knee. "All right?"

"Till he tries again," Harry murmured. "Next time…just run. If he ever beats me, he'll kill you."

"You beat him, Harry," Hermione said firmly. "You won."

"Severus, I'll see to Harry, if you'll deal with crowd control," said Lupin from somewhere nearby.

"Gladly—Longbottom, Lovegood, get back here!"

"Harry!" Neville dodged Snape without even hesitating and ran toward them, Luna at his side. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Lord Voldemort possessed him, of course," said Luna with eerie calm. "But he's better now."

"Harry?" Neville asked uncertainly.

Harry waved weakly in Luna's direction. "She's pretty much got it figured."

"But are you all right? You look…hurt."

"I'll be okay," Harry sighed, keeping his eyes shut. No green tinged the darkness, for once.

"Ron!" Ginny's hand left Harry's knee. "It's Hermes!" Harry opened his eyes and sat up as Percy's screech owl flew down to Ginny. She took the letter and hastily unrolled it. "Oh no." She raised frightened eyes to meet Harry's. "No, you won't."

"What?" exclaimed Hermione.

"Professor Lupin!" Ginny thrust the note into his hands. "From Percy!"

Snape came back, and he and Lupin scanned the note. "Damn," Snape growled, dropping it.

Ron caught it as the two teachers began muttering urgently to each other. "Harry…" he breathed.

Harry leaned over Ron's shoulder. The note had been written very quickly in a scrawl unlike Percy's usual tidy script.

Fudge knows. On his way. Dumbledore & others detained.
GET HARRY OUT!

"If we give Harry to Fudge, we may as well give him to Voldemort," Lupin hissed to Snape.

"I know," Snape snapped. "The Headmaster or McGonagall could contest this; neither of us has the authority."

"Then we've no choice, Severus. You remember what Albus—"

"Yes, yes!" Snape glared over his shoulder at Harry. "We have no choice. Potter, on your feet. We're leaving."

"Wha—" Harry had no time to protest as Ron and Ginny pulled him upright. He was startled to see a large number of DA members hovering by the Ravenclaw table. "What's going on…"

"Fudge means to take you, and we've no way to stop him without Dumbledore," said Lupin. Hermione broke away from them and ran out the side door.

"So where will we take him?" asked Ginny.

Remus paused and met her eyes. "We are taking him where he'll be safe, Ginny. You and Ron and the others are staying here."

"No way!" Ron tightened his grip on Harry's arm. "We're not—"

Remus leaned toward them. "We're going outside the law, Ron. It's the only way to protect him. You can't come with us without risking your whole family. You cannot know where we're going!"

"But—"

They had lingered too long. Professor Smythe-Wellington came back into the Great Hall with milling students peering after her. "Lupin, Snape, what is all this?"

The professors in question exchanged glances. Something flashed in Smythe-Wellington's eyes, and Harry saw her hand shift toward her wand. "Priscilla, we—" Lupin began.

The doors burst open. Students gasped as Aurors poured into the room, wands drawn as if storming a Death Eater meeting. Ron and Ginny yelped in dismay and squeezed closer to Harry, while Lupin and Snape stood in front of him. The Aurors lined the walls, guarding the doors as Fudge strode pompously into the room, with Percy at his side.

Lupin stepped closer to them. That strange, dark look was back in his eyes. "If he tries to lay a hand on Harry, I'll kill him."

"Lupin, shut up!" hissed Snape. "Your condition alone gives them reason to hex you."

"What now?"

"I'll do my best." With surprising dignity, Snape motioned Smythe-Wellington aside and said curtly, "Good evening, Minister. I trust you have a good reason for this disruptive entry?"

Fudge stopped in surprise, glancing around the Great Hall. Seeing only scared students and professors who were not Dumbledore, he relaxed and said, "I should have thought that was obvious. We received a report that Lord You-Know-Who had entered Hogwarts in the form of Harry Potter. We're here to take this young man into Ministry custody." He smirked. "And as I don't believe you are headmaster here, I recommend that you step aside."

Snape was a good deal taller than Fudge, Harry noticed. He did not step aside. "I am not headmaster, but as senior amongst the professors in this room, I have authority to act on behalf of the headmaster by requesting the grounds upon which you are removing a student from this school."

Obviously, Fudge hadn't expected any obstacles without Dumbledore there. Harry glanced around at the faces above the red robes…no sign of Moody, Tonks, or anyone else from the Order. If Fudge managed to overrule Snape…Let Dumbledore come, please, let them get back…

"Well…" Fudge dithered. Behind him, Percy's fists were clenched. "He got taken over by You-Know-Who, for God's sake!"

"And the Dark Lord possessing a student is regarded by you to be grounds for arresting that student?" Snape asked smoothly.

"Of course! He's a danger to everyone!" Harry cringed at the sound of murmurs of agreement from some of the students in the room.

But Snape replied, "It may interest you to know that Potter fought off the attack."

"What!"

"The Dark Lord did attempt to possess him, but as I myself, along with Professor Lupin and numerous students witnessed, the attack failed."

"This time," muttered someone.

"Exactly!" Fudge exclaimed. "We can't take the risk." He folded his arms. "In any case, Professor Snape, this is a Ministry order." He brandished a scroll. "You have no say in it." He gestured at the Aurors, and several started toward Harry.

"No!" Ginny cried, pulling closer to Harry. "You can't do this!" She drew her wand. So did Ron. And Harry saw Remus and Snape about to do the same.

"No, don't!" he blurted. They'd lose. Ginny and Ron would be expelled, and Remus would be arrested or maybe even killed. He had no choice… "I'll…it's all right, I'll go."

"Oh no, you won't!" Ron, Ginny, and Neville chorused.

Fudge smiled. "Children, children, contain yourselves—"

"What'll you do to him?" Ron shouted. "Give him to Voldemort, that's what!" Fudge and Percy jumped.

"I-I'll do no such—"

"You blame Harry for all this, and now you just want to get rid of him!"

"He's a bloody troublemaker!" Fudge exploded. "And don't think I don't know about your family's mooning about him—"

"Minister," muttered Percy tightly.

Fudge caught himself and smiled. "In any case, young man, the decision is made. Now you and your sister may either step aside or force my Aurors to disarm you."

"Oh, I wouldn't order that if I were you, Minister,"said a voice from a doorway.

Everyone turned. Stepping smoothly past the Aurors guarding the door, with Hermione at his heels, was Murdo McGonagall. He surveyed the confrontation and strode over to flank Snape. "And…just who are you?" Fudge blustered.

"Murdo McGonagall, Minister, University of Edinburgh." Judging by the intakes of breath, and the way Fudge faltered, that name must carry quite a bit of weight.

"Mr…McGonagall…" Fudge looked like a caught fish. "I didn't know you were at Hogwarts."

"My office was inconveniently demolished in the Edinburgh Death Eater attack," said Mr. McGonagall dismissively. "Now, I gather the Ministry wishes to remove a student from the custody of Hogwarts without the approval of the headmaster?"

"I don't need Dumbledore's approval!" Fudge blustered.

"On the contrary," said Mr. McGonagall in an amused tone. "If the removal in any way places the student at risk of harm, the headmaster must personally sign his release."

"I…I…"

"The boy will be perfectly safe," said an Auror that Harry recognized as Dawlish.

"He will not!" Ron snapped, releasing Harry to step toward Mr. McGonagall. "Fudge's got it in for him!"

"Ron!" Percy said in a loud, scandalized tone. "What are you suggesting? Minister, I do apologize for my brother—"

"No need, Weasley. You're not to blame—"

Mr. McGonagall raised his eyebrows at Ron. "Indeed, what are you suggesting, young man?"

Ron swallowed hard, but met the man's gaze. "He's been out to get Harry ever since Harry reported Voldemort was back!"

"You can't prove that, boy!" Fudge retorted.

"Specifics, Mr. Weasley?" pressed Mr. McGonagall.

"Well…" Ron hesitated.

From behind the wizard barrister, Hermione said delicately, "The dementors, Ron."

"Dementors!" Ron exclaimed. "Umbridge sent dementors after Harry, and Fudge put him on trial for defending himself!"

"A hearing?"

"No, a trial, in front of the whole Wizengamot!"

"Rather unorthodox. Anything else?"

"The Cruciatus curse Umbridge tried to use," said Ginny, not moving from Harry's side.

"Well…I'm not responsible for an Undersecretary's deeds—"

"You said you'd investigate her," Neville retorted.

It was like watching a tennis match. Everyone's heads whipped back toward Fudge. "I…"

"She still has her job after all that," said Ginny. "We reported what she'd done in September, and there's never been any investigation!"

"That's got nothing to do with this!" Fudge bellowed, his eyes bulging as he pointed at Harry.

"Minister, three students have made allegations of abuses by you and your subordinates against the same student you now wish to remove. Surely, you do not wish there to be any appearance of impropriety," said Mr. McGonagall.

"Er…no…"

"Then all you need to do is send for Headmaster Dumbledore and present your case to him."

"I don't need Dumbledore's permission!" Fudge screeched.

"But you do," Mr. McGonagall stared coldly down at the posturing little man. "It is the law. And I will further advise you, sir, that it is against the law for an Auror to take part in an illegal action, even under order by a supervisor. So, if you do wish to remove Mr. Potter from Hogwarts without regard for said law, you shall have to do so yourself."

Fudge gulped. Hermione stepped from behind Mr. McGonagall and joined Ron flanking Harry. Neville stepped directly in front of him. Then, from the crowd of watching students, came Dean and Seamus, Collin and Dennis,and the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, followed by Lavender and Parvati, Terry Boot, Michael Corner, and Cho Chang, Ernie MacMillian, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Susan Bones, and Hannah Abbot. And more students Harry barely even knew, except that they were all in the D.A. They all crowded quietly around Harry, facing the Minister of Magic, and Snape and Lupin drew their wands.

"They…" Fudge backed up, looking desperately at the Aurors. "They're threatening me!"

"As Hogwards professors, Minister, it is our duty to defend any student against unlawful removal from the school," said Lupin coldly.

Harry held his breath. It seemed that they'd all forgotten he was even there. Fudge was shaking with outrage. After what felt like forever, he whirled around and stalked toward the door, muttering, "You'll pay for this."

Just who "you" was, Harry couldn't be sure. Percy and the Aurors filed out behind him.

"I'll bet that never comes up again. He won't dare face off Dumbledore," said Ginny.

"Good thinking, Hermione," Remus sighed, putting his wand away. He looked at Mr. McGonagall. "Thank you, Murdo. We're lucky you were here."

Mr. McGonagall nodded to Remus, then glanced past him at Harry. Harry opened his mouth to say, "Thanks," but no sound came out. His mind felt as though it was drowning in mud; he couldn't put together all that had happened.

But, Mr. McGonagall seemed to understand, and he gave Harry a small smile. "She'd have my hide," was all he said, and then he left the Great Hall.

The D.A. turned as a group to face Harry. "Just what Fudge was most afraid of," muttered Ernie. As they all started to laugh, Harry tried to smile, to thank them, to say something, but he couldn't. "Hey, cheer up, Harry, we won!"

"I think Harry's had a rather long day…" said Remus, ushering them aside. "Why don't you go on to your dormitory and get some rest?"

Harry nodded and started to go, but someone snapped, "Oh, grand, now we get You-Know-Who lurking around our dormitory."

"You're not in our dormitory, Sloper, so shut up!" Ron shouted, and Neville stepped fiercely to Harry's side.

"I'm not afraid."

"Me neither," said Ron.

Seamus and Dean exchanged glances, then nodded. "Us neither."

Remus chuckled. "That's settled then."

Smythe-Wellington was watching them all with an inscrutable face. "And Potter? Does he feel safe?"

Harry wished she hadn't said that; they all looked at him again. He suddenly found the floor fascinating. He had to answer them, but he couldn't! Ron said, "We're not afraid of you."

Maybe you should be. Harry didn't look up. But they all wanted him to say it was all right, so he nodded, and everyone sighed. "Off with you now," said Professor Lupin. "All of you. And if anyone has…concerns, you are free to report them to a teacher."

With that, Harry shuffled off with an escort of dormitory-mates and teammates to Gryffindor Tower. Many of them lingered in the common room, talking excitedly, but Harry went up to bed. It was still light out, but he didn't care. But naturally, once he'd gone to bed, he couldn't sleep. He stared at the bed curtains and thought about everything that had happened.

Now the whole bloody world knew. He knew not to count his blessings that Fudge hadn't brought reporters; Malfoy, or even Sloper, would see that it got into the Prophet. And what would happen then? Fudge wouldn't be the only one who wanted Harry arrested and locked up. And then all Voldemort would have to do is possess me again, and they'd kill me.

But would it be a bad thing—not being dead, but being forced to leave Hogwarts? Ron and Ginny had now managed to incur Fudge's ire, along with Remus and the entire D.A. Not to mention that Voldemort was already after them for being Harry's friends. What good am I to them? I just stood there today. I didn't DO anything! And what would happen if Fudge found out about Percy? And Remus' job was on shaky enough ground as it was…

Everyone knew. About the visions, the possessions, everything. No one would be able to look at Harry without expecting to see Voldemort—and Harry couldn't be sure that they wouldn't. Either way, I'm trapped.

He was jolted out of his brooding by the bed curtains rattling softly. Ron stuck his head through. "All right, mate?"

To the surprise of them both, Harry smiled. Ron frowned, and Harry explained, "How many times a day do people ask me that?"

He was even more surprised when Ron didn't laugh, or even grin back, but instead hopped onto the foot of Harry's bed and shut the curtains behind him. He looked so serious as he cast a Silencing Charm on the curtains that Harry half-wondered if it was Hermione under a Polyjuice Potion. But Ron fidgeted in a typically Ron fashion before looking at Harry and muttering, "We're worried."

Harry stacked his pillows under his back so he could sit up while staying under the bedspread. He felt cold a lot lately. "I don't blame you," he finally said. "Never knowing if I'm going to faint or turn into Voldemort at any minute—"

"Oh, bugger Voldemort!" Ron burst out, so that Harry jumped and nearly fell out of bed. "I'm worried about you!"

Harry stared at him, simply confused. Normally, he was the one to go mental at a second's notice, but Ron looked halfway between strangling him and bursting into tears. "I…what do you…what are you talking about?"

"You're my best friend in the whole bloody world, and lately, it's as if…you're not all there," Ron said, in a desperate tone that scared Harry a little. "And I'm not talking about the visions and possessions and green spells and stuff, I mean…you act…lost! Last year we understood why you were upset, trying to warn them and no one believing you—stupid Ministry," he muttered. Then he went on, "But this year, it's…not people, or even the world, it's…like you hate yourself!"

Without thinking, Harry muttered bitterly, "What's not to hate?"

"There! That's what I'm talking about!" Ron exclaimed, pointing at him. Harry blinked. "More and more, you just seem…hopeless." He fell silent for a minute, staring at Harry, then dropped his eyes and took a deep breath. "I…you see…I've been really worried ever since…Hermione told me about what happened after the attack at the Hufflepuff game."

Harry shot upright. "She—what did she tell you!" Hermione! Disobey a teacher's order!

Ron frowned at him. "I knew she was really worried about something. Ever since the attack, she's been watching you, and…finally she told me why." Ron looked almost as upset as when his siblings had been hurt. "She said you said you wished you were dead."

With a rush of relief that Hermione hadn't told Ron about the vision from Voldemort, Harry looked away and shrugged. "I was upset."

"But you still act like that sometimes. Like you're giving up. I've never seen you just…let things happen before—" Ron hastily raised a hand. "I'm not saying it's your fault, the possession and the dizzy spells, but…you don't stand up for yourself like you used to.

Harry drew his knees up to his chest, avoiding his friend's face. Ron had never been so upset with him before. Always, if Ron got angry about something, he sulked or fumed or griped, maybe ranted. But not this. Never this. But why couldn't he see…

"I'm scared, Ron," he muttered. "I guess…if I've been acting weird…everything's getting worse and worse, and I'm just scared, all the time."

Ron scooted over to the top of the bed next to him. "We're not gonna let him get you, mate. Didn't you see today? Fudge or Voldemort, it doesn't matter, we—"

"But that's just it!" Harry said in anguish, turning to face his friend. "Didn't you see what he was trying to do when he possessed me? He'd have killed everyone—starting with you…it's not me I'm scared for," he whispered.

Ron looked at the curtains uncomfortably. "Don't be scared for us, mate."

"I can't help it," Harry said miserably. "He's killing everyone I love to get to me—my parents, Sirius, even my ruddy uncle, and he's going to keep coming until he gets all of you! And now you and Ginny and Remus are on Fudge's bad side too." Harry balled his fists in frustration. "I'm sorry," he growled. "I hate life. I hate living like this. I don't know what to do. I know what the prophecy says I have to do, but…I don't know if I can. I…tried once." Ron made a startled noise, and Harry nodded. "When I found Uncle Vernon, Voldemort was there, and I…said Avada Kedavra."

The hangings rustled softly in the silent dormitory. Ron was quiet for a long time. "But it didn't work?"

Harry shrugged. "He fell, but then he got back up. He said…it was an impressive first attempt."

"Hmph. By whose standards?"

"Yeah, that's what I thought myself."

"And then what happened? I mean…" Ron blushed. "Nobody really knows what happened in the house. Remus said all he saw was Voldemort dragging you out, and you were under a spell."

Harry nodded. "Something he didn't need a wand for. It was a trance or…I don't know. Felt like I was sleepwalking."

"Were you…were you still…awake?"

"You mean, was I scared? Yeah. Terrified. But more than that…helpless. I couldn't do anything. It's still like that."

"But you're not!"

"Not helpless? Right, then why am I fainting or possessed every other minute, always having to be bloody rescued?" Harry twisted around and began pummeling the pillows. "I don't know what to do anymore. I don't know how to stop him!"

Quietly, Ron said, "You're still in school, mate. None of us know how to stop him."

"The prophecy—"

"The prophecy said you'd have power, not answers."

Harry looked at Ron and grinned. "Hermione's rubbing off on you." Ron's ears started to glow, but he grinned too.

"Then that must mean I'm right." They both chuckled. "Honestly, she didn't send me, but she's worried too. We've been talking a lot; we all hate seeing you so sad."

Harry sighed. "I'll try not to be. I'm sorry."

"Look on the bright side—after what happened at dinner, I wager even Malfoy's scared of you," said Ron. Harry forced a laugh, though he wished Malfoy would be scared of him for some other reason. "And we've got the twins' debut at Zonko's this weekend."

Harry shook off his maudlin thoughts and asked, "Are you sure you and Hermione don't want to have a date?"

Ron went just a shade lighter than the bed hangings. "Nah, there'll be time for that. Ginny'll be with us too; we thought we would all go see the demonstration, then grab Fred and George and have lunch at the Three Broomsticks."

The weight on his shoulders and the tension in his stomach finally began to ease. Harry found it becoming easier to think of tomorrow. "Sounds good. I could use some good laughs."

"We know. Ginny and Neville and Luna are working on a plan to lure Malfoy to Zonko's just in time for a, er, practical demonstration!"

Harry knew the first few days after his possession would be bad—and he was right. The wards around Gryffindor Tower had to be reinforced because he was seeing green again in his sleep, and he had another nightmare about Sirius that kept him awake for hours.

As for the morning after…

Hermione came up the stairs into the boys' dormitory before Harry and Ron had finished getting dressed. "Oy! Hermione!" exclaimed Dean Thomas, diving behind his bed curtains. "Not everyone's decent here!"

"Sorry," she said absently, turning her back. "Hurry up, you two. It'll be better if we're already there when the Great Hall starts filling up."

Hastily tucking in his shirt behind his own curtains, Harry muttered, "Maybe I shouldn't go."

"Forget it, mate. If that lot wants to be stupid, it's their business. And they can skip meals. You need to eat," Ron told him.

"And you tell me not to lecture him!"

Ron started to lean out from behind the curtains to argue with Hermione—until he remembered he had no shirt on and ducked back quickly to a chorus of "Ooooohs" from Harry and the other boys.

"Do you think it'll be really bad?" Harry asked, coming out once he was fully dressed.

Hermione sat down on Ron's trunk, pulling a face. "I don't know. Maybe we should talk to Professor Lupin?"

"For what? Permission to hex anyone who stares at me?" he groaned.

She shrugged. "Just a thought. No, truthfully, I don't know how everyone's going to react to what happened."

"Look at it this way," asked Ron, "is it better than second year, worse than fourth year, 'bout the same as fifth year?"

"Huh?" chorused Harry, Hermione, Neville, Dean, and Seamus.

"I'm talking about all the other times this ruddy school's turned on you," said Ron.

"Oh." Harry laughed sheepishly. "Well, it's a lot like second year…"

"Figures," Ron agreed.

"But not as bad as fourth year, at least not to me."

"Why not?" Ron asked curiously.

"Because you haven't turned on him this time," said Hermione.

"Oh." Ron blushed.

"I wasn't going to mention that," Harry muttered, feeling blood rushing to his face as well. Hermione had the grace to look chagrinned. "In any case, this is different from all the other years."

"Why?" his friends asked.

"Because this time they're right about me."

"What!"

"That is not true, Harry!"

"Where do you get ideas like that—"

"Why do you put yourself through—"

His friends' loud protests did not stop until Neville, of all people, went to get a pillow and began beating Harry about the head with it. "HEY!" Harry protested, but the others gleefully followed suit, arming themselves with pillows and chasing Harry round the dormitory until Seamus caught him in a flying tackle onto Ron's bed and pinned him down so the rest could pummel and tickle him until he was breathless.

Hermione called a halt with a shriek of, "We're going to be late!" and sent them all scrambling down the stairs.

And so, Harry wound up one of the last people to arrive for breakfast.

Never had his entry into the Great Hall been quite like this: every single head turned as he, his dorm-mates, and Hermione came in, and the entire room went silent. Ron and Hermione each stepped closer and nudged him toward the Gryffindor table. They walked to where Ginny and the Creevy brothers were waving at them, as Harry tried to ignore the whispers now filling the Hall. Even the staff table was quiet.

"All right?" Ginny asked him cheerfully. He nodded and sat, staring at the table top. Ginny pushed a plate of his favorite buns toward him. "Go on, eat. Ignore that lot."

Harry did so, and conversations gradually sprang up again around the room. Then the mail came. Hermione took the rolled-up Daily Prophet from Hedwig before Harry could get at it and pulled a face at them all before opening it. "Oh, bother."

Judging by the whispers and hisses erupting all around the room, other people had the Prophet too, and all Percy's efforts to keep Harry's possession from becoming public had failed. Ron and Ginny leaned over Hermione's shoulder to read the front page story. All of them rolled their eyes in disgust.

"Should I see it?" Harry muttered.

"No," they all said firmly, and Hermione folded it briskly in half and tossed it aside, where he couldn't reach it.

"Ruddy Fudge," growled Ron. "He better lay off you."

"What's he saying?"

"Never mind, Harry," said Ginny, scowling. "Nothing you can't guess."

Ron shook his head and opened a note from the twins. "They and Zonko are making a right party out of this! There's going to be free hot butterbeer and biscuits for everyone, and prizes for people who volunteer to demonstrate."

"What sort of prizes?" asked Lavender Brown.

"Mm…free Wheezes, vouchers for Zonkos, sweet-baskets from Honeydukes, and gift-boxes from Dwarvish & Banges," Ron read. "And money prizes."

"Gonna try for one of those, Weasley, or is it family excluded?" hissed Malfoy from the Slytherin table. "Some old rule against making money?"

Ginny put a restraining hand on Ron's arm. "No, but we thought you and your mates will need to try for it," she replied breezily. "So you can buy your dads' ways out of Azkaban."

"You little—" Malfoy started to jump up, but Professor Lupin, who had been strolling toward them, cleared his throat loudly. Malfoy muttered something about, "mudbloods and monsters," and turned back to his breakfast.

Ron grinned at Lupin and said to Harry, "They did say we could have a go on the flying carpet."

"Are they going to have time for lunch?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah, it starts at ten, there's a break from one to two, then it goes till five. Just what we need, eh?" Ron grinned, handing the letter to Ginny. "Some good, wholesome Wheezing. Even Mum's excited."

"Really?" Harry was surprised. Mrs. Weasley's disapproval of her twins' chosen vocation was well-known.

Ginny pulled a face. "After what happened to Fred, I don't think she'd mind if they joined forces with Mundungus Fletcher. Anyway, I can't wait for the games."

Dean leaned over to read over Ginny's shoulder. "Jacob's Ladder, Musical Chairs—Weasley style—ooh, I'm not missing this!"

"Better not, it's the Hogsmeade event of the year!" declared Ron. "And mostly legal," he added in a whisper that made them all giggle.

Specialized Defense was relatively uneventful, aside from Malfoy attempting to hex Harry outside the door and then insisting he'd seen Harry's eyes changing color. Fortunately, even the most skittish students knew better than to believe Malfoy.

"You should have seen him yesterday when you…you know," Ernie MacMillian told Harry as they entered class.

"Screaming for his mummy?" asked Ron.

"Close! His eyes bugged right out of his head. He was one of the first ones out the door!" said Terry Boot. "Ran Crabbe and Goyle right over!"

"Hah!" Harry had to quash a loud laugh as Professor Smythe-Wellington glanced at them, and they hurried to their seats.

They thought the events of the previous day had made the harsh Professor back off Harry, for she pretty much left him alone during class (aside from scolding him for not concentrating hard enough on the Dark Arts Detection spells they were doing.) But then she told him to remain after class.

"Now what's she on about!" Ron muttered in disbelief.

"Out, Weasley, Granger!"

And Harry was left standing in front of Professor Smythe-Wellington's desk, listening to the hollow thud of the door closing behind the last of his classmates. Professor Smythe-Wellington peered at him, steepling her fingers. He found himself wondering if she knew Legilimency, from the way her cold, hard eyes seemed to bore into his head. "Sit down, Mr. Potter." Harry sat. "How did you feel this morning?"

Harry was so surprised that he simply stared at her. Of course, Smythe-Wellington managed to voice an inquiry after his health with a tone of unconcern worthy of Snape, but the fact that she'd asked at all was shock enough. Once he recovered, he blurted, "Fine!"

He got that hated raised-eyebrow look in response. "Indeed. And your classmates in the dormitory?" Oh. So that was what she was getting at. He couldn't resist glancing longingly at the door. "Potter."

Harry stared at the desk top. "They're not scared of me."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

He looked up at her and then down again. He hated that stare of hers. "Are you not concerned for your friends' safety?"

The question seemed to knock the wind out of him. Not that he hadn't been brooding frantically over that very matter for most of the term, but Professor Smythe-Wellington was the absolute last person he wanted to discuss it with. And hadn't Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Remus been telling him not to worry about it? Staring hard at the scuffed wood of the desk, he muttered, "No."

"No?"

"No!" Lord, he hated being patronized, especially by her.

At the moment, she was shaking her head at him. "Are you in the habit of letting your friends make your judgment calls for you, Mr. Potter?"

"No," he practically snarled. What did she want him to do, leave Hogwarts? Maybe, he suddenly thought. Maybe that's exactly what she wants.

With an exasperated-sounding sigh, Smythe-Wellington waved him out.

But that wasn't the end of it. After Charms that afternoon, Professor McGonagall called Harry to her office. Professor Lupin was there with her. "Sit down, Potter," she said. There was an almost sympathetic look on her face that alarmed Harry greatly. Remus too seemed regretful. "We must discuss this weekend's Hogsmeade visit.

Harry's stomach lurched. He looked from her to Remus, who lowered his eyes. "Hogsmeade?" he asked faintly, not wanting to hear what came next.

"Yes." Professor McGonagall sat down behind her desk, while Remus came to pull up a chair near Harry. They must have heard Harry talking with Ron and Hermione about tomorrow, and their plans for the twins' party. Don't tell me, please, don't say it…

They did. "Harry," said Professor Lupin gently. "The teachers have been considering whether it would be…a good idea for you to go…"

"No!" Harry blurted out in a weak voice. "Don't say I can't go!" Professor McGonagall and Remus both sighed, looking at him sadly. "We…the Zonko's party…"

"We know, Potter," said Professor McGonagall. "And we do regret this being necessary; you have done nothing wrong."

"Then why!" Harry demanded, feeling the first sparks of anger flickering to life inside him. Didn't they know how much he was looking forward to this, like one bright spot in a long, dark future? Why were they taking that away when they'd worked so hard to keep him at Hogwarts.

"It is a matter of safety," said Professor McGonagall.

"I thought I wasn't dangerous," he muttered bitterly.

"We know that, Mr. Potter, but if you had read the Daily Prophet this morning, you would have seen that there are many who do not, and who would choose not to believe it even if they saw proof," she told him.

Harry avoided her eyes. "Harry," Remus said urgently, leaning toward him. "You yourself aren't dangerous, we all know that. But we have to consider what might happen if you had…if a…"

"An episode," Professor McGonagall supplied. "If such a thing occurred away from the school, not only would the safety of bystanders be in jeopardy, but you too would be in much more danger. The Minister and the Daily Prophet have seen to it that much of the wizarding public will regard you as just as great a threat as Lord…you know."

"So I'm getting locked up till the war ends?"

"Harry, stop it!" Remus said. "I know it's not fair, but no party in the world is worth your life!"

"But I stopped it," Harry mumbled. "I pushed him out."

"You did, and we're very proud of you. That was a real victory." At any other moment, Lupin's words would have meant a lot. "But remember how your classmates reacted, and what Fudge tried to do. If Voldemort attacks you in public again, away from the school, you could be harmed by the witnesses."

"Consider what happened outside your class this morning, Potter," Professor McGonagall pointed out. "You have many enemies, within this school and without. We can protect you here, but those without would seize any opportunity to strike, even if you were behaving perfectly normal."

"But if they're raising a false alarm, I can protect myself," Harry protested.

"With Malfoy, I daresay you can," said Professor McGonagall with the slightest smile. "But from a crowd of jittery onlookers—all of whom have read today's Daily Prophet—it is less likely, even with the assistance of Miss Granger and the Weasleys. And there again, the safety of others than yourself comes at risk."

Harry sighed heavily. "Obviously, your mind's already made up." It's…not…FAIR!

Professor Mcgonagall narrowed her eyes at his tone, but said, "I'm sorry, Potter. It is."

Harry gritted his teeth; as frustrated as he was, mouthing off at her would be like poking a Hungarian Horntail in the eye. "Can I go then?"

He tried to sound polite, but Professor McGonagall still huffed her breath out. "Very well." Relieved to be out from under her gaze, Harry left in a hurry.

Remus followed him out. "Harry, I am sorry. I know you were excited about this weekend."

Harry turned to face him. "You were the one who told me to keep living!"

"We also want you to stay alive!" Remus told him sharply. "Make no mistake, Harry, Fudge and the rest of them would seize any opportunity to take you from Dumbledore's protection, and a Hogsmeade visit, even with your friends, would be a perfect chance."

"Grand," Harry said bitterly. "What's next, another ban from Quidditch?" The way Remus avoided his eyes made hot anger boil up inside him. "Oh! I see, that too!" he didn't quite shout. "Why not just lock me up in headquarters like—"

"Harry!" Remus exclaimed, and he caught himself. But he was still furious. When it wasn't Voldemort, it was Fudge; when it wasn't Fudge, it was the teachers. "We're trying to keep you safe."

"This was Smythe-Wellington's idea, wasn't it?"

"It doesn't make any difference."

"No, I guess it doesn't," Harry muttered bitterly.

"Harry—"

"Save it!" Harry snapped. "See you in class, Professor." He walked away, leaving Remus standing in the corridor.

"You can't go!" Ron was horrified. "But…but…tomorrow's going to be…"

"The Hogsmeade event of the year, I know," Harry growled, but it wasn't Ron he was angry at. He paced around the common room, which had cleared (with much yelping) of most other occupants when Harry had stormed in. "Smythe-Wellington put them up to it."

Now righteously outraged, Ron jumped out of the armchair by the fire, sending Bastet tumbling to the floor with a yowl. "That…that…dirty…beastly…"

"My thoughts exactly," Harry said.

"How could she? Does she want you to go nutters, cooped up in here? What next, Quidditch!"

"Yes."

"NO!" Ron had gone purple in the face, his fists were balled, and he began raging back and forth in front of the fireplace. "She will NOT ruin the bloody Quidditch team, I don't—we have to talk to Dumbledore!"

"Talk to Dumbledore about what!" Hermione exclaimed, coming through the portrait hole, her eyes widening as she saw Harry and Ron enraged. "What's happened!"

Ron pointed at her indignantly. "Smythe-Wellington does have it in for Harry!"

Hermione stared from Ron to Harry, then at Ron again. "Why—how? What's she done?"

"I'm not allowed to go to Hogsmeade," Harry told her miserably. He threw himself into a chair. "And they're talking about pulling me off Quidditch."

"Oh Harry!" Hermione cried, grabbing the sides of her head. "I'm so sorry!"

"Never mind sorry," said Ron savagely. "We've got to do something about it!"

Hermione blinked, not lowering her hands. "Do something?"

Harry sat up a little in his armchair. That was odd; Hermione wasn't usually the slow one. Ron too was staring at her in surprise. "Yeah," he said, a little more mildly. "About Smythe-Wellington."

"But…" Hermione glanced from Ron to Harry. "She hasn't really done anyth—"

"HASN'T DONE ANYTHING!" Harry and Ron roared in chorus, leaping out of their chairs and causing Hermione to stumble backwards onto the sofa.

"She treats him like dirt!" Ron bellowed.

"She hates me, Hermione, just like Snape!"

"Haven't you seen how she watches him in class!"

"Well, you haven't seen how she is at my detentions!"

Hermione sat cringing until they paused for breath, then asked, "So she made the decision herself? You didn't mention it at lunch."

Harry shook his head. "Lupin and McGonagall told me this afternoon."

"So it wasn't just her," mused Hermione.

"Why are you defending her?" Ron demanded.

"I'm only saying that if the others agree with her, it can't be her doing alone—"

"She put them up to it!"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Ronald!" Hermione snapped. "I'm sorry you think so little of Professor Lupin's ability to stand up for himself, but can you really stand there and tell me Professor McGonagall would allow anyone to 'put her up to' anything?"

Ron faltered and looked at Harry. Harry scowled and stared at the floor. Hermione went on more quietly, "Harry, I know you really wanted to go to Hogsmeade, but whatever you think of Professor Smythe-Wellington, Remus and Professor McGonagall wouldn't do this if it wasn't for a good reason."

Harry was running out of energy to be angry. "So you think I should be locked up too?" he muttered, moodily nudging a chair with his foot.

"No, I don't, and you know that!" Hermione cried. "But I don't want you to be hurt or killed or kidnapped for the sake of a bloody joke party or Quidditch cup!"

"Hermione, he's not going to be—"

She pointed furiously at the window. "In case you two haven't noticed, there's a war going on! And Harry's the only—the most important person in it! Every time you step outside Hogwarts and away from Professor Dumbledore, you're risking—"

"Dumbledore again," Harry muttered in disgust.

"Harry, he's trying to help you—"

"Yeah, by never telling me anything—"

"Why do you resent him so much? After all he's done for you—"

"DONE FOR ME!" Harry bellowed, rounding on her. She recoiled with a yelp, shaking and teary-eyed, and he forced himself to quiet down. But his voice still shook with anger.

"I'll tell you what he did for me, Hermione. After my parents died, he sent me to the Dursleys. The Dursleys, even though he knew I'd be a danger to them—not to mention that he knew from the beginning exactly how they felt about wizards. And we know how that turned out, don't we? I spent ten years locked in a cupboard. I've never had a birthday party.

"He said it was for my protection, but we know how that turned out too. That so-called protection didn't do my uncle much good in the end, did it? Or me! And then I spent all last year having visions, never knowing what was going on, while my godfather got shut up in a place he hated as much as I hated Privet Drive. And the great Dumbledore never told us what was going on, so in the end we both fell into Voldemort's trap. And now Sirius is dead. That's when Dumbledore finally decided to tell me the prophecy." Harry had to pause and catch his breath, but then he asked, "How grateful am I supposed to be?"

Ron had gone very still, listening to Harry solemnly, and Hermione was crying softly. "I…I'm sorry," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "I didn't know! Harry, I'm so sorry!"

"Don't worry about it," Harry said gruffly, turning away and feeling a little embarrassed. He hadn't meant to upset them. None of this was their fault.

Ron swallowed. "We'll stay here tomorrow, mate, and do something here together."

Harry blinked at him as Hermione nodded eagerly, then he shook his head. "No, don't do that. I don't want you to miss out—"

"Fred and George will understand," Hermione said.

"No!" Harry insisted. "I don't want you to. I'll be okay. They exchanged glances. "Really, I've missed Hogsmeade visits before and…you two could have a date then," he added quickly, knowing it would distract them.

Ron and Hermione both went crimson. Staring at his shoes, Ron muttered, "You're sure, mate? We mean it; we'd stay if you'd feel better."

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm sure. Go to the party. Tell Fred and George I'm sorry I couldn't be there."

"We'll bring you back lots of stuff," Hermione promised. "Butterbeer, and sweets from Honeyduke's, and…"

"Wheezes," said Ron, nodding eagerly. "And the twins are coming back to Hogwarts with us; we'll have them give a few demonstrations for you that night."

"Sounds great," said Harry, making himself sound as pleased as he could.

"Maybe you could go talk to Remus like you used to third year," Hermione suggested. "You know, get some extra defense lessons or plan our next D.A. meeting."

Harry nodded mechanically. "Yeah, that's a great idea."

But all Harry's reassurances couldn't ease the bitter feeling inside as the rest of his dormitory-mates got up and got ready to leave on Saturday morning. The weather was bright and crisp outside and even though Ron and the others avoided talking about the Weasley twins' party in front of Harry, he could sense their anticipation. Ron suggested that maybe Harry could use today to sleep in, but Harry went downstairs to see them off.

"Want me to stay, Harry?" Ginny offered, giving him a sly smile. "Then these two could make a proper date of it—"

"Ginny, ssh!" Hermione squeaked, checking to make sure the four of them were alone in the common room.

Mustering a laugh, Harry shook his head. "That's okay. You can chaperone them."

"Harry!"

And so Harry accompanied Ron, Hermione, and Ginny out to the entrance, forcing himself to ignore the excited chatter (and mutterings as he passed.) Professor McGonagall eyed him as the departing students assembled, so he came to a stop by the entryway. "Have a good time."

"There'll be more," Hermione whispered, giving him a quick hug that made him blush. "Just be patient. This'll all be over one day."

"Yeah," he muttered, pulling away. "I know. Thanks."

As they headed off, Harry watched stragglers running to join the others and sighed to himself.

"What's this? Ohh, poor old Potter, left behind again!" drawled a voice behind them.

Harry turned and saw Draco Malfoy lounging against the wall, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle as usual. "Get lost, Malfoy."

Malfoy sneered, checked to see that Professor McGonagall was preoccupied, then remarked, "You're not much like your dad, are you, Potter?"

Harry's stomach did a painful lurch. "What?"

With a nasty grin, Malfoy said, "My dad said your father was at least brave, even if he was stupid. Wonder what he's think of you hiding behind Dumbledore's robes—"

It was as though someone had set off a firecracker inside Harry's head. Light flashed in his eyes, sound roared in his ears, and the next thing he knew, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were screaming for help as the windows above the entryway shattered and wind like a tornado in the corridor knocked them to the floor, sending them sliding along it like out-of-control ice skaters.

Harry was only vaguely aware of the chaos erupting around him, even of Malfoy and his friends' predicament; his mind was filled with nothing but the echo of those vicious words and a roaring, howling cyclone of rage.

At length, a voice broke throught the maelstrom. "HARRY!"

The wind died; Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle hit the wall with loud grunts. Harry blinked. The students who had been about to leave for Hogsmeade, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny among them, were hovering outside the entry behind Professor McGonagall, all watching Harry with wide eyes.

In front of Harry was Professor Lupin, slowly lowering his wand. "Harry?"

Anger, like a cold fire inside him, still made him shake a little. But he made himself look at Lupin. "I…yeah…"

Professor McGonagall strode up to Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. "If you three wish to go to Hogsmeade, I suggest you join your classmates before they leave without you. Professor Lupin, I trust you will…handle this?"

"I'll take care of it, Minerva," said Lupin, and beckoned to Harry. With the eyes of everyone still on him, Harry followed Lupin back into the school. When they'd gone a ways down the main corridor, away from anxious eyes and ears, Remus turned to him. "What happened, Harry?"

Wonder what he'd think of you… Harry avoided Lupin's eyes. "Nothing, just…Malfoy was on about my dad. I got angry."

Remus chuckled. "Angry, eh? That was some 'angry'. What did he say?"

The sun was sparkling on the tentacles of the giant squid as it made a small whirlpool in the lake. Harry stared out the window at it. "It's not important," he muttered.

Your father was at least brave…

You're less like your father than I thought…

He couldn't talk to Remus about that, could he?

The risk would have made it fun for James.

"Harry, are you listening?"

He blinked. "Sorry. What?"

Remus was watching him closely. It reminded Harry a little of Dumbledore, in a way. Of course, Remus didn't give off that impression of power that Dumbledore did, but he did seem able to see right through Harry just by meeting his eyes. And his eyes were just as gentle. Maybe more.

Now, Remus patiently said, "Draco snipes at you nearly every day, and you don't normally react like that. You were more than angry."

Harry shrugged, looking away. In the mood he was, the concern in Remus' eyes was unbearable. Trying to keep his voice steady, he said, "Really, I…don't want to talk about it. I'm sorry I lost my temper."

He heard Remus sigh quietly. "All right, then. If you tell me you didn't mean to spawn a hurricane indoors, I won't take House points." Harry had to smile. "Do you want to come back to my office for a cup of tea?"

"Er…no, I…not now…I just…want to be alone for a bit," Harry stammered. He didn't want Remus to feel bad, but he was tired of prying eyes and questions. "Sorry."

"That's all right," said Remus, and to Harry's relief he didn't seem put out. "If you want to stop by later, the door is open."

Harry nodded and forced a smile. "Thanks. I'll just…see you later." He quickly walked away.

But getting back to the common room, he found himself facing the hissing and cringing of the first and second-year Gryffindors. Euan Abercrombie and a group of boys Harry had never had the chance to properly meet, broke off their Gobstones game when he came in and refused to look up until he went upstairs.

Harry stormed into the sixth-year dormitory and threw himself onto his bed. James and Sirius grew up during the war too, Harry.

Yes, but that didn't stop them living their lives. Harry glared out the window.

He ought to stop brooding and go have breakfast. He ought to find Remus and talk to him.

He ought…as clear as if he'd actually heard it, Sirius's voice echoed in his head: You ought to shake that dust out of James's cloak and go to Hogsmeade.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was kneeling in front of his trunk with the shimmery folds of the Invisibility Cloak and the Marauders' Map beckoning to him like secret treasures. He pulled the Cloak out, hands shaking this time with excitement.

The risk would have made it fun for James…

Live your life… Those last words he recalled were Remus's, and for a second, he faltered, seeing Remus's face in his mind's eye—no, this was definitely not what Remus had meant, but…at Harry's age, this is what Remus and his father and Sirius would have done.

With a soft whoosh of the Cloak sweeping over his head and a rustle of the Marauder's Map being stowed in a pocket, Harry swept unseen back down the stairs, out the portrait hole, and was gone.

Honeydukes was much quieter than usual, making it easier than usual for Harry to slip out of the cellar, still wearing his Invisibility Cloak, and into the street. Sunlight sparkled over the village rooftops, and the air felt fresher than usual, even through the old cloak. Maybe it was just the delicious sense of being free.

Harry shook off the niggling little shiver of trepidation at what he was doing, any fear that Lupin or McGonagall or Smythe-Wellington might find out about this. If they were worried about his safety from others, fine! He'd stay under the Cloak.

As for Ron and Hermione…would they cover for him? Hermione, well, she was always rather difficult to persuade (unless aggravating Dolores Umbridge was involved), but a year ago, Ron would certainly have aided and abetted Harry with glee. Now, Harry wasn't so sure. But he supposed that was to be expected, what with Ron and Hermione being…Ron and Hermione.

Harry concentrated on dodging the growing throng of people headed toward Zonko's. It must nearly be time for the party to begin. Up ahead, he spotted a familiar red head sticking out of the crowd, and bushy brown hair next to it, billowing in the breeze. Grinning, he hurried up behind them. After all, what was the worst that could happen? Hermione would hiss and scold him vigorously, maybe Ron would let her, but in the end, here he was, and they'd agree he was better off with them than alone.

He'd certainly be happier with them than alone.

Sneaking up toward them, he debated how best to announce his presence to them—without revealing it to the rest of the crowd. They were so deep in conversation it would take more than a poke or a whisper to get their attention.

"Ginny's coming to the party, isn't she?" Hermione was saying.

"Yeah, she's with Luna Lovegood and Mellie Watson," said Ron.

"Watson? Is she related to your Beater?"

"Yeah, Melanie is Vinny Watson's little sister. You've seen her, she was making the signs before the game with Collin and Neville."

"Oh, was she the one who made up that 'Call on Potter' song?"

"No, that was the Creevys. Ginny says Mellie was even close to believing some of that rot about Harry being dangerous, but Ginny convinced her otherwise."

"Was that what Bastet was screeching about in the fifth year girls' dorm the other night?"

Ron laughed. "Yeah. In the end, between the two of them, I think Ginny and Lavinia sorted Mellie out."

Hermione sighed, "One down, a few hundred to go. I wish Harry could be here."

"So you've said about four times," Ron sounded slightly put-out, and Harry winced, but Hermione grabbed his arm.

"Don't start, Ron," she hissed angrily. "I am not having this conversation with you once a week! Not now!"

"What's 'now?'"

"Now, Ronald, is the war, and perhaps you haven't noticed," Hermione whispered furiously. "Our best friend is right in the center of it! Don't you care enough about him not to be jealous?"

"I'm not jealous!" Ron whispered.

"Then why do you get cross when I worry about Harry?"

"I don't, I just…" Ron sighed. "I'm sorry, it's stupid."

"I like you, Ron," she said very quietly, in a way that made Harry suspect she was smiling.

"But you…"

"What?"

"You…said this summer…a lot…that you loved Harry."

Harry nearly stopped in his tracks. As it was, he slowed down to the point where he had to scramble to catch up in time to hear Hermione sigh heavily. "Can I answer without you stomping off in a snit?"

Ron was silent for a minute, then muttered, "Yeah."

"Yes, I do love Harry. The same way you do, I think."

"Huh!"

She chuckled. "I really don't know how you do it. Six siblings and you still manage to be Harry's best friend. I haven't got any siblings. Just Harry, in my heart. And if we stopped…you know…er…going out…I'd still love you that way."

Ron's ears were glowing red. "Er…thanks."

She laughed sheepishly, "That makes it sound a bit odd, but there it is. Now will you stop being jealous?"

"I'll try." They both laughed. "I wish he was here too. But…I'm glad…er…we got to do this…ourselves."

Hermione giggled. Harry faltered; it was a Cho Chang kind of giggle. And what was he doing listening to this conversation! He hastily started threading his way sideways through the crowd, away from them, as he heard Hermione say, "Me too," but he wasn't away fast enough to miss them grinning like idiots at each other.

Bloody…hell…my best friends are two inches away from public snogging! He made the decision to run ahead to watch the Zonko's party for awhile and then meet up with Ron and Hermione later. Something told him they were going to be late.

It was just ten o'clock when Harry arrived, and a large group of Hogwarts students and Hogsmeade residents were already outside Zonko's, where the doors were open wide, big tables set up outside, and a great array of interesting objects already set on the ground waiting to be put to use. At one table were bottles and bottles of butterbeer, still steaming from having just been removed from a kettle of hot water, and baskets of biscuits of all kinds. It took Harry some maneuvering, but he managed to wedge himself into a gap between two of the tables – he really had gotten thinner! – so he'd have a good view of the demonstrations and access to the food without risking bumping into people.

He surreptitiously snatched a bottle of butterbeer and a few biscuits for himself – and couldn't quite resist shaking one up beneath the Cloak and then slipping it back to the front just as Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson were picking some up. Malfoy didn't get it, to his disappointment, but Pansy did. When she opened the bottle, it erupted in a blast of fizz that thoroughly soaked her and did spray Malfoy rather nicely on the left side of his face. Harry nearly sprayed butterbeer on the inside of his Invisibility Cloak from laughing.

Up front, he could see Fred, George, Mr. Zonko, and Lee Jordan preparing their demonstrations. The twins were wearing their dragon skin jackets, carrying themselves with a Percy-like pompousness. Harry shook his head and grinned to himself as the twins came forward to address the crowd. Lee pointed his wand at a small group of dwarves armed with musical instruments, who promptly played a loud da-daaaa to silence the crowd.

"Gather round, ladies and gentlemen, and let the fun begin!" Lee bellowed. "I give you Mr. Zonko!"

Everyone applauded as the joke shop proprietor strode forward. So did Harry, underneath the Invisibility Cloak, even though no one could see him. Mr. Zonko was an older man, with only a little fringe of white hair left on the back of his head, bright eyes, and according to some, the merriest smile in Hogsmeade. "Ello, ello, ello! Welcome! Welcome to Zonko's! This is a great day for me little family shop! My father an' 'is father an' 'is father 'ave been in the laughter business 'ere in 'ogsmeade fer a hundred years, startin' wiv a market stall! And me great granddad wasn' any elder than these young inventors I've entered into partnership wiv! Very glad I am to introduce 'em 'ere today, so's you can see te great stuff they're addin' ter my shop! Give 'em a big welcome, if yer please! 'Ere they are, our brilliant young proprietors o' Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, Messrs. Fred and George Weasley!"

Fred and George stepped forward, bowing graciously to the cheering throng. "Thank you, Mr. Zonko!" yelled Fred. "Absolutely corking to have you all here on this lovely morning, hello to our old school chums, hello to the denizens of Hogsmeade, now let's start Wheezing!" Everyone whooped and shouted. "Right, to start us off, we've got a few lovely new gags for those of you still attending Hogwarts – unlike us eighth years – wait a minute." George elbowed him, and they began craning their necks at the crowd. "Oy! If you all don't mind, kindly check out the identity of your neighbor, please. You know, look left, look right, forward, backward, et cetera. Right. Any of you standing next to Mr. Filch?"

Harry laughed along with the crowd, and the twins were answered by a mass of shaking heads. "Sure?" said George. "No sign of Mrs. Norris either? Excellent! Right, now we can get started!" They all laughed harder. "We thought we'd begin by keeping this in the family, so our first demonstrator, if she will be good enough to join us, is none other than our most lovely and talented sister, Miss Ginny Weasley! Get yourself up here!"

From the crowd scampered Ginny, grinning broadly and waving, her long hair swinging behind her in the sunlight. She had changed out of her school robes, Harry was startled to notice, and was now wearing bright, coppery-brown dress robes. As she twirled around to curtsy playfully to the audience, obviously in very high spirits, Harry was even more startled to notice how said very nice robes brightened the rich brown of her eyes.

Fred and George sandwich-hugged her, making a big show of encouraging even more applause from the crowd before they resumed their announcements. "Yes, yes, lovely little thing, isn't she, but sorry, lads, she's not available!"

Ginny stopped flouncing her robes and looked at George in outrage. "Yes, I am!"

"No, you're not!"

"Yes, I AM!"

Fred smoothly clapped a hand over her mouth. "Let me put it like this, lads, anyone of you who decides to treat her as available will have US to deal with!"

"Oh, why you—"

"Back on subject," laughed George, dragging Ginny away from Fred, "we shall now demonstrate a few small, easily-transportable, soon-to-be-contraband items that I think all will agree are soon to be must-have's for any Hogwarts student! And small-scale enough to escape prying eyes!"

While George was speaking, with an arm around Ginny and gesticulating wildly, Harry noticed that Fred had pulled out a small can that looked like it contained a girl's beauty product. He winced to himself, wondering if Ginny would be persuaded to put the stuff on her face or something, but instead, Fred produced a small book and gave it a quick smear of the innocuous-looking white cream, which vanished from sight a moment later.

As the crowd, noticing the behind-the-scenes action, began to titter, Ginny pulled away from George and glanced over her shoulder. "Oy! Ginny! Catch!" Fred tossed the book at her.

For Ginny, instinct kicked in before common sense, and she caught it. Instantly, it was if she had been electrocuted: her hair, which fell past her shoulders, stood out on end from her head, making her look like a bright red porcupine. The audience howled with laughter.

Barely able to stand up straight, Fred hooted, "And there, ladies and gents, you witness so sweet and simple a little Wheeze: Coiffure Cream! Smear it on any object, and the first person who takes that object from you gets a lovely styling job the world will never forget! And so does the next…and the next! Ginny, if you'd be so kind?"

"Right." Apparently, Ginny had been expecting the trick after all. She looked quickly into the crowd. "Mellie! Catch!" She tossed the book at another fifth year Gryffindor, the younger sister of their teammate, Vinny Watson. Melanie caught it and let out a squeal as her two brown braids tied themselves into a highly-complicated knot on top of her head. Laughing, she threw it to Michael Corner: his short, neatly-cut brown hair turned shocking pink, making Harry think of Tonks, and began waving like a field of wheat. Seamus Finnegan got it next: his slightly longer, dark hair turned bright red and incredibly curly, causing shouts of "Little Orphan Seamus" to ring out from Dean and the Creevy brothers.

Harry laughed as he watched and wondered what would happen if he had caught the rigged book. His hair couldn't possibly look more untidy—or then again, knowing the twins, maybe it could!

And the Weasley show went on from there. Ron and Hermione arrived late, as Harry had expected, and Fred and George made a big to-do of unrolling a red carpet for them—which promptly rose five feet into the air when they stepped on it and flew in several circles around the roof of Zonko's. When it landed, Ron was howling with laughter, and Hermione had a death grip around his neck.

They demonstrated what looked like Sugar Quills (courtesy of a collaboration with Honeydukes) that turned the eater's tongue different colors as they sucked them. There were Vanishing Hats, Ton-Tongue Toffees, and Canary Creams, of course, and the Hogwarts students present all lined up for the chance to compete at games in the afternoon, one prize for which was a year's supply of Skiving Snackboxes. There were Deviling Eggs, which caused any person they were broken against to sprout red horns and a forked tail, and Bottomless Book Bags that swallowed anything put in them, be it books, quills, or papers (Hermione was scandalized).

There were also parchments that notes could be written on during class which changed to notes on whatever the teacher was saying if anyone else tried to read them—and that delivered blistering insults to anyone who tried to spell them to reveal what else was written. Of course, Harry thought at once of the Marauder's Map, but then had to deal with an unexpectedly sharp pang at the thought of Remus and what he'd do if he knew Harry had snuck out to Hogsmeade.

Harry watched people lining up to have a go on the flying red carpet, and made a split-second decision. Instead of going to whisper to Ron and Hermione, he crept around to behind one of the piles of Snackboxes and whispered as one of the twins came to pick up a few, "Psst! George! It's Harry!"

To his credit, George reacted quickly, losing the startled look from his face and knocking over a few boxes so he could stack them back up. "Allo, Harry. Glad you could make it."

"Ron and Hermione don't know I'm here."

"No? Decent of you, letting 'em have their little twosome. We've got them a private booth at Madam Puddifoots."

"You're not going with them?"

"No, we'll be here. Want to come in?"

"Yeah, please!"

"Sneak round behind the Wildfire Whizbangs—be careful of the Catherine Wheels, doesn't take much to set them off—through the side door and wait for us on the stairs to the attic. Lunch break's in twenty minutes."

"Thanks!" Harry whispered. George stacked up the last of the boxes neatly, winked in the direction of his voice, and hurried away.

Mindful of the warning about the fireworks, Harry minced delicately behind the huge crates and reached the side entrance just as Fred happened to open it. "It's bloody hot in here! Too many people—did George tell you about the staircase?" he muttered as Harry slipped inside past him.

"I'll be there."

He waited, feeling strangely anxious, watching them demonstrating a great variety of wicked little Wheezes on chairs alone, which they informed the audience would be put to use in the afternoon's round of Musical Chairs. With that, the morning session was concluded, and Harry watched the twins bid cheerful regrets to Ron and Hermione that they couldn't join them for lunch. Ron and Hermione didn't appear too disappointed as they headed off together for Madam Puddifoots. Harry sighed.

Fred and George sent Lee off to be escort for Ginny, Luna, and Melanie and returned to the store as Mr. Zonko closed up for lunch hour. "Draw the curtains, would you?" Fred asked cheerfully.

Chuckling, Mr. Zonko waved his wand at them. "Wot's the top secret item this time?"

George laughed. "Harry Potter."

"Oy?"

"Go on, Harry, it's all right," said Fred.

Feeling slightly irked with them for revealing him without asking first, but supposing he didn't have any right to complain since he wasn't supposed to be there in the first place, Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak. "Merlin's beard!" exclaimed Mr. Zonko, but he was laughing. "'Arry Potter! 'aven't seen you 'ere in ages! Gotta sneak around in public now?"

"Yes," Harry sighed.

"Cheer up, mate," said Fred. "Come on. We've got lunch in the back."

Mr. Zonko set them up with an array of sandwiches and butterbeer at a small table in the back store room. "Know be'er than to believe that pap in the Prophet, anyone wif sense does," he informed Harry. "Eat 'ardy."

"Thanks!" said George. He grinned fondly at Mr. Zonko. "Great chap, this one. After our own hearts."

"Ere, you two're after mine, seein' as I was inventing me jokes before yer parents were born!" Mr. Zonko informed them. "Mind yeh, does me 'eart good, knowin' you lot's gonna be 'ere after I'm gone. 'Oo else'd carry on the traditions?" To Harry, he said, "Lost me own boy in the first war. I feared there'd be no one to teach me trade. Everyone wif sense knows yer the one that can end the second."

Harry swallowed hard and forced a smile, not certain what to say. But Mr. Zonko just patted his back and headed out to the counter with a handful of store records. The twins smiled after him. "So, our dear benefactor, what's on your mind?" asked George.

Harry pulled out the Marauder's Map and stared at it. As much fun as the Wheeze show was, he found that he hadn't been able to shake that awful churning feeling of guilt inside. He'd never felt so weighed down before when sneaking out to Hogsmeade, why was this time so different? "I…I just…I don't think Ron and Hermione'd approve my coming here."

His mouth full of salmon sandwich, Fred wrinkled his nose, but George said, "And you're not sure you approve it yourself, eh?" Harry nodded.

"Ronniekins told us about this and Quidditch. Rotten luck, mate."

Harry sighed heavily. "But you think they're right."

Fred shrugged. "Hard to say, really. The reasons you couldn't come your third year were stupid; everyone knew what sort of lot your relatives were." Harry winced. "Oh, sorry!"

"It's okay." He got up and examined the rows of jokes stacked up on the storeroom shelves. "I know…I know this year the reasons are good, I just…got so raving mad! It's not fair!"

"That's the truth," muttered George. "As Mum so often attests."

"But this isn't to say you can't have fun, mate," said Fred.

"No Hogsmeade, no Quidditch, half the school jumping out of their skin when I walk into a room? How do you suggest I have fun?" Harry demanded, then cringed mentally; it had come out much harsher than he'd meant it.

But neither twin seemed affected. "Well, for one thing, if you're not giving a certain pair of lovebirds absolute HELL every single day, we're going to be very put out with you, mate," said George.

Harry chuckled. "You don't think they're embarrassed enough already?"

Both their jaws dropped in mock-shock. "Not embarrassed enough!" gasped Fred.

"Impossible!"

"Unthinkable!"

"No!"

"Definitely no!"

"Positively no!"

"Absolutely no!"

"Uh-uh."

Harry couldn't help laughing. "All right, I'll redouble my efforts. Sorry, I guess I was a little tentative at first."

"That's our boy!" exclaimed George, slapping the table. "Enlist Ginny, why don't you?"

"Will she approve of teasing Ron and Hermione?" Harry asked.

"Haven't you noticed? She's been trying to egg you into it for weeks!" laughed Fred.

Harry helped himself to another sandwich. He hadn't realized he was so hungry. "And at the same time, I should keep my head down and my nose clean."

They pulled identical faces. "I know it's not fun, mate. And I know we're hardly ones to talk," George began, but Harry shook his head.

"No, you are. You've never had Voldemort," (he noticed the twins still jumped at hearing the name), "the Ministry, and half of the wizarding world out to get you. All you had to deal with was Umbridge and Filch, and there's no need to toe the line with them, as you said at the time."

The twins beamed. "That was a rather spectacular finish, wasn't it?" sighed Fred. "Shame we had to come back for N.E.W.T.s. We wouldn't have, but Mum had to go appeal to our family pride."

Harry laughed. "I know, Ron and Ginny told me. But who knows, maybe this exit could be just as fun."

"Well, we'll have to see that it is, eh?" the twins winked simultaneously. Harry felt a sudden shiver inside, remembering George, pallid and motionless with shock, clinging to the dying Fred. Because of me… He suddenly felt nauseated, and both of them noticed. "You all right, mate?" asked George.

"Yeah, I…" Harry sighed. "I'd really like to stay for the games, even if I can't play. But I suppose I…ought to be getting back. Remus'd be really upset with me if he knew I'd snuck out."

Both twins appeared to be restraining themselves from giving Hermione-like nods of agreement. That alone was enough to convince him. "That one's like our mum when it comes to you," Fred chuckled. "He'll probably yell like her too."

That put a bizarre image in his mind of Remus turning red in the face and yelling like Mrs. Weasley, and he laughed. "I don't know about that, but I suppose I don't really need to get on his bad side. He's risked enough for me this week."

The twins stood up in unison. "Right, then. Grab your Cloak, and we'll walk you back to Honeyd—"

It figured. It really did, Harry supposed. It only made sense that just as he was coming to his senses and about to head back, that they'd start to hear muffled screams outside the shop. The three of them sprang to their feet as Mr. Zonko threw the storeroom door open. "Get out 'ere, you lot! Death Eaters!"

Fred and George both swore very loudly and shoved Harry between them toward the door. "They'll know you're here!" Harry cried.

"We know," said Fred grimly. "Come on, Zonko, out of the store! Make for the bookshop!"

As they burst out the front entrance, they were met with chaos. Screaming wizards and witches of all ages were tearing through the streets, and loud crashes could be heard toward the center of the village. Light flashed from curses being thrown. "Go, quick," George ordered Zonko, and he hurried away. "We've got Harry. Come on!"

They started toward the street, but three Death Eaters suddenly came sprinting around a corner, chasing a group of terrified third years from Ravenclaw. "Impedimenta!" Harry roared, aiming for the white masks. The twins followed suit, and the Ravenclaws pounded on the door of the Three Broomsticks, which Madam Rosemerta opened and ushered them inside, her wand drawn and aimed at the street.

The Death Eaters recovered from the curses and spotted the three boys. One of them had her mask askew; Harry felt a surge of blistering hate. It was Bellatrix Lestrange, her eyes wide and enraged. "Potter!" she spat, almost as if surprised to see him there.

Movement to his right caught Harry's eye; George had stepped away from him. The red-haired boy spun around and aimed an open, wandless hand at a crate of Wildfire Whizbangs, his fingers spread in a strange way, his eyes hard and bright in a way that reminded Harry startlingly of Dumbledore. The lid flew off, and the fireworks, already-lit, burst from it, hovering in the air as though waiting for a command. George spun back around, pointing his hand in a sweeping motion back at the Death Eaters, and the entire arsenal of blazing explosives roared through the air straight at them. Harry gasped and ducked as the Death Eaters sprinted for their lives.

"George, how did you—"

"No time. Come on, we've got to get you to Honeydukes," said Fred, grabbing Harry's arm.

"Wait—no!" Harry cried, pulling away. "It's too dangerous, they'll come after me!"

"We can't let you go alone!" exclaimed George.

Glass shattered somewhere down the street, more screams rang out. "Listen, you need to find Ron and Ginny!" Harry insisted. Both twins faltered. "Get to them. I have my Cloak, I'll be fine!"

"Harry…okay. Be careful!" The twins turned and aimed their wands at all the crates of fireworks. The boxes erupted into flames as the entire arsenal ignited and rose into the air. "Capio Death Eaters!" Gone from fun entertainment sources to near-lethal, blazing missiles, the Whizbangs roared off in every direction. "That ought to keep 'em busy. Go!"

"Wait!" George shoved a can into his hand. "Exit Eliminator. Toss this over the tunnel entrance when you've gone through!"

"Thanks!" Harry bolted for Honeydukes, throwing the Cloak over his head as he did.

Miraculously, none of the fireworks got near him, though he had to dodge several Death Eaters who were scrambling to escape ones that had honed in on them. There was a group dangerously close to Honeydukes, but a small flock of sparkling dragons swooped down and sent them scrambling for cover. Harry ducked through the door, feeling a surge of pride in the twins' abilities—which was followed by a surge of dizziness so intense that he fell to his knees in the empty, damaged store.

Oh no…not now, please, not now! Green blazed in front of his eyes, and he found himself wishing he hadn't sent the twins away. The screams, crashes, and roars of people, curses, and fireworks still thundered outside, but inside the empty store, it was quiet, so very quiet.

Harry kept the Invisibility Cloak tight around him as he stumbled to his feet and scrambled down the cellar stairs. He had to get into the tunnel and close the entrance before any more Death Eaters came calling! A Catherine Wheel shrieked its way past the shattered windows just as he reached the stairway, and he gasped and lost his balance, tumbling head over heels down to the basement floor.

Fortunately, he didn't suffer any broken bones, but he was bruised and breathless and even more disoriented when he came to a stop. The only thing that could make the situation worse was…the sound of panicked Death Eaters taking refuge in the shop from the fireworks.

"Merlin's beard, what are those things!"

"Dumbledore's got himself new weapons, damn it, someone's going to pay for this!"

"They're from that Weasley shop!"

"Those brats just had to start making themselves useful. Come on, let's get down there before another lot finds us!"

"And Potter's here."

"Potter! He's supposed to be at the school!"

"Well, he's not, Wormtail, I just saw him!"

Wormtail! Harry's heart froze in his chest. Wormtail knew about the tunnel in the cellar. And Bellatrix had said, "let's get down there…" She meant the tunnel. They were trying to get into Hogwarts.

In a panic, he dove away from the stairs, scrabbling across the floor, knocking over boxes and tins in a desperate effort to get to the tunnel. He dropped to the floor at the entrance, cutting his hands on broken glass, but the trapdoor was heavy, and the Death Eaters would be on the stairs in another second.

There was no time. He yanked open the Wheeze can George had given him and upended it over the trapdoor. Then he aimed his wand at where he knew the trapdoor was. "Colloportus! Moenoccludo!"

Between the three of them, the Sealing Spell, simple glamour, and the Weasley twins' handiwork would keep the Death Eaters from finding and getting the trapdoor open, with any luck.

On the other hand, that left Harry trapped in the basement with no way out. He kept the Invisibility Cloak over himself and scuttled for cover as the cellar door opened.

"This place is a mess!" said a vaguely familiar voice. Perhaps Avery.

"Someone's been here. Potter?" Of course, he knew that voice.

"I don't know, Bella, what does it matter!"

"It matters, Lucius, if the boy's not at Hogwarts, then his professors will be coming here that much quicker!" Bellatrix hissed back.

"Damn it! Flitwick's up there!" cried a new voice.

"Nott just saw McGonagall."

"They're looking for Potter! Dolohov, Nott, get down here!"

"Hah! Baby Potter's not back at school yet! Perhaps he's still here!"

At Bellatrix's babyish squeal, Harry gritted his teeth, his heart pounding. Dizziness was coming in waves, making it hard to think. Their voices were all around him, talking about him, his name seemed to echo over and over in his own ears…

"If Potter's here, find him then!" snapped Lucius Malfoy.

"He has his father's Invisibility Cloak," warned Wormtail.

Bugger...they were all standing on the basement stairs, trying to search the room from above. Harry slipped his wand hand out of the cloak as they began hexing objects at random, knocking over barrels and boxes and trying to drive him into the open.

"Oh, Potter, come out, come out!"

"Potter!"

"If Potter—"

"Potter may be—"

"Potter!"

"Any sign of Potter?"

"He's here, I tell you—oh, Potter!"

"Harry!"

At that last hissing whisper, Harry suddenly realized one of the voices calling his name was above his head. He looked up and saw Snape peering down through the broken cellar window, searching for him. Harry had never imagined being so glad to see that man. With a stifled gasp of relief that went unheard in the ruckus of the search, he slipped the Invisibility Cloak just off his head so Snape would see him.

The Potions Master didn't even take the time to sneer, but simply held out a hand. Harry just hoped he'd be able to reach it without getting himself hexed. He scrambled to his feet and made a grab for Snape's hand, but missed and lost his balance.

He hit the pile of sacks he'd been hiding behind with a crash, and the Invisibility Cloak slipped more than half off him. He rolled over and looked back toward the stairs where the Death Eaters were standing.

Bellatrix was wearing a predatory smile. "Hello there, baby Potter! Where have you been?"

"Come ON, damn it!" Snape yelled from above him.

Harry didn't think. He just lurched to his feet, trailing the Cloak in one hand, and aimed his wand at the stairs. The Death Eaters made ready to shield themselves, but it wasn't them Harry was about to curse. "REDUCTO!"

The rickety stairs collapsed on themselves with a crash, and Death Eaters went down with them in a heap of black robes and debris. Harry didn't wait. He whirled around threw himself with all his might at Snape's hand, which was stretched down through the window, straining toward him. Snape's hand closed on Harry's wrist and yanked him up. A few Death Eaters managed to disentangle themselves enough to throw a few curses, but all missed, and then Harry was hauled into Snape's arms and they landed in a heap of arms and legs beside the cellar window.

He lay there, gasping and dizzy and sore, as Snape pulled the Invisibility Cloak out after him. "There's a tunnel to Hogwarts, they're after it," he gasped. The adrenaline of escaping the cellar was wearing off fast.

"I know, I know! Come on!" Snape thrust the Cloak into Harry's arms and pulled him to his feet, hauling him bodily away.

Blinking furiously, Harry looked around. There were Aurors in Hogsmeade now, and teachers, but he didn't see Ron, Hermione, or the twins, who he'd assumed were there when he'd heard someone calling his name. But then he saw them running from behind some rubbish bins toward him. "Harry!" gasped Hermione, throwing her arms around him. "What are you doing here!"

"Where's the twins?" he gasped at Ron before pulling away from Hermione.

"Safe. With Ginny. Are you hurt?"

Hermione was feeling his forehead. "You're warm! Oh, Harry, what were you thinking—"

Shouts rang out, just one street over. Snape grabbed all three of them and shoved them against a wall. "Under the Cloak, all of you!"

Ron and Hermione wedged Harry between them and pulled the Invisibility Cloak over them all. Huddled as they were against an open stretch of wall, no one would think to search for them hiding here.

Harry felt awful, not just physically. What had he been thinking, coming here? Hadn't everyone tried to warn him he would be a target? Had the Death Eaters attacked because Voldemort realized Harry was outside Hogwarts? If people were hurt, would it be because of him?

Of course it will...Remus will KILL me! He wanted to die. As it was, he let his head fall onto Ron's shoulder and bit his lip as hard as he could against the lump of miserable guilt in his throat.

Ron was rubbing his shoulders. "Hang on. It'll be okay. Bloody hell, mate, you're really warm!"

Eventually, the chaos of a running battle faded away, and Snape stalked over to where they were and whipped the Cloak off them. "Injuries?"

"I think Harry's sick, Professor," said Hermione.

"That won't save him the fifty points he just lost Gryffindor. Move. Back to Hogwarts."

Ron and Hermione supported Harry to one of the carriages, and Harry endured possibly the longest, most awful ride of his life, feeling weak, feverish, and sick with anticipation over what he'd be facing when he got back. He never would have imagined dreading a return to Hogwarts this much. When they arrived, he was hauled off to the hospital wing, with Snape coldly watching as he explained to Madam Pomfrey what had happened and left Harry to be examined.

Madam Pomfrey had just given Harry a Fever Reducing Potion and was doing a variety of testing spells on him to try and figure out what the cause of this latest illness was, when Harry heard the doors open and close—quietly. The soft intakes of breath from Ron and Hermione made him cringe and look up, fearing the worst.

He was right. Remus had arrived.

As horrible as he felt, Harry couldn't seem to look away as his reddened eyes met Remus's soft brown ones all the way across the hospital wing. All he could do was watch in despair as his parents and godfather's friend came down the row of beds to where Harry sat with his knees drawn up to his chest. The hospital wing seemed so very, very quiet.

Ron and Hermione were holding their breath as Remus sat down on the foot of the bed, still meeting Harry's gaze with an expression that showed such incredible disappointment that he wanted to die. He sighed, and when he spoke, his voice was very gentle, very quiet.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor, Harry."

Harry flinched. Hard. He would gladly have taken the worst of Snape's abuse any day. Any time. He would willingly face Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy, if Remus would only stop looking at him that way.

Hermione said, very tentatively, "Sir…Professor Snape already took fifty points."

"I know," said Remus softly. "And now I'm taking fifty more." Harry flinched again. Remus still had not broken eye contact. He went on, "Ron, Hermione, I want the truth. Did either of you know he was going to Hogsmeade? Did he meet you there?"

Harry shook his head, but Remus said, "I want it from them. Each of you. Tell me the truth."

Hermione sniffled. "No. No, we didn't know. I'm sorry, we shouldn't have gone, we should have stayed with him at Hogwarts…"

At last, Remus looked away from Harry. He looked up to smile gently at them. "Ron?"

"It's true."

"In that case," Remus told them. "Don't be upset, Hermione. You did nothing wrong." Harry finally turned away, resting his cheek on his knees, and flinched as Remus patted his hand gently. "There's a staff meeting. I have to go." Harry couldn't bring himself to look up as Remus rose and left the hospital wing.

Ron began rubbing his back. "Take it easy, mate. What's done is done. Nobody cares about House points anymore."

Harry sniffled. He couldn't help it. "Doesn't mean I was right."

"At least you know now," Hermione whispered. "And nobody else got badly hurt, and they stopped the Death Eaters at Honeydukes."

"I'm sorry," Harry groaned, burying his face in his knees. "I'm so sorry!" He felt so horrible, both physically and emotionally. He had never felt so bad in his life. Remus, I'm sorry, please don't hate me, I'm sorry… "Remus…"

"He'll be back soon," Hermione said. "He won't hate you, don't worry. Just say you're sorry, and it'll be okay. And don't sneak out anymore."

"I didn't mean…I never wanted…"

"We know, mate," said Ron. "Just let it go."

"People got hurt."

"Nobody seriously. Fred and George gave those Death Eaters a scare, I can tell you. Did you see the fireworks?"

"Mm-mm," he mumbled.

"But they said you—" Ron broke off.

Hermione leaned toward him, taking his shoulders. "Why don't you lie down, Harry. You look really sick."

Clumsily, Harry let them bundle him back under the covers. Why couldn't they understand how he felt? "'s all my fault," he mumbled weakly. "I was just trying to get Sirius."

"Sirius…oh Harry!"

"What's the matter with him?"

"He's really hot. I think he's forgotten where we are."

"Don't touch the brains," Harry tried to warn Ron. "Dangerous. We-we have to find Sirius."

"Shhh, it's okay, Harry. Just relax." A hand touched his forehead, so wonderfully cool. He sighed, closing his eyes. "My God, he's getting hotter. I don't like this."

"Harry? You hear me, mate?"

"Ron," Harry groaned, desperately. His tongue felt too big for his mouth, and his lips didn't seem to move right as he mumbled out, "Don't die. Couldn' stand it if you died. Got hurt. Over me, all my fault…"

"Hey, easy, mate, easy! I'm right here! I'm not hurt—Hermione, this is really bad!"

"Madam Pomfrey!"

Severus Snape noted with a good measure of smugness that Lupin was very quiet as the teachers made their reports to the headmaster. Of course, what could the werewolf say? Snape had been nothing short of astonished that Lupin had disciplined his precious cub at all, when he'd passed the House hourglasses and realized that Lupin had in fact taken points from Gryffindor.

Fifty, in fact. Severus wouldn't have thought the werewolf had it in him.

Still, it seemed highly unlikely that any real punishment was forthcoming. But perhaps there might still be a detention to be had once Potter recovered from this latest illness. The bloody torch was laying the boy low so often that it was impossible to think of any detention that didn't involve Occlumency training. For all that Potter's antics had forced Severus to deal with in this year alone, he was determined to get that boy scrubbing cauldrons at least once before term was over.

"I should have checked his dormitory," Lupin was saying, his voice heavy with the guilt that the man always wore just like Potter's Invisibility Cloak. It only served to annoy Snape. What if the man's band of friends were all either dead or traitors and the only remaining shadow of them seemed determined to get himself killed? For all Lupin had done to Severus, it wasn't as if he didn't deserve it! "I knew he was angry and unreasonable about the ban from Hogsmeade, I was trying not to push, but I should have made sure he was here!"

"Yes, you should have," Snape allowed himself to say, smirking.

Minerva rolled her eyes at him, and Flitwick began speaking, naming the Death Eaters he had seen. "Nott and Dolohov, definitely, and I think Lucius Malfoy."

"Yes, he was there," Severus confirmed. "And Bellatrix Lestrange and Pettigrew."

"Is there any sign that our assorted Death Eaters' children knew of the attack?" mused McGonagall.

"Uncertain," said Snape. "Though Malfoy and Nott did decide to make an excursion to the Shrieking Shack at a strangely convenient time to avoid the excitement."

Flitwick shook his head. "Sooner or later, we're going to have to question them, Albus!"

But of course, he had no more success than Severus had ever had when broaching such a subject; Albus Dumbledore was dead-set against taking any aggressive action against any student, even a Death Eater in training.

The headmaster was about to speak when there was a flash of green Floo fire in the hearth. "Albus!" Pomfrey's face burst into view, wide-eyed. "I need you! It's Harry!"

Merlin's beard, what now?

Of course, Lupin practically dove headfirst into the flames after the Headmaster, and Snape waited until McGonagall had gone before stepping through into the hospital wing himself. He emerged to see Dumbledore walking quickly—and Lupin all-out running—to the bed where Granger and Weasley sat in their usual perches on either side of Potter's bed like his own personal gargoyles. With those particular expressions of panic Snape had seen all too often in the past six years.

Pomfrey and McGonagall ushered Potter's two fans aside, and Lupin lunged at the bed. "Harry! My God…" Severus came past Dumbledore for a look, but the sight of Potter startled even him.

When he'd seen the boy in Hogsmeade, and on the carriage ride back, he'd obviously been developing a fever, but this was a far cry, an almost-inconceivable deterioration of his health. Potter lay limp, eyes closed, pallid-faced, and drenched with sweat, mumbling a delirious monologue that included almost constant repetition of the names "Sirius" and "Remus." And "I'm sorry."

Damn the boy. Damn the dog. Damn the werewolf.

So much for Lupin-the-disciplinarian. The man's face was a mask of calamity as he stroked tendrils of soaked black hair away from Potter's scar, which seemed to glow red against colorless skin. Pomfrey, just behind Severus, was wringing her hands, with a look on her face that alarmed Snape far more than the werewolf's hysteria. "Albus," she whispered, in a tone that made them all look at her. "I can't bring the fever down."

Now Dumbledore was going pale. Severus began cursing furiously in his head, running through every profane word and oath he knew in six different languages. McGonagall sank onto the other side of Potter's bed, raising a trembling hand to her mouth. "Poppy…there must be something…"

Granger and Weasley were clinging to each other. Severus ignored them, too set on the Headmaster to spare concern for the brats. But Albus's words, so quiet, seemed to reach like an ice cold hand into Snape's guts. "How much time does he have, Poppy?"

Tears were brimming in Pomfrey's eyes. "A day," she whispered. "Maybe two."

"Albus?" Now McGonagall's voice was quavering. "It can't be possible."

Dumbledore closed his eyes. "Given the link of the green flame torch between Lord Voldemort and Harry, it may well be."

"What?" demanded Lupin, wild-eyed. "What do we do? What does this mean?"

Dumbledore slipped past McGonagall to bend over the bedside. Gently, he raised a hand to the boy's cheek. Snape could no longer even feel aggravated with Potter for causing so much trouble. There was no time for that. He was no fool; he knew what Pomfrey and the headmaster's reactions had to mean. Along with the boy's life, the fate of the entire wizarding world hung in the balance.

The headmaster's words confirmed it. "It means, Remus, that we have one day, perhaps two, to find and destroy the green flame torch. Lord Voldemort has used it up until now only to spy on us and weaken Harry, but now he is attacking in earnest. If we cannot sever that connection, Harry will die."

And so will we all. Dumbledore didn't have to say it for Snape to know it. The boy, lying so still and small on that hospital bed, was the key to the whole bloody mess, the embodiment of the Order itself. His life or death would determine theirs, it was simply a fact. Snape had accepted that part months ago.

All the same, no one in the hospital wing seemed able to think clearly about how to prevent the boy from dying, but simply stood around, wringing their hands and weeping over him. Minerva was trying, to no avail, to get Granger and Weasley out of Madam Pomfrey's way, and Lupin was refusing to even look away from the boy. As Minerva finally ushered away the now-completely-hysterical Granger and Weasley, Snape muttered, "I will never understand how that boy manages to inspire such fanaticism."

"Fanaticism?" Minerva glanced at him and sighed heavily, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand before looking from the boy back to him. "Oh, Severus. You simply cannot understand."

Severus shook off his confusion and went closer to Potter's bedside. "Lupin. A word." Naturally, the werewolf tore his eyes away from Potter and blinked at Snape as if he were mad for interrupting. As if he could somehow save the boy just by staring at him and petting him. "Now," Snape growled, jerking his head.

Thank God it wasn't Black, the stubborn mutt would have refused just for the sake of it. But Lupin did get up slowly and follow Snape out of Dumbledore's earshot. "What is it, Severus?"

"We must act now, Lupin, if you want the boy to live."

The werewolf's eyes widened, growing more alert. "If you have an idea, now's the time."

"There may be a way to find the Fortress of Shadows."

"You are certain the torch is there?"

"Potter's seen it, hasn't he?" Snape scoffed—quietly. "Yes, it's there, and its connection to him provides at least one way in. There may be anoth—"

"Great goblins, what's happened to him?" cried Flitwick.

Lupin spun around, and Snape looked past him toward Potter's bed. The boy's entire body was…fading, for lack of a better description. The way it reportedly had when the Dark Lord had made him appear in the Fortress itself, real enough to remove Granger's amulet. Potter looked like a ghost with color. If he could make the child only half-here, so that healing spells had no effect on him, and potions couldn't be swallowed…

"My God, what if he uses this torch to pull Harry all the way out?" Lupin breathed. He turned back to Severus, that same fierce glint in his eye that had appeared before when Fudge had arrived to take the boy. In a calm voice that rather impressed Severus, he said, "You were about to mention another way into the Fortress?"

Snape nodded. "Yes. I hesitated to do so in that company," he nodded toward the people clustered around the bed, "because the headmaster will not approve."

Yes, Severus knew what that glint in the werewolf's eye meant. If I told you the way to save Potter was to cut off Cornelius Fudge's head or feed yourself to a dementor, you'd do it, wouldn't you?

He got his answer well enough. Lupin glanced over his shoulder to make sure Dumbledore couldn't hear, then turned back to face Snape, straightening in a way that Severus grudgingly respected.

"Whatever it is, count me in."

"Malfoy!" Severus stalked into the Slytherin common room and clapped his hands sharply. "In my office. Now!"

The fair-haired boy gave Severus the same sneer he reserved for Potter and his friends. "Well, look at this, lads! It's our Head of House, Professor Snape, role model for purebloods and Slytherins of all ages, shining example of how to cozy up to Muggle-loving—"

"OUT!" Severus roared, grabbing Malfoy by the arm and propelling him from the common room. He kept a firm grip on Draco's arm all the way down to his office; he wouldn't put it past him to make a dash for it, even if the little brat had absolutely no inkling of what was in store for him.

No, Draco, I will never serve the Dark Lord again. But that does not mean you have nothing to fear from me.

"Why did you turn on him?" Draco surprised him by hissing as soon as they were headed for the dungeons. "How could you!"

"I stopped serving him before you were born," Snape informed him. "In the end, there is no power or honor in serving him, only waste."

Draco blinked; he obviously had not expected an honest answer. For all the good my forthrightness will do you, child. For all the good any of us can do you.

Whatever else could be said of Severus Snape, he was neither a fool nor an idealist. In all likelihood, there would be no preventing Draco Malfoy from following his father's path into the Dark Lord's inner circle. Snape abhorred waste, of talent and of life, but only a fool ran down a road that led nowhere. And Severus Snape was no fool.

As much as it rankled him, there was less hope of saving Draco Malfoy than there was of saving Harry Potter. At least the Dark Lord's hold over Potter went no further than the smear of his blood on a green flame torch and the magical brand of a curse scar.

Draco, Severus knew full well, could not fathom what was in store for him when his father and the Dark Lord called him into their service this year. It would be this year, naturally, it was always this year that they sank their claws in. Draco would not receive the Mark until eighteen, but his service would begin in earnest at sixteen. How many people would the child have to butcher before he proved himself worthy of the Dark Mark?

No, Draco had no inkling of what was in store for him from the Dark Lord. He could not even imagine what was in store for him from Severus Snape.

With that bitter thought, Snape led Draco, one of his House charges—and formerly a personal charge—into his office and the welcoming arms of a very angry werewolf. Draco stopped in his tracks when he saw Lupin. "What's he doing here?"

Bad form, Draco. If you know for a fact you're facing a mortal enemy, hex first, ask questions later.

Before Malfoy had a chance to react, Snape was behind him, grabbing him by the shoulders and propelling him toward Lupin. "Silencio!" The Defense professor cut off any chance the child had of shouting for help—not that there was anyone to hear him—and the two of them wrestled Draco into a chair.

No, Albus will not approve. I myself do not even approve.

But he did it. Lupin would gladly have taken care of the more unsavory aspects of the situation, Severus knew that, but holding back in this moment would not diminish his responsibility for the result any more than it had when he had been serving the Dark Lord. His choice was made.

So it was Severus who conjured the ropes that bound the struggling, outraged teenager, and it was he who went to the locked cupboard containing the most valuable and dangerous potions and brought out a vial of Veritaserum. Draco was a very apt Potions student, the most promising Severus had had in a long time; he recognized the stuff at once. He went berserk, kicking and thrashing against the ropes and nearly knocking over the chair in his panic until Lupin seized both boy and chair.

"You have a choice, Malfoy: you're going to answer our questions no matter what, but either you can sit still for your Head of House, or I can hold you still."

Draco fixed wide, horrified eyes on Snape, edging away from the werewolf, and Severus kept his own face expressionless. "You're not going to be harmed, Draco, but Professor Lupin is correct: we will have answers from you. Now don't move."

Lupin kept a tight grip on him, and one look at the werewolf's eyes had Draco frozen in the chair. Snape wouldn't have pegged Lupin for ruthless interrogator, but his behavior at the moment was more than enough to cow the boy.

Child, if this is enough to frighten you, you truly cannot be prepared for what you will face as a servant of the Dark Lord. Not that Lupin was bluffing, of course, Snape knew he was not. If Dumbledore objected to forcing Veritaserum on a sixteen-year-old, he would object far more to leaving Draco in Lupin's clutches for five minutes, given the werewolf's current state of mind.

As it was… "How much?" Lupin asked as Snape approached Draco with the bottle. "Three drops?"

"One," said Severus.

"Will that be enough?"

"To start with." Draco promptly clenched his jaws. Snape knelt in front of him. "I'm only asking you this once: open your mouth." Of course, the boy shook his head. "Lupin?"

The werewolf grabbed Draco's head and slowly pried his mouth open. Draco grunted and struggled, though not as wildly as Potter had that night in the Dark Lord's lair. Snape jerked his mind away from the comparison and drew a single drop of Veritaserum from the bottle with his wand, slipping it between the Draco's teeth. The youth's eyes widened, then clouded a little, although they didn't glaze over the way Barty Crouch's had after receiving a full dose. Severus knew this much would be enough—and honestly could not bring himself to rob Draco of conscious thought.

Severus motioned Lupin away and removed the Silencing Charm. "Where were you during the attack on Hogsmeade?"

Draco hesitated. Having been given the smallest-possible dose, he still retained enough of his awareness to understand what was happening, and what he was about to reveal. "Th-the Shrieking Shack," he said shakily, never taking his eyes off Snape. He was aware enough to feel this final betrayal as well.

"Did you know there would be an attack?" demanded Lupin.

"Yes," he whispered, still staring at Snape. His gray eyes seemed to be plead for his Head of House to put a stop to it. Indeed, the conscience that Severus liked to pretend he didn't have was screaming the same thing.

He forced those thoughts away. Don't look to me for protection, Draco, I cannot help you now. Whatever your father may have said, you are nothing but his pawn in this game.

"How often are you in contact with your father?" Snape asked him.

Draco went rigid, fighting the question for all he was worth. But in the end, he choked out, "Whenever he wants my help."

"What sort of help?"

"P-passing on messages. Or observing people here."

"To whom do you pass on messages?" asked Lupin.

"Nott, mostly. And Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy and Millicent sometimes. Just word from their parents."

Snape motioned Lupin away and leaned forward. "Where is the Dark Lord's new stronghold?"

The child's face was flushed and sweaty with effort of fighting the drug, to no avail. "The Fortress of Shadows."

"How did he find it?"

Draco shrugged, his shoulders shaking. "He just went looking for it. It let him in."

"How do your father and the Death Eaters reach it?"

"I…no!"

"Give him another drop," said Lupin.

"Wait. Draco, answer me now, or I will. How does your father reach the Fortress of Shadows?" Snape stared into his eyes.

Tears spilled down his face. "The crypt…on the grounds…behind the summer house."

"What crypt? There was no crypt there before," Snape muttered. "Tell me how to use it."

"I…I…don't know!"

"He could be lying." Lupin might as well have been discussing the weather.

"Shut up, Lupin. Tell me, Malfoy. Where does the crypt lead?"

"I…don't…know!" Draco cried. "Only that it's the way to the Fortress!"

"Why did he tell you? Have you ever used it?"

Draco shook his head. "N-no. I can't use it. Not unless my father takes me himself."

"Not even with the Dark Lord's permission?" Snape pressed.

The boy cringed away from him in the chair, but Snape kept his hands on Draco's arms. Draco was gasping for breath. They were close to the answer. "Look at me!" Lupin unceremoniously grabbed the sides of Draco's face and forced him to look at Snape. "Who can enter the crypt to the Fortress?"

"Mmnn…" Draco tried and failed to clench his jaws shut. "Mm…Mark…"

"Mark?" Lupin looked at Severus.

Snape pulled back from the boy and rolled up his sleeve. "The Dark Mark? The Fortress can be entered by anyone wearing the Dark Mark?" Draco sobbed and nodded. "And anyone they bring with them?"

"Y-yes."

"Is that crypt the only entry into the Fortress for Death Eaters?"

"The only one my father's told me about."

Severus sighed heavily. "Very well. That's it, then."

"I hate you!" Draco burst out. "I hate you, I hate you! You filthy traitor!"

A traitor I am, child. The Dark Lord has made me twice a traitor. Once to humanity, and now to you.

Lupin had returned to his normal, mild-mannered self, and was watching them with pity in his eyes. Severus wanted none of it. "Shall I return Malfoy to his common room?" asked the werewolf.

"No, I'll do it. Go. He cannot know you were here; it will rouse their suspicion." Snape waited until he left, then untied Draco. Gesturing to the small sink, he said quietly, "Wash your face." Draco stared at him for a moment, then obeyed.

"Why did you do that?" Draco muttered. "Why are you doing this? You don't actually think you can harm the Dark Lord there, do you?"

"I'm not going there to harm him. What was the objective of the attack in Hogsmeade?"

"The tunnel under Honeydukes." The Veritaserum was still effective. Draco glared bitterly at him as it forced him to speak. "Wormtail told them about it. They were trying to get into the school."

"For what?"

"I don't know. Something to do with the wards."

"And were they after Potter?"

"No. He had to be at the school. With him sick again, everyone would be in the hospital wing when the attack started."

"He wasn't supposed to be in Hogsmeade?" Snape exclaimed. "This wasn't another kidnapping attempt?"

Draco snorted. "They don't need to kidnap him again. He won't recover this time."

Ah. So you are involved in this, or at least you know of it and are holding your peace. Tell me, child, is this going to be your first murder?

Aloud, Severus said nothing, but picked up a bottle of potion to counteract the Veritaserum. "Drink this." Draco narrowed his eyes, but recognized the stuff. After a pause, he swallowed it. Severus watched him and said quietly, "I'm sorry, Draco."

The teenager stared at Snape in disbelief, then let out a bark of bitter laughter. "You are not."

"I am. It merely does not prevent me doing what I must do." Severus aimed his wand, and Draco recoiled, opening his mouth to shout a protest or a countercurse. Too late. "Obliviate."

Draco blinked, his face going blank. Severus informed him curtly, "If I find out you did have anything to do with the attack, you and Nott will have Aurors to answer to. Now get back to your dormitory."

With a parting smirk much easier for Severus to face than the frightened, betrayed expression he'd worn only minutes before, Draco departed. Severus waited several minutes until he'd gone, then picked up the Veritaserum to put it away. The bottle shook in his hand, and before he knew what he was doing, he hurled it across the room and watched it shatter against the wall.

Lupin was waiting for him in Dumbledore's office. Albus was expressionless as they sat down, and Severus said, "We have information, Headmaster."

"About the torch, Severus?"

"About the Fortress of Shadows. There is a crypt on Lucius Malfoy's estate that contains an access to it. It can be reached by anyone bearing the Dark Mark. I believe it is possible also for a bearer of the Mark to bring someone who does not. A person without the Mark cannot enter alone."

The headmaster nodded, his eyes penetrating Snape's. He knows. Of course. Severus knew not to be surprised; the man knew everything. And no, Albus would never have given permission for Draco to receive such treatment at his teachers' hands. Snape met the headmaster's eyes evenly and waited.

"Do you think you can find this crypt?"

"Yes. Assuming I can enter Malfoy's grounds undetected." Go on, Albus, ask me how I came into this information.

He didn't. Severus was astonished. Didn't he realize what they had done to Draco Malfoy, a student under their care? Perhaps he was underestimating it. Dumbledore looked down at the surface of his desk and sighed softly. He does know. My God, he knows exactly what we did to Draco, but… "When you reach the Fortress, Severus, a way must be found for you to destroy the green flame torch, and for us to make good your escape again."

"You needn't concern yourself with the latter, Headmaster. The former is by far the most important."

"I disagree," said Albus quietly. "I will not sacrifice you needlessly. Do you know what to do once you reach the torch?"

"I have been working on a potion to effectively neutralize the magical bond. I believe I can complete it quickly."

"You'll need someone to back you," said Lupin.

Not you. Anyone but you, Lupin, you'll never have the detachment for this task. "Have you forgotten the full moon is in two days?"

"Harry has less than two days," said the werewolf. "If we're not back by then, whether or not I've taken Wolfsbane won't matter much."

Good point, he had to admit. "All the same, perhaps another member of the Order would serve better—"

"—I'm going, Albus," Lupin said flatly. "Send a third person if you must, but I'm going. If destroying the torch is Harry's only chance of surviving, then—"

"I agree, Severus," said Dumbledore. "I will attempt to find a way to draw Voldemort out of the Fortress while you enter, but you should not go alone. I would trust no one at your back more than Remus."

Hah! That's a good one. "As you wish, Headmaster."

"Then we'd better get to work," said Lupin. Severus nearly snorted; the man was starting to sound like him! Well, if the werewolf was going to worry about business instead of mooning around Potter, Severus wasn't going to discourage it. "Shall I assist you with the potion, Severus?"

"No."

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "I think that is an excellent idea. I must contact Alastor and Nymphadora for a suitable distraction. With luck, we can give you several hours." He sighed, looking very tired. "Although it remains to be seen how many hours Harry has."

"Is he worse?" Lupin asked weakly.

Dumbledore nodded. "I am permitting Miss Granger and our young Weasleys to remain in the hospital wing. Minerva has sent for Arthur and Molly. They will want to be here."

"My God," Lupin breathed. "Is it coming to this?"

"It is, Remus. We cannot combat Harry's condition as long as the green flame torch connects him to Voldemort." Dumbledore took a deep breath, as though the words caused him physical pain. "He is dying."

Lupin buried his face in his hands. Don't go soft again on me now, Lupin, if you're planning on coming, Snape thought, and said aloud, "If we're going to work on that potion, we should go now. There's not much time."

Lupin jumped to his feet and followed Severus out of the headmaster's office.

In his private laboratory, Severus had built a second torch, in the same design as the first. Having prepared the first one that would bind the Dark Lord to Potter, he knew how the thing worked: it was yet another blood charm, a magical connection binding the two wizards, allowing the Dark Lord to attack the boy's mind and body at will.

There had to be a way to break that connection. There was always a way to break such a connection. The torch was a conception of Salazar Slytherin himself, but that didn't render it invulnerable. The blood magic that had protected the Potter at his relatives' home at Privet Drive had been far more powerful, and the Dark Lord had overcome that. They would have to overcome this.

Tabletops were scattered with open tomes and jars of potions ingredients, as Severus and Lupin tested mixture after mixture on the second torch. Its flames burned white, unlike the torch in the Dark Lord's possession. And the two wizards grew more and more frustrated as all their efforts failed to put it out.

"What are we missing?" Lupin said at one point, poring over a dusty old text. "Surely a binding agent with Harry's blood would spread to corrupt the purity of the torch charms!"

"Obviously not, because it isn't working," Snape growled, and brought his fist down on another book. "Right. Forget binding Potter's blood, we've tried every conceivable combination, and the boy doesn't have much blood left to spare." Snape had had to go the hospital wing himself to obtain a vial of blood from Potter; the very mention of the idea had turned Lupin green.

Lupin shoved the huge tome aside and picked up a moldy scroll. "Maybe…instead of destroying the connection by contaminating Harry's blood on the torch…perhaps we can corrupt the charm by adding someone else's."

"You mean enough other viable connections that the torch is unable to function?" Snape muttered, snatching the scroll from him.

"Yes. Confusing it."

"Fine. Hold out your hand." The werewolf didn't flinch as Snape pulled out a vial and cut his arm, collecting a small amount of blood. Into a second vial went some of his own. He frowned at them and set them aside. "The torch is powerful. If we fail, this could conceivably bind us all to the Dark Lord. We need more…corruptive agents. Something…less pure."

"You're a pureblood; I'm a half. You're thinking…"

Severus jumped to his feet and threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace. "Hospital wing. Hagrid! You're needed in my laboratory!"

The gamekeeper spun into view and clambered from the grate, his face still tear-streaked as Snape had predicted. "Professors. Any luck?"

Lupin went quickly toward him. "Hagrid. We need you to collect some things for us." He listed them off to Hagrid, and the half-giant scrambled for the door.

"In the mean time," said Snape. "Hand me the oil of vitriol. There better not be any chance of that torch being put to use again."

By the time Hagrid returned, carrying a bag full of vials, they had prepared a potion of highly-acidic agents that would effectively melt the green flame torch beyond all hope of restoration once the magical bond was severed. "Bottle yourself a dose of that, Lupin. We'll each be carrying them in case of a problem. Two chances. Assuming we get anywhere near the bloody thing, that is."

"Your confidence is inspiring, Severus."

"Save it," he snapped. To Hagrid, he demanded, "Well?"

"I got 'em, Professor," Hagrid carefully set his bag down. "Professors Flitwick and McGonagall both said they could help. An' this one's mine. This one's from a, er, friend o' mine, an' Professor Dumbledore gave me these. He said…be sure an' use this one."

Among the vials was a tiny crystal globe, that appeared much older than the others. Lupin leaned across the table to stare at it. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Well. Considering the green flame torch comes from a concept of Salazar Slytherin's, blood from this source would certainly throw his magic off. Wait a minute, is this from…"

"That's right, Professor. Headmaster said it's worth it, giving it up."

"Mind enlightening me, Severus?"

Snape picked up the globe, holding it at arm's length. It looked almost like a ruby. "Gryffindor."

"I knew Albus had some of Godric's blood, but where did this come from?"

Firelight winked off the globe's sides. "This is more than merely a relic of Hogwarts history, Lupin," said Severus. "The blood of Godric Gryffindor could be extremely valuable or extremely dangerous in the wrong hands. The headmaster has been guarding it very closely. Until recently, I had no idea where."

"What did this come from? It looks like some kind of ornament."

"It is certainly disguised as one. Gryffindor's sword was left in the keeping of his successors at Hogwarts, as his mark upon the school. Not unlike Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets. Dumbledore has been keeping it in the Sorting Hat—or at least he did until Potter pulled it out. This," Severus held up the globe, "was set in the hilt of the sword among the rubies. I doubt anyone who wasn't a headmaster in the past thousand years has had any idea what it was."

"How'd you know, then?" demanded Hagrid.

Severus had to hand it to the half-giant, he wouldn't have thought him so perceptive. "Dumbledore told me three years ago, after the diary incident."

Hagrid whistled appreciatively. "Glad ter hear that. If he trusts yeh that much, I s'pose I can trust yeh with savin' Harry." Severus turned and glared at him, but saw from his face that he wasn't jesting. His eyes were still brimming. "Yeh can save him, can't yeh?"

For God's sake, man, don't expect miracles out of me. Do I look like Dumbledore? Men wearing the Dark Mark aren't in the business of miracles.

"We'll do our best, Hagrid," whispered Lupin.

Snape turned to find another cauldron. "Stop brooding and get me the bicorn horn, Lupin. We're running out of time."

"Oh, Professor Snape. One other thing my, er, friend gave me, thought it might be useful," Hagrid pointed at a little pouch. "Yeh said hair an' skin'd work too. What about part of a giant?"

Snape paused. "A full-blooded giant?"

"Yeh," Hagrid pulled out what looked like a large piece of cardboard. Severus and Lupin stared at it. "This is a bit of a relic among giants, belonged to me mum. There was a giant named Icklibõgg, one o' the great Gurgs, many hundreds o' years ago. That's his toenail."

"What!" Lupin stifled a laugh.

Snape tossed the pouch at him and turned away in disgust. "Keep your bloody toenails, Hagrid, and leave the useful potions ingredients."

"Jes' tryin' ter help!" Hagrid said, and left.

Snape ignored the disapproving look Lupin shot him as they began preparing the potion again. "We'll have one chance to get this right."

It seemed like it would work. Almost. But as they drew closer to the point of no return, when the blood of Godric Gryffindor would have to be added, Severus could sense something was wrong. "What is it?" asked Lupin.

"This isn't going to work. There's not enough power to destroy the connection."

"What about animal blood?"

"We have that. We even have fur from McGonagall." Snape spat a curse and shook his head. "But all these are still connectors to living beings, except Gryffindor. All we may succeed in doing is binding ourselves to the Dark Lord while the boy dies." Lupin flinched.

"Then we should look for the remains of the no longer living? Hair or bone, perhaps?" the werewolf suggested. "Send Hagrid to raid a cemetery or see what relics Dumbledore might have of the dead?"

"Yes, that could…a relic…oh, for the love of…" With a disgusted growl, Severus stalked over to the fireplace again to throw in a handful of Floo powder. "Hagrid! Get back here and bring that bloody toenail of…whatever his name is!"

Snape and Lupin each carried two vials of potion inside their robes as they headed to the headmaster's office. "Remember," he told Lupin, "the blood potion first, then the black."

"You don't have to tell me twice, Severus," Lupin muttered. They walked through the door.

"You have the potions?" asked Albus without preamble.

My God, we ARE running out of time. The headmaster appeared to have aged a hundred years in the past few hours. Severus knew why. "Potter's condition?"

"Worsening. It's a matter of hours," Albus sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. "I've spoken with Alastor. He and a squad of Aurors are planning a small event which, along with my presence there, should be enough to draw Voldemort out of the Fortress for a time. How much time, I cannot say."

"We'll manage," said Severus. "We'll move as soon as you've gone."

"Good. One other thing, Severus, I have been considering how best to keep track of the two of you. Once the link of the torch has been destroyed and the crypt has been used, it may be far more difficult for the two of you to escape."

"That's a risk we're prepared to take," said Lupin quietly.

Albus studied them over his spectacles. "All the same, I have thought of an additional way to track you to the Fortress. It may even come in handy in pinpointing its location." Snape and Lupin looked at each other curiously. "Severus, have you that torch you've been using to test your potions?"

Severus blinked. "Excellent idea, Albus," said the portrait of Phineas Nigellus. "Impale the bastard on his own sword!" Whatever his own thoughts on the purity of blood, Nigellus had taken it very hard when one of the Dark Lord's servants had killed his great-great-great-grandson.

"I can get it," Severus said, and headed for the fireplace. He collected the torch from his laboratory and returned. "I presume you wish to activate it?"

"With your consent, of course," said Albus gently, but in a way that reminded Severus that he himself had tied Draco Malfoy to a chair and forced him to swallow Veritaserum only hours ago.

And yet… "If he doesn't want to, you can do it on me," said the werewolf.

Don't flatter yourself, Lupin. "No need," Snape growled. "I'm perfectly willing. You will be at the other end of the spell, Headmaster?"

"Yes. Are you ready, then?"

"Let's do it." Severus produced a small knife from his belt (a spy on the Dark Lord accustomed himself to carrying around a wide variety of implements) and cut his hand, realizing only after he'd done it that the slice across his palm was identical to the one the Dark Lord had given Potter. Albus did the same, and they sealed the charm with their hands upon the torch. This time, the flames were blood red.

Albus met Snape's eyes as they stepped away from the torch, the red light reflected in his spectacles. "If you and Remus should find yourself unable to leave the Fortress in the same way you arrived, make for the mountain. It is beyond the Shadows' power, and may provide you with some safety until we can reach you. I will be waiting." He took Severus's hand in his, and extended the other one to Lupin, who took it as well. "Good luck. Be careful. Trust each other."

"Take care yourself, Albus," said Lupin quietly. "And if anything should happen, you know what to tell Harry?"

"Of course."

"Take care of him."

Yes, yes, Lupin, now shut up and let the man get on with our distraction! Aloud, Snape said only, "Good luck, Headmaster."

"Thank you, Severus." Albus handed them a sugar bowl. "This portkey will take you to the summerhouse of Malfoy Manor. It will activate in precisely three minutes, by which time I hope to be engaging Tom in conversation."

"Understood."

"Farewell, both of you." With that, Albus threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and spun away, leaving Severus and Lupin standing in his office for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Severus felt the portkey activate, and the two of them were pulled away in a whirl of color and sound.

Albus had somehow managed to deposit them directly in the bushes lining the summerhouse. How he had been able to overcome the vast variety of magical protections, wards, and enchantments upon Malfoy Manor, Severus would dearly have loved to know, but at the moment, there was no time to wonder. What mattered was getting into that crypt and figuring out how to get into the Fortress without landing right in the laps of whatever guards the Dark Lord had left behind.

Lupin had the good sense to keep his mouth shut. They moved in silence, close together, low to the ground, around the summerhouse.

Severus had been on this estate many times before, even in the summerhouse itself, nestled in a copse of trees some distance from the main house. The perfect place for carrying on intrigues, Lucius had always joked. Severus himself had set up shop here several times, working on potions for the Dark Lord, even back when he'd been a willing participant. It was a good, quiet place to work and think.

But obviously some new feature had been added; Severus spied a small, stone structure hidden in a thick patch of shrubbery that had never been there before. Mosses hung from its side, and its stone looked very old and worn, not at all like the scrubbed, spotless stones of Malfoy Manor. Severus motioned Lupin behind him, and stepped toward it.

For the first time, Lupin spoke up. "You know, it has occurred to me that this could be a trap."

"You think so?"

"I don't know either way. What do you think?"

"About the fact that anyone with the Dark Mark can supposedly enter the Fortress of Shadows, even though I am a known traitor still bearing it? Yes, it could be a trap. But how would I have access to that information."

"Would they think you capable of administering Veritaserum on a student?"

"On a student, yes. Draco, no." And do NOT ask.

To Snape's intense relief, Lupin didn't. "So what's your conclusion?"

"Fifty-fifty chance. They would have to believe me willing not merely to betray them but to assault the Fortress directly, and in person for that information to be effective. It seems unlikely, but…the Dark Lord has set more complicated traps then that. However, we've little choice. I intend to proceed. You are welcome to turn back."

He looked challengingly over his shoulder at Lupin. Are you prepared to follow me into the snake den, werewolf?

He really should have expected the answer he got. "Harry is all I have left; I'll save him or die trying."

Snape snorted. Gryffindor theatrics. Perhaps you'd do me the favor of doing both. He took Lupin's arm. "Then let's see how this contraption works." Slowly, leading the un-Marked Lupin along, he stepped into the inky blackness of the crypt.

The crypt was not a crypt at all on the inside. They found themselves in a very dark tunnel, damp, cold, and musty, with dark power seeming to ooze from the walls like so much slime. Looking back over their shoulders, they found a dead end of stone. Well. That was simple enough. I doubt it will be so coming out. Severus jerked his head at Lupin. Let's go.

They drew their wands and started off into the dark. Lupin caught Snape's eye and motioned quietly around them, pulling his face into a grimace. Snape knew what he was trying to say: no guards.

This is looking less and less promising by the moment.

But they were here, and there was no choice but to proceed. Perhaps the Dark Lord's confidence would be to their advantage here. (Not likely, but perhaps.) After all, Severus worked as a spy against very long odds for a long time. Unlikely was a word he survived by.

Lupin suddenly froze, grabbing Snape's arm. Severus went instantly still, sensing what had already reached Lupin. The werewolf's nature might be more of a liability most times, especially with him weakening so close to the full moon, but the superior senses, Severus could live with. Lupin had felt the minute vibrations or heard the faint echoes of footsteps before any other human could have.

Including the ones currently approaching from somewhere in the darkness ahead. They had to get out of this corridor, and fast.

Scooting automatically to the wet, slimy wall, Severus began slinking as swiftly as he could ahead. Their only chance of avoiding a very vocal discovery was to find a hiding place ahead, even though the corridor was taking them toward the sounds. Severus could hear them now—but whoever it was, they were not making any attempt at stealth.

Perhaps overconfidence really was on Dumbledore's side tonight.

Judging by the echoes, the walkers ahead were somewhere around a corner, perhaps more than one corner. Severus sped up, trusting Lupin to keep pace, and searched the side walls frantically. They could hear voices now:

"Did he say Dumbledore was there as well?"

"What are they playing at?"

"I don't know, but the Dark Lord is going to deal with it. Dumbledore can't escape him forever."

"I'll sleep easier when the old codger's dead."

They were close. Snape exchanged glances with Lupin. Any ideas? Lupin mouthed.

Severus pressed himself back against the wall and—fell through it. A startled Lupin dove through behind him. They found themselves in another corridor, branching off from the one they'd been in. Severus frowned to himself. He couldn't imagine the Fortress of Shadows (a more apt title was never bestowed) having Rooms or Corridors of Requirement. He ran his mind back through where they had been, and suddenly recalled: when he had leaned against the corridor wall, his Mark had touched it.

He and Lupin continued creeping swiftly through the inky darkness, Severus with his forearm dragging along the damp walls in search of hidden openings. What felt like an eternity passed, and they were no closer to locating the torch. Severus glanced over his shoulder and saw Lupin also beginning to look frustrated. He agreed; they were running out of time.

They had been attempting to make their way through without magic, but Severus decided that if Death Eaters were strolling through the halls chatting about battles going on, they must think themselves very secure indeed.

And no wonder, seeing as we have been wandering in the dark for an hour and haven't the faintest idea where the torch is or where we even happen to be.

Enough was enough. Severus drew his wand. "Reperio," he whispered, thinking of Lucius Malfoy. Surely if the Dark Lord had gone in person to chase after Dumbledore, he would leave either Malfoy or Bellatrix Lestrange in charge.

He was in luck: a ball of green light emerged from the wand and began floating ahead of them. He and Lupin hurried after it, ducking through walls that turned out to be corridors and up staircases so steep they seemed to defy the laws of physics. And always up.

Severus supposed it was to be expected that the Dark Lord would have that torch of his secreted at the very top of this bloody temple. Both of them were breathing heavily when they finally spotted light coming down from the top of one of the stairways. This is it, Severus mouthed at Lupin. He ended the Seek Spell, and they crept more slowly upward.

Voices were drifting through the doorway at the top. Severus recognized Lucius Malfoy's. "Place your wagers, gentlemen!"

"Two hours, Lucius."

"Four."

"You're mad, Goyle, look at him! He won't last three!"

Severus looked quickly at Lupin; he was now moving very stiffly, a look in his eyes even darker than what Severus had seen the day Fudge tried to take Potter. This look promised murder for the speakers in the room atop the stairs. Casting wagers on how long it would take a werewolf's cub to die…that lot would be lucky not to get their throats ripped out.

On the other hand, concentrating on more pressing matters, Severus had heard three voices speaking, and their jovial tones indicated the absence of the Dark Lord. Even on those rare occasions when he was in a good mood, the Dark Lord's followers never relaxed in his presence. So at least three people were up there, perhaps more. At least it's a safe assumption Bella isn't there. She'd be laughing loudest of all—probably.

Severus and Lupin were pressed against the walls as they gained the top of the stairs. Lupin's nostrils flared, no doubt employing the werewolf senses that were growing with the approaching full moon, and he raised a hand to Snape: four fingers. Four Death Eaters: Malfoy, Goyle, Rookwood from the sound of it, and a fourth who had not spoken. And there was no way of knowing how many more were in this dark temple beyond that chamber.

But the light streaming into the stairwell flickered faintly green; all that mattered was the torch. Even with Dumbledore's efforts, the odds of either of them making it back out of the Fortress alive were not exactly favorable. Severus braced himself, saw Lupin do the same, and peered into the room.

Just in time for Rookwood to look up. "OY!"

Snape and Lupin sprang through the doorway, already taking aim as the black-robed wizards leapt to their feet. "Petrificus Totalis!" Lupin yelled, sending Lucius toppling over.

"Avada Kedavra!" Severus removed Rookwood from the Dark Lord's ranks permanently.

Goyle dove for cover behind a stone bench, and the fourth Death Eater, Dolohov, vanished through a second doorway into the darkness. Damn!

But Lupin was keeping Goyle pinned down, and they had at least a few seconds until Dolohov brought reinforcements. Severus was facing a wide stone window, from which a cold, damp fog had drifted in, flickering green from a source of light behind him. Turning quickly, he headed for a raised section of floor where the green flame torch burned—with the apparition of a pallid, fever-wracked teenager lying just in front of it. From the look of things, Rookwood had been right: unless the torch was destroyed and the link to the Dark Lord severed, Harry Potter would not survive three more hours.

Blasting a chunk of stone from Goyle's bench shield, Lupin yelled, "Do it!"

Severus reached into his robes and pulled out the two vials. Uncorking the red one, he stepped past Potter's translucent form to stand directly in front of the torch. Raising the red vial, he intoned, "Flesh and blood of living and dead, of beast and man, of magic and mundane, mingle now with this blood spell and make it impure, let all bonds be severed, all links broken, let the dark chain be shattered!"

He raised the blood potion and smashed the entire vial through the green flames into the bowl of the torch. There was a cry of agony that sent him spinning around; the apparition of Harry Potter was flickering as the potion took effect, but the boy was writhing and screaming in pain. The racket had distracted Goyle long enough for Lupin to stun him, and the werewolf was visibly restraining himself from touching Potter.

Blood-red sparks were roaring from the green flames, and a streak of dazzling light emanated from each side—right where Potter and the Dark Lord's blood had been smeared. Then it seemed to ooze off the torch metal, and the green flames died for good as blood spattered to the floor. A splash of black potion sent the torch slumping toward the stones like a melting candle.

Snape let out the breath he'd been holding. It had worked. It had actually worked. Whatever came next, they had succeeded in what mattered—"Severus!"

At Lupin's horrified gasp, Severus turned and froze: no. No.

Something had gone wrong. Horribly, catastrophically wrong.

Lying upon the cold, damp stones of the Fortress of Shadows, the headquarters of the Dark Lord in this haven of black magic was Harry Potter—as real and solid as Lupin and Severus. His face was pasty and sweaty with fever, and he was moaning softly, obviously still violently ill even though the Dark Lord's ability to continue afflicting him from a distance had been neutralized. And the odds of even the two hale and healthy wizards in the room making it out of this place alive were slim!

Severus stared in disbelief. "Bloody hell. What now?" he muttered.

Lupin shook off his own shock and despair and tore his eyes from the boy. "Let's move, Severus. Dying here is no longer an option."

He was pocketing his wand and reaching toward the boy when an unearthly howl made them both freeze in surprise, then a gleeful voice from the entryway they had come by shrieked, "Expositum Bestia!"

A jet of white light—like moonlight—hit Lupin directly in the face and seemed to spread to surround his body. The man barely had time to cry, "NO!"before he shuddered and twisted out of human form.

Bellatrix Lestrange giggled, her wand in one hand and some kind of leather strap in the other. "Hope he enjoys his dinner!" she said to Snape, and ducked out of sight as he threw a frantic curse at her. Then he heard her grunting and struggling with something; whatever dark creature she had on that leash, it was at least keeping her occupied.

Severus turned around and froze where he was as the werewolf took shape. "Shit!" The creature was two feet from the helpless boy, already looking down at him. No hex worked on a werewolf; Severus knew that from experience. Even if he managed to throw himself in front of Potter, there would be no one left to take the boy to safety. In desperation, he grabbed the half-melted green flame torch and lunged forward, swinging it wildly.

The werewolf yelped in pain as the hard metal struck him in the face, but then he swiped at Severus, who barely had time to raise the torch to protect himself before he was flung into a wall. The torch clattered through the doorway, and from the sound of it, hit Bella and sent her crashing down the stairs. Snape was trying to clamber back to his feet, despairing, as the werewolf returned its attention to the defenseless Potter.

As it started back toward the boy, the mist drifting in from the forest seemed to swirl between the creature and its prey. Before Severus had a chance to gasp, the haze coalesced into the form of a woman with long hair, her arms stretched out from her sides like an ancient gatekeeper, barring the werewolf's path. The creature faltered, its growl changing to a yelp of surprise, and another figure appeared in the mist, kneeling beside the boy.

Snape swallowed hard at the sight of James and Lily Potter, trying to make objective sense of it all. Apparently, the effects of the Pillar of Storgé were much more lingering than he had realized. James touched Harry's face, and the boy's fitful moans died at once. Then, as Severus had been dreading, the shade turned and looked at him.

Why are you looking at me like that! he thought, trying to escape the feelings churning in his stomach by taking refuge in anger. Why can't you leave me in peace; what could you possibly want from me now?

It was a rhetorical question, of course. Severus knew precisely what James Potter wanted.

In the meantime, the werewolf was, astonishingly, backing away from the ghostly woman. He cowered from her outstretched hand, then the monster's form shrank back into a man's, and Lupin sagged to the ground, staring in shock at the shade before him. "Lily!"

Both shades smiled at him and vanished back into the mist. Snape crossed the floor and hurriedly assisted Lupin to his feet. "Come on. Lestrange will be back soon."

"What—was—that?" he groaned, peering out the window into the fog.

"Imprints from the Pillar of Storgé—come on, Lupin!"

The man staggered to his feet, turned back toward the dais—and froze, staring past Snape's shoulder with absolute disbelief on his face. "Oh my God!"

Bloody hell, NOW what! Severus turned as well, and felt his innards turn to mush. It was not possible. It was…not…possible!

It couldn't be possible!

But there it was.

The shade of James Potter must have imparted some strength into his ailing son, for a moment ago, Severus wouldn't have expected the boy to be able to lift a finger.

He was lifting his hand now, his eyes still glassy and bright with illness, but there was a weak smile on Harry Potter's face as he stroked the neck of a huge, black, bear-like dog. Standing over Potter, the animal looked thin and bedraggled, trailing a leather leash from a solid metal collar around its neck. But it nudged and licked the boy's hand as though it were his best friend.

Lupin started forward; Severus came to his senses and grabbed the man's arm. "Lupin. That's not Black. That cannot possibly be Black."

To his relief, the werewolf's brains hadn't been addled by Bella's spell or Lily Potter's shade. Lupin shuddered once and pulled out his wand, aiming at the dog. "Get away from him! Get away!"

The dog looked up and whined piteously, but when Lupin started menacingly toward it, it scurried away. The boy moaned in groggy protest, reaching after it. Severus kept his own wand trained on the animal (ignoring the niggling little thought that for an animal, it seemed to recognize wand threats rather well) as Lupin crossed the floor and swept Potter into his arms. "Where do we go from here?"

The dog barked once. As they watched, it ran to the second doorway, the one Dolohov had taken, then looked back at them and wagged its tail. Lupin hesitated and whispered, "Severus…" in a voice fairly shaking with hope.

Severus Snape, former Death Eater, was not in the business of hope. And even if he were, he would not be hoping for this. "Lupin, use your head. It's not— "

"It looks exactly like him!"

Potter wasn't helping; still stirring in the werewolf's arms and moaning, "Sirius…" Lupin's eyes filled.

"Black is dead, Lupin," Snape hissed savagely. "This could easily be a trick!" Damn it, man, come to your senses! Do you want the boy to survive this or not!

Lupin shook his head. "Fine. Then do we follow his—its—lead or not?"

"We—"

Feet were pounding up the stairs that Bellatrix had fallen down. The two of them looked at each other, then Lupin muttered, "Lead on, Snuffles," and headed for the second door. Snape followed, gritting his teeth.

The dog led them down yet another flight of stairs, steep and dark. Severus listened hard for any signs of pursuit behind or ambush ahead, not trusting Lupin to think clearly anymore. But the only sounds were their frantic steps and the dog's panting. That CANNOT be Black!

Off the narrow stairs, they were racing around a corner into a downward-sloping corridor when the dog suddenly turned and snapped its jaws at them. "What—" Lupin began, but the dog scurried up to the wall and whined softly.

It was then that they heard running footsteps again, in a branch of corridor very close. The dog had heard them first; his yellow eyes gleamed at them in the dark as they huddled low against the wall to let the searchers pass. The dog bared its teeth at Snape, a look that might almost be described as smug. No. NO. It is…not…Black!

Potter suddenly moaned, making both men and dog jump, and he strained in Lupin's arms. "Sirius…"

The dog sidled closer to Lupin, its eyes fixed on the boy, but Lupin put a hand on Potter's forehead and whispered, "Durmius." Potter went limp and silent, and the dog whined very softly before starting back down the corridor again, its head hangng.

As they walked, Lupin murmured, "Severus…Harry reported that Voldemort and the others were performing some kind of experimental spell on the veil in the Death Chamber."

Merlin's beard. He'd forgotten about that. What had this "test" involved? And how could Bellatrix…the dog had heard Lupin. It turned to the werewolf and let out an excited yip, wagging its tail.

Severus swore savagely under his breath, thinking, Merlin's bloody beard, does no one have the decency to STAY DEAD anymore! Lupin made a strangled noise, blinking rapidly.

"Keep your head, man," Snape muttered. The dog bared its teeth at him. They had come to a bare stretch of wall. The dog yipped again, this time at Snape, and nudged the wall with its nose. Snape glowered at it. "What is it you want?"

The dog growled, but walked over to Severus, reared up on its hind legs and very deliberately smacked his left arm with a paw. Then it stalked back over to the wall and nudged it again. Snape sighed. Even with all the spells and Dark Arts (and creativity) at the Death Eaters' disposal, it seemed a rather remote possibility that they would have taught this dog how to explain to Snape how to use his Dark Mark to open a hidden passage.

"Sirius!" Lupin choked out. The dog whined again, looking not at the werewolf, but at the unconscious boy in his arms. When it looked at Potter, its yellow eyes seemed almost human.

Cursing under his breath, Severus stormed over to the wall and pressed the Dark Mark against it. Another corridor appeared, with light at the end. "Let's go."

They broke into a jog, smelling dap, rotting vegetation ahead instead of mold and stone. "Sirius," whispered Lupin as he shifted Potter. "We have to find the mountain."

The dog actually nodded, wagging his tail, and ran ahead, darting past the end of the corridor into a broad entryway, with dark boles of trees visible without. But then there was a shout of female laughter, followed by a gleeful shriek of, "Crucio!"

Lupin swore furiously, pulling quickly to the side of the corridor with Potter as the dog howled piteously and collapsed. Jeers and Bellatrix Lestrange's shrieks of laughter echoed in the stone walls, eventually dying down to the point where the dog's whimpers made Lupin press his face into the boy's hair. "What's this, doggy?" Bella cooed. "Trying to get out again? Oohhh, did your friends not trust you to lead them? Did they leave you all alone? Poor little thing! Crucio!"

As the howling filled the corridor again, Snape caught Lupin's eyes and moved in front of them, his wand ready. The only chance they had was to get past Bella and her lackeys into the Forest where the shadows might shield them long enough to make their escape to the mountain. Assuming they were headed in the mountain's direction. And hope the dog is able to follow so Lupin doesn't have a coronary.

At the moment, the werewolf was standing behind Severus with a frantic expression, his gaze darting from the entryway where the dog was to the unconscious teenager in his arms. He knew what it might come down to. But Snape braced himself and saw Lupin do the same. When the Cruciatus Curse was shouted a third time, and the dog's howls and Death Eaters' laughter filled the air, Snape struck.

Leaping into the corridor, he launched curses at every black robe he saw, buying Lupin an opening to sprint across the entryway with Potter. The werewolf gained the trees just as Bellatrix and Dolohov recovered and counter-attacked, forcing Snape to back off his own scramble for the exit. The dog lay whimpering on the stones. "How did you get here?" Dolohov sneered.

"A little bird told me," Snape replied.

"Dumbledore's little bird. So that's what the Auror attack was about. Stupefy! And Dumbledore risking himself to draw the Dark Lord from here. Tut-tut. Crucio! He won't be pleased with you, Severus."

As the effort of dodging and shielding against their combined efforts began to wear him down, Snape gritted his teeth. All that mattered was Lupin getting to the mountain with Potter—although they probably had less than twenty-four hours before the full moon. Severus suspected that for himself, this was it, as a curse caught him in the side and threw him to the ground, his wand rolling toward the exit.

Bellatrix squealed like a schoolwitch in Honeydukes and started toward him. "Our master's rage over this disaster may be blunted quite a bit when we present you to him! You've been a very bad boy, Sev—AAUUUGH!"

The dog had been weakly crawling to its feet while Dolohov and Bellatrix concentrated on dueling Snape, but as Bellatrix moved in for the coup de grâce, it gathered itself and leapt directly onto her, snarling savagely. She toppled over, screaming, as Dolohov jumped back in surprise and tried to hex the dog without hitting her, and Severus seized his chance. He staggered to his feet and lunged for the exit, grabbing his wand as he went, then ran for all he was worth into the trees.

"Severus!" hissed a voice, and he found Lupin waiting with Potter in his arms.

"You should have gone, you fool!" he said furiously, grabbing the werewolf by the arm and pulling him along.

"Wait!" Lupin said frantically, looking back at the Fortress entrance. "What about Sirius!" The dog's savage barks and snarls could still be heard, along with Bellatrix's screams and Dolohov's apparently-ineffective curses.

"There's no time!" Snape hissed, pulling at him again. Lupin still faltered, so Severus yanked as hard as he could, forcing the man to look at him. "We can't wait for him!" He glanced over his shoulder, and felt a rush of real, honest relief, and some funny little twinge that might have been hope: above the black canopy, he could just see the silver glow of a mountain, rising beyond the forest's edge, a long-but-not-impossible walk away. He looked back at Lupin, who was still staring at the pyramid slope of the Fortress of Shadows.

"Lupin, are you prepared to sacrifice Potter for Black, assuming that is in fact him?" Lupin recoiled, mute horror on his face. Severus seized that weapon and drove it home. "We have no time for this! The boy or the dog, Lupin! Choose now!"

The man's face crumpled, and he looked back once more at the entry, visibly willing the dog to come bounding out now. But then, with a stifled groan of actual pain, he turned away, shifted Potter's limp form in his arms, and broke into a run through the trees. Snape kept pace with him in spite of the pain in his side from Dolohov's jinx, and they dashed away from from the Fortress into the silence of the Forest of Shadows, the only sound coming from their pounding feet and Lupin's ragged, stifled sobs.

Severus and Lupin had no idea what potential threats or traps the Forest of Shadows might have in store for them as they sprinted beneath its canopy, but in some silent, mutual agreement, they decided that no dark creature or ancient magic lurking in the Forest could deliver a fate worse than Harry Potter winding up back in the hands of the Dark Lord. Potter was still unconscious, either due to Lupin's Sleeping Charm or lingering effect of the illness. At least they could be certain the Dark Lord could no longer affect the boy physically from a distance. On the other hand, they were now running like mad through a cold, damp forest with a sick child still clad in damp clothes and bare feet. Yes, that was certainly conducive to Potter's health!

But they ran on, both staggering and exhausted, each in pain from assorted injuries, with the knowledge of what would befall themselves, the boy, and the entire wizarding world if they should fail weighing them down like lead weights around their necks. They made little attempt at stealth; it was a foregone conclusion that the Forest itself would be on the side of the Dark Lord if they were caught, so their only chance was to beat the Death Eaters to the mountain.

Neither man had any real idea what magical properties the mountain possessed, but it was a well-known legend as old as the Fortress's unknown creators that those who had been able to escape it might find refuge on the mountain. And that was as good a plan as any.

Beside Severus, Lupin grunted and staggered, nearly dropping his burden. Snape slowed, exhausted himself, but the werewolf looked nearly spent. And there was another problem: what to do if they were still out here in twenty-four hours when the full moon rose. Lupin would have to separate from them, and Severus would have to find somewhere to secret himself and the boy and hope the werewolf wouldn't find them.

Still, one thing at a time, and all that. He could worry about that tomorrow night after they'd gone about the business of surviving tonight. Severus stopped Lupin and said quietly, "Give him to me."

Lupin blinked, his grip tightening on the boy. "I can manage," he said.

Heaven save me from werewolves with paternal instinct! "For God's sake, man, you can barely stay upright. Your bloody moon rises tomorrow, let me carry Potter!" Snape growled. Heaving an annoyed sigh, he added tightly, "I won't eat him."

Apparently, that had been the foremost concern on Lupin's mind. But he could not deny Snape's logic, and slowly nodded, kneeling to carefully shift the unconscious boy from his own arms to Snape's. Severus frowned to himself; Potter was much lighter than he'd thought—much, much lighter than a healthy sixteen-year-old ought to be. It was easier than expected to shift the boy's weight so he could rise and continue walking; feeling Lupin's eyes on him, he did so gently. What did the man think, that Severus was going to start torturing the child the moment his back was turned? Glaring at the werewolf, he continued at a walk. They wouldn't be able to run all the way to the mountain anyway.

"How much further, do you think?" Lupin said quietly.

Snape craned his neck to gauge the proximity of the silver slopes, and the stars above it. "We may reach it by dawn, assuming we aren't waylaid."

"Then what?"

"I don't know."

To his surprise, Lupin had been thinking about the approaching dilemma as well. "In any case, if we haven't made it out of here by tomorrow night, I'll leave Harry with you and get as lost as I can before moonrise."

"You might do well to return to the Forest so you can harass any pursuers we may have."

"I haven't seen any signs," said Lupin, then he chorused with Snape, "yet." Snape scowled as the werewolf grinned, and looked at the boy again. He was still completely motionless, and Severus could feel the heat of fever from his body. But he did not appear to have any difficulty breathing, and his pulse was steady. "How is he?"

Snape returned his gaze to the trees ahead and shrugged. "Stable for now."

As they trudged on, Lupin said, "Severus…Harry cannot be told about Sirius."

Severus scowled into the darkness. "We don't even know for certain that the dog was Black."

"It was." Lupin sounded as if the words caused him physical pain. "I wasn't certain at first, but…it was. And I left him." He drew in a shaky breath. "Harry can't know."

Severus glanced at him. "What's the matter, afraid your cub will forget all about you now that the mongrel's alive?"

"Drop it for once, Severus!" Lupin snapped. "Lestrange and Voldemort may well kill Sirius before any attempt can be made to save him! Harry cannot know he's their prisoner; you and I both know it would destroy him!"

Their feet rustled over rotting vegetation for several moments before Severus answered, "Relax, Lupin, I won't tell the boy. The last thing we need is him gallivanting off on some other madcap rescue attempt."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lupin shake his head. "Harry loves Sirius. And after all the time you've spent picking at his memories, you know full well what he's gone through since…Sirius's death."

"And what is your point? His decision was still reckless and ill-conceived."

"Because he was willing to die to save Sirius? You and I both made that choice for Harry."

"Potter is a child," Snape said impatiently. Why were they having this conversation?

But Lupin replied, "Harry has lived through more than someone Dumbledore's age."

"Is there a point to this, Lupin?" Severus snapped. "You know perfectly well my opinion of the boy; your doting is not going to change it."

To his greater annoyance, Lupin merely chuckled. "Of course not. But again, Severus, you are not as inscrutable as you would like to think; I wouldn't dream of trying to sway any firm opinion of yours. Fortunately, your opinion of Harry is not nearly so firm as it used to be."

Severus nearly stopped in his tracks, glaring first at Lupin, but then unintentionally glancing down at the boy. "What are you talking about?"

"You and Sirius have something in common, you know. You both have a tendency to mix up your feelings for Harry with your feelings for his father."

Snape's mouth opened in outrage, but he could not seem to form a single coherent thought to express it. That Lupin would even suggest a similarity between himself and that bloody, too-arrogant-to-even-stay-dead mongrel was bad enough, but… "You…he…that arrogant little…Potter…"

"Of which Potter are you speaking, Severus?" Lupin asked blithely. His gaze softened as it fell on the boy. "I've seen you watching him since Washington. He is nothing like James at this age. And you're starting to see that at last, aren't you?"

Severus gritted his teeth and kept walking.

They saw no signs of Death Eaters all night long, but neither was willing to believe that the Dark Lord's forces were not pursuing them. Which begged the question, where were they? As the sky turned gray with approaching dawn, the Forest of Shadows began to thin, almost as if it was wilting toward the edge where the mountain rose up nearest to it. On one hand, this meant that the dark magic which supposedly permeated the Forest was waning; on the other hand, Severus and Lupin had to quicken their pace, feeling exposed in the thinning trees.

The first rays of sunlight erupted defiantly over the Forest's canopy as the two men reached the silver-gray foot of the mountain and began to walk uphill. Severus, anticipating Lupin's inquiry, examined Potter. "There's been little change." He shook his head as they moved out of the cover of the trees; it felt as though something heavy had been lifted away. Fortunately, the slope was not too terribly steep.

"Should we stop and find shelter? See if he improves?" Lupin asked.

Snape looked at the boy again. He was stable for now, but what would hours of continued travel in open, chilly air do? Glancing over his shoulder, Severus eyed the black-green canopy of the Forest of Shadows and the dark gray pyramid hulk of the Fortress rising above it like a gateway to hell. Which, in many respects, it was. He looked up at the mountain before them and sighed. "We'll stop. Keep your eyes open for a cave or any suitable shelter."

It was only minutes before they stumbled across the first cave, but Severus insisted on going further, to prevent them from being easily tracked by Death Eaters. After another hour or so, they discovered the entrance to a cave nearly concealed on the rough, craggy slope by a well-placed boulder. Lupin investigated, and pronounced it safe, so in they went. It was a bare, open chamber in the mountainside, large enough to stand easily, with room for air to move properly. Lupin conjured smokeless fire on the bare stone as Severus laid Potter on the cave floor.

"I wonder if Albus will be able to reach us yet."

"It is possible. At least he is aware that I am alive, and should realize that if I am, so is Potter."

Lupin draped his worn cloak on the ground and eased the boy onto it, conjuring a blanket to cover him. Potter did not stir. "They must be frantic, wondering what happened."

"Dumbledore is not a fool; he will have realized by now what happened," Severus replied, reaching inside his own robes to see if he had any other potions left. Luck was with him; the vials of Restorative Draught and Fever Reducing Potion had survived intact.

"That doesn't mean they won't be worried." Lupin frowned at Severus. "How did this happen? Why did Harry appear here?"

Severus sat back in front of the fire and thought. "We had assumed the torch was nothing more than a conduit, a relay for a connection between the Dark Lord and Potter. Obviously Potter was more strongly connected to the torch itself than we realized. When the link was severed, he appeared fully in the place where the torch was."

Lupin pulled a face. "I suppose one of us should have thought of that."

"Too late." Severus looked from the vials of potion to the boy. "Wake him if you can. If we're going to move again, these draughts need to be in him."

"I'll try." Lupin knelt beside Potter and began rubbing his back gently. "Harry? Harry, can you hear me? Can you wake up? Come on." After a moment, the boy stirred, eyelids fluttering against his pale face. Lupin kept up the litany until Potter's eyes opened.

"Mm? Wha…where…where am I?"

"You're safe," Lupin told him, rubbing the boy's forehead and shooting Severus a look that clearly said, I hope.

Potter turned his face toward the werewolf. "Remus? What's going on? I had…oddest dream."

Lupin forced a smile, still petting him. "I'm not surprised. You gave us quite a scare."

"Where are we?" Potter mumbled. His glassy gaze traveled over the cave walls, the fire, and came to rest on Severus.

"We're in a cave on the mountain beyond the Forest of Shadows. We brought you out of the Fortress," Lupin said.

The boy's eyes widened, and he actually tried to sit up. "Remus—"

"Harry! Easy, there!" Lupin exclaimed, holding him still. "You've been seriously ill."

"But, wait, you don't under—I saw…" the boy babbled. Lupin shot Snape a desperate glance, but Potter trailed off, his face falling. "Or was…was it a dream? I can't…I thought…Sirius…" he shook his head in groggy confusion.

Lupin looked appealingly at Severus, who rolled his eyes. Can't bear to lie outright to your cub, so Big Bad Snape has to do it. Nonetheless, he said aloud, "You have been confused for almost two days, Potter. You were dreaming."

Potter blinked at him, visibly deflating. Looking up at Lupin, he misinterpreted the werewolf's hunched shoulders and lowered head. "Oh. I guess…sorry."

"Don't apologize, Harry," Lupin said quietly.

Snape pushed the vials toward them. "Give him all of these."

Taking a deep breath, Lupin nodded and lifted Potter into a sitting position. The boy was too weak to even complain about being treated like an invalid—which made sense, seeing that he was. He swallowed the various potions with his head resting on Lupin's shoulder. "Are we…home soon?" he mumbled drowsily.

"Just as soon as you're up to it," Lupin said, putting an arm around the boy's shoulders. "Try and rest. Everything will be fine."

"Mm…wish…hadn't been…dream. Thought I…saw…Sirius…" Potter drifted off as Lupin rested his cheek against the boy's hair, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Get a grip on yourself," Snape muttered irritably. The whole scene was so cloying it turned his stomach. For every parent/surrogate parent of Potter's that bought it, there seemed to always be three or four fighting for the honor of replacing them.

Silence descended. Potter was so heavily asleep that Severus doubted he would have heard a bomb go off. Lupin stared at the fire, or at the cave entrance, or, even more insufferably, at Severus. Snape wished they could get out of there and move on, but knew it would be a foolish risk to move Potter now. Better to let his condition improve still more before attempting it.

"How's your side?" the werewolf startled him by asking.

"Well enough," he said, shrugging. Better than it would have been if Bella had managed to hit me.

Lupin watched him for a moment in an annoyingly understanding fashion, and finally said, "Why not get some sleep? I'll keep watch."

"Don't be ridiculous—" he began, but Lupin interrupted.

"Stop being contrary, Severus, we both know it's too dangerous to move Harry before nightfall—and come nightfall it will be too dangerous for either of you to leave here." The werewolf shifted Potter back down in front of the fire, bundling part of the cloak beneath his head. Severus could only grit his teeth at the undeniable truth of it. The boy's condition was still far from stable; it would be folly to risk more travel today. They were stuck here for at least twenty-four hours, with one werewolf soon-to-be on the prowl and who knew how many Death Eaters.

Scowling at Lupin, he muttered, "Very well. Wake me well before dark." Lupin nodded. Severus did not expect to be able to sleep well sitting back against the cave wall knowing what might be lurking outside, but apparently he was more weary than he realized.

Severus woke to a quiet call of his name and found Lupin peering out the cave entrance. The few rays of sunlight that came into the small space were now on the opposite wall from the one they'd struck when Severus had gone to sleep. Potter did not look to have moved a muscle. "I must be going soon," said Lupin. He frowned at the still-slumbering Potter. "I don't supposed you happened to be carrying any food?"

"Vitalizing Potion will serve for a time," said Severus, holding up the two remaining vials that had survived the various scuffles. "Water is the more pressing need."

"I took a look around just outside, but there's nothing in view."

And no time to search further. Severus glanced at the boy. At best, he was facing a long, tense night trapped in a cave with a hungry, thirsty, and highly-obnoxious teenager (who would doubtless be fretting over the werewolf's whereabouts all night long.) At worst, the boy was already ill enough that any dehydration would be serious.

But there was nothing he could do about it tonight. Severus gruffly waved Lupin off. "I'll manage. Put some distance between yourself and the cave."

Lupin hesitated in the entrance, his gaze flitting from Severus to Potter. "Severus, will you…"

"For God's sake, yes, I'll take care of him!" Severus snapped. "Now go!"

With one last, intense stare at Potter as though trying to memorize him, Lupin slipped out into the fading afternoon sun.

When the first shaft of moonlight slipped past the obscuring boulder into the cave, Severus heard the howl. Fortunately, it was some distance away.

Potter woke about an hour later, more alert than last time. Severus watched him stir and toss until he came round, groggy and blinking those bloody green Evans eyes. "Professor? Where's Remus?"

"Out. The moon is full," Snape told him shortly. "How do you feel?"

The boy managed to sit up on his own, to Snape's surprise. "Better," he said. He swallowed and grimaced. "Thirsty."

Naturally. All the same, he had to concede, the boy probably was slightly dehydrated. Severus pushed one of the vials at him. "Drink that."

The potion seemed to have an effect, for the boy's eyes brightened from the fevered haze of the past few days. Severus managed not to roll his eyes at the predictable barrage of questions Potter unleashed. "What happened? How'd we get here? Why was I so sick? Where's—"

"Potter!" Severus snapped, and he subsided. "What happened is the Dark Lord used the green flame torch to make a concerted attack on your physical self to the point where you would have died had we not severed the connection. Lupin and I came to the Fortress to do so, but destroying the torch caused you to appear there. We were forced to escape with you through the Forest."

Severus hadn't intended to be so forthcoming, and Potter too looked surprised that he had answered, but at least he visibly bit back further questions. Instead, to Snape's bemused surprise, he looked away and muttered, "Thanks."

Severus scowled at the fire. "Go back to sleep. I want you rested so we can move again in the morning."

"What about Remus?"

"He will rejoin us when he is in no danger of killing us," Severus said indifferently. The boy still looked rebellious, but eventually curled back up beside the fire and closed his eyes.

Severus surreptitiously left his watching post at the front of the cave and walked over to check on him. The boy seemed to be breathing easily enough, but Severus doubted the improvements would continue if they were stuck out here for any great length of time. He had one vial of Vitalizing Potion left, which might get Potter through another day, but beyond that, especially without water…he shook his head and scowled.

Things just couldn't be simple, he reasoned as he paced back to the cave entrance. It wasn't enough to be on the run from Death Eaters on some godforsaken mountain with a sick child, but his former partner had gone hunting, and they had no way of contacting the Headmaster from here. He would simply have to hope Albus could find them via the other torch; that might be the only chance of speeding their rescue at this point.

And to his even greater irritation, he could not seem to honestly blame Potter.

If it weren't for that stupid child's presence, we could have kept traveling and perhaps crossed the mountain by now. But none of them had foreseen that destroying the green flame torch would cause Potter to rematerialize in the Fortress, rather than in the hospital wing.

If Potter hadn't run off to Hogsmeade, we might have had more warning. But Draco Malfoy had told them Potter wasn't expected by the Death Eaters in Hogsmeade. If they hadn't realized he was missing, they might not have been able to respond to the attack in time to save lives. After all, Potter's was not the only life at stake here.

If Potter weren't so insufferably full of himself, perhaps he'd notice that… But Snape's treacherous mind returned to the hospital wing, to the sight of the boy when the Dark Lord had made his final, potentially-fatal attack through the torch and wracked Potter's body with fever. As the boy slept, curled up beneath Lupin's conjured blanket, Severus found himself recalling involuntarily the delirious mutterings in the hospital wing:

"Remus, sorry, I…got Sirius killed, I didn't mean…sorry…Ron, Hermione, in…danger…because of me…sorry…trying…so stupid, I shouldn've gone…there…sorry…I'm…sorry…"

James Potter was never like that, even when he did get his friends into trouble. No matter how Severus tried to force it down, that knowledge was inescapable. The one time James Potter had ever shown any second thoughts about anything had been that so-called prank involving Lupin (how sickeningly ironic, given our present circumstances!) and even after that, he'd laughed it off. Sirius Black and James Potter had laughed at everything.

In that respect, he had to admit, Harry Potter was quite different. At least lately. Severus wasn't blind; as irritating as it was, he'd noticed the boy's deterioration under the onslaught, and only part of it had to do with the Dark Lord's continuous assault via the torch. One rather startling change that Severus had noticed was that the boy's features no longer bore so striking a resemblance to either of his parents. Among other things, chronic illness had left him far thinner and paler than James Potter ever was, and lacking the elder Potter's swagger.

Well, truth be told, Harry Potter had never quite possessed that most-obnoxious trait of his father's—but that certainly didn't mean the boy wasn't full of himself! Severus glared accusingly at the sleeping teenager and turned around to look out the cave entrance again.

But he couldn't seem to stop contemplating the changes he had noticed. No, Harry's face was no longer so stark a copy of James's, but more startling still were his eyes. Lily Evans's eyes. Perhaps seeing them yet again last night had brought it to Snape's mind; no longer were Harry Potter's eyes precisely like his mother's. Even before he'd been ill, the boy's eyes had taken on a haunted, empty look that Severus could not begin to imagine seeing in Lily Evans' eyes.

And heaven knows neither Evans nor Potter ever began to imagine what awaited their son.

Now where had that thought come from, he wondered irritably.

It did not bode well for anything. Severus wasn't blind, and he was not a fool. All the clues, Dumbledore's actions, the Dark Lord's actions, recent events, and the boy's disposition of late pointed to one explanation, something Severus had always suspected after hearing Dumbledore's altered prophecy.

He probably should have guessed it long before this year: Harry Potter was the only one who could defeat the Dark Lord.

It explained the Dark Lord's obsession. It certainly explained Dumbledore's obsession. It explained the existence of the prophecy, and the way Potter had acted since the Department of Mysteries, as though he were carrying the weight of a few giants on his shoulders.

Severus Snape despised self-pity, and yet…everyone who had stood their ground against the Dark Lord—everyone who did not have a Potter jump in front of them, that is—had died. Harry Potter was apparently fated to stand his ground against the Dark Lord…and he was fresh out of parents to die for him.

Severus didn't envy the child now—not that he ever had, of course!

No, when it came to it, all the heroic feats Harry Potter had supposedly accomplished were more cases of unlikely rescue than any great brilliance on the boy's part. Potter possessed no truly remarkable skills—other than Parseltongue and Quidditch…and luck. And an endless stream of followers who were always willing to throw themselves in front of Killing Curses for him.

Severus shook his head to himself. Harry Potter was no great hero, he'd known that all along, just an ordinary child with a scar who did not deserve all the fawning he received.

And who doesn't deserve all the attention he's received from the Dark Lord either. The thought slipped out before Severus could check it.

Movement in the back of the cave caught his eye; Potter was tossing in his sleep, trying to burrow further beneath the blanket. The night air was cold; Severus conjured another blanket and raised the temperature of the fire. Draping the extra cover over Potter, he felt the boy's forehead. Still warm, but not burning. Good. Once the child stopped shivering, Severus returned to the front of the cave, glancing back only now and then. He still disliked seeing Potter unconscious, it reminded him…

Perhaps I should have sabotaged the green flame torch to begin with. He glared into the darkness, but the thought would not be suppressed: he had made the torch. It might have been a design of Salazar Slytherin, but it could not have been used successfully without Severus Snape's skill. If he had acted sooner, rather than biding his time as always, they might not have wound up in this predicament. Stop thinking like a stupid Gryffindor!

The moon was directly overhead when the attack came. Hearing no sounds of searchers and the occasional howl well in the distance had lulled Severus into complacency. Standing in the entryway of the cave engaged in maudlin musings about his least favorite student, he had forgotten the other ways that the Dark Lord's followers might pursue them. Stupidly, he stood there in the mouth of their shelter listening for the approach of humans…and completely missed the rat that slipped past him into the cave.

A rustle brought Severus spinning around and diving to avoid a Killing Curse thrown by Peter Pettigrew. He scrambled to his feet, and the two wizards faced off. Pettigrew was between Severus and the boy. "Don't be a fool, Severus," he hissed. "You can't fight the Dark Lord's aims forever!"

"Move away from him," Snape warned, training his wand on the smaller man.

"Stupefy!"

"Avada Kedavra!" Wormtail dodged Snape's Killing Curse and grabbed the unconscious Potter, using the boy as a shield. "DROP HIM!" Severus roared.

"I'll kill him!" Pettigrew threatened.

But as it turned out, Potter wasn't unconscious. Neither Severus nor Wormtail saw the rock clutched in the boy's hand until he twisted and bashed it into Wormtail's head. Wormtail squealed like the rat he was and dropped both boy and wand, and Potter scrambled away after it. But that inadvertently put him between Pettigrew and Snape's wand.

"Potter, down!" Severus bellowed, charging forward. The boy dropped without hesitating, but Pettigrew pounced on him, grappling past him for the wand. Potter struggled, but wasn't strong enough to keep the healthy wizard off, and Wormtail snatched up the wand and fired off a curse that caught Severus in the shoulder.

"Professor!" he heard Potter shout as he fell to his knees, then Wormtail's scream brought him out of the dazed pain.

Potter had somehow managed to twist his body sideways—landing Wormtail right in the fire. Shrieking, Pettigrew lurched upright, batting at the flames with one hand, and grabbing Potter by the throat with the other—the silver hand.

"No!" Severus shouted, raising his wand, but Wormtail wrenched the gasping boy in front of him.

"Drop it!" he cried.

Severus did not move. "I will kill you, Pettigrew," he growled.

Wormtail was breathing heavily and sweating in the chilly air. "Not before I break his neck," he quavered. His own wand lay several feet away where it had fallen. "Drop your wand and back away!"

"Don't!" Potter hissed at Snape, but Wormtail's grip tightened, cutting off his breath. He thrashed and clawed at the silver hand to no avail, and his green eyes began to glaze.

"Enough!" Severus bellowed as the boy's legs buckled. He dropped his wand and backed off.

Wormtail hauled Potter forward and picked up the wand before loosening the choke hold. The boy doubled over, gasping frantically, and as his weight pulled Pettigrew off balance, Severus dove for the other wand. A curse impacted the floor, just missing him, as he grabbed Wormtail's wand and returned fire. With his silver hand, Pettigrew hurled Potter against the cave wall. The boy slammed into the unyielding stone and dropped to the floor in a limp heap. Severus snarled in rage and threw curse after curse at Wormtail until he knocked the treacherous little man to the floor, then roared, "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

He did not miss, and Pettigrew did not raise his wand. Instead, he flung out his silver hand, and the jet of green light struck it—and rebounded off it. Severus had no time to wonder, but leapt behind a stalagmite, which was promptly blown to pieces. Before he had a chance to move again, Wormtail fired off a Reductor Curse at the ceiling over his head, dropping what felt like a mountain's worth of rock down on him. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around his head and curled into a ball, wincing as debris pummeled him.

When it was over, he lay in the rubble, ears ringing and head pounding, he heard a scuffle, and Potter's voice. "Expelli—ah!" There was the harsh sound of a blow, then nothing but ragged breathing.

"Get up."

"No! Get off!" Severus struggled to make his leaden limbs respond as he heard Pettigrew strike Potter again, cutting off the boy's protests. It seemed doubtful that the still-ailing child could put up much of a fight, but Severus could hear the other wizard grunting as he dragged Potter out into the night.

At length, Severus extracted himself from the debris and found—to his amazement—no broken bones, only incredibly painful bruising. It is truly a wonder that Pettigrew has stayed alive in the Dark Lord's service; he is so hopelessly incompetent.

Clearly, Severus had been left for dead, which meant Pettigrew might not be fearing pursuit. On the other hand, he had Potter, he had Snape's wand, he had who-knew-how-many Death Eaters awaiting him, and they all had a werewolf to contend with. With a groan, Severus pulled himself to his feet and slipped out the entrance. Looking carefully past the boulder, he saw no sign of Wormtail or the boy. Severus closed his eyes.

This would be difficult without a wand, but he would have to manage if he wanted to find them. Concentrating with all his strength on the boy, he whispered, "Reperio."

He opened his eyes to see a faint point of light hovering in the air in front of him, and as he watched, it floated off over the rocky slope. Severus followed.

The Seek Spell led him in a swerving course along the mountainside until Severus was very puzzled: why hadn't Pettigrew taken Potter straight off the mountain? He hadn't heard the werewolf for some time, and assuming Pettigrew knew Lupin was out there, they'd be no safer on the mountain slope than in the Forest of Shadows.

But the spell kept going, and Severus stealthily kept after it. Dragging an unwilling or unconscious teenager would be enough to slow Wormtail down, and Severus needed the element of surprise. If he could catch them before Wormtail reached any allies—where were the others!—he had a chance of getting the boy back before he suffered any further injuries.

He glanced at the stars. It was around two in the morning. Dangerous hours of moonlight left. Damn! His Seek Spell was slowing down, which meant he must be close. That was one of the more complicated feats of wandless magic he'd managed; at any other time, he would have been pleased. But at this moment, all his concentration lay in avoiding detection as he crept around a rocky outcropping.

Severus stopped, staring in surprise. Nestled on the mountainside was a house, a large house built in Greek or Roman style made of the same gray stone as the mountain. Why anyone would want to live on this barren rock was beyond him—but somehow he doubted this was somebody's summer home. The whisper of old magic that scented the air of the mountain seemed to grow stronger here, and it looked as if the building had been uninhabited for a long time. His instincts warned him to be wary of this place, yet something else seemed to call him forward to find what he sought…and overriding all other factors was the dim flicker of fire in one of the lower windows. The Seek Spell had halted. The boy was here, and that meant Severus would venture into the house, whatever it contained.

He was just starting to creep around the outcropping toward the next hiding place when a scream of agony pierced the cold air. Severus knew from painful experience the only curse that could always prompt such a cry, and his stomach clenched in a surge of fury that surprised him even as it took him. Pettigrew, you bloody bastard!

He began creeping as fast as he could from one concealing boulder to another, ducking behind outcroppings and staying low to the ground, intent on getting to the house as soon as possible. He could see no sign of movement from the other windows, but he knew that did not mean Pettigrew and Potter were the only ones inside. But then the boy cried out again, and he sprinted toward the window where the fire burned and crouched below it, listening to the voices within.

"Damn you!" Pettigrew was ranting, in a savage voice that made Snape's blood run cold. He much preferred Wormtail the Whimpering Wastrel. "Nothing ever goes right for my master and me with you! Do you know how much trouble you've caused me!"

Potter, his voice rough with pain, retorted, "Not as much as you caused me by murdering my parents!"

(Slap!) "Shut up! Why can't I get off this bloody mountain!"

Severus blinked. What?

"I told you, I don't know!"

(Slap!) "You're lying, you brat! What is this place! Answer me, or I'll use the other hand!"

Severus pressed his fists against the cold gray stone. He had to be rational…he had to bide his time and wait for the right moment…Touch him again, and you'll pay dearly, Wormtail.

"Look, you can hit me all night—I don't know!" the boy cried. His voice was shaking with pain and anger. Snape took deep breaths to calm down and keep from acting rashly. But it was difficult. He slowly edged up and peered through the window.

Luck, it seemed, was still with him; Wormtail's back was turned. The rat was pacing in jittery frustration around a barren room with a fire burning on the smooth floor. There were several columns rising from floor to ceiling, and in the flickering light, Severus saw Potter's profile next to one of them. He was tightly bound in a standing position with his arms forced behind him around the column. The boy sagged against the ropes, and Severus grimly wondered how much more abuse he could take.

Just then, Pettigrew turned around, and Severus ducked and held his breath as footsteps stalked toward the window. Wormtail aimed his wand outside and tried to send up sparks. Severus frowned in confusion when nothing happened.

Wormtail tried again. "Lumos!" Still nothing. While Severus was confused, the rat became still more infuriated. Spitting, he left the window, and Severus clenched his teeth at the sound of another blow. "What…did…you…do!" Pettigrew screeched, punctuating each word with a slap.

"Nothing! It's not me!" Potter grunted, and Severus dared another look in time to see Pettigrew conjure a piece of cloth, which he roughly shoved into the boy's mouth.

"It must be you," the rat growled, though his quavering voice betrayed him. "My wand works except for when I try to send a signal!" Cursing, he conjured more cloth and carried it in his silver hand toward the fire. "You'll get plenty more of the Cruciatus when I've found the others!"

Where magic fails, do it the Muggle way, Severus thought, realizing Pettigrew meant to use the fire as a signal, and readied himself. As soon as Pettigrew's back was completely to the window, Severus jumped upon the sill and launched himself with all his might. It was made difficult by the injuries he'd sustained, but he still managed to slam his body into the rat, sending them both crashing to the ground.

Two wands, the second knocked from a pocket, went skittering across the floor, and Snape and Pettigrew engaged in a mad scramble to seize them. Severus lost, but Pettigrew's first curse missed, and he managed to snag his own wand to shoot one back. That missed as well. Then his luck ran out.

"Expelliarmus!" Pettigrew's Disarming Charm sent Snape's wand flying across the room and knocked him onto his back. He looked up, despairing, as the other wizard took dead aim. "Avad—"

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Potter's face turn toward the fire in a quick, sharp movement. All at once, the smokeless flames seemed to leap into the air of their own accord, and flew across the room to set Pettigrew's robes alight. Wormtail screeched in panic and clawed at his burning garments for the second time that night as Severus leapt for his own wand. But even in his panic, the rat had the sense not to stick around to become a target, and ran, still batting at his robes, to the window and jumped out. Severus retrieved his wand and sprinted after him, firing off curses that went wide due to his haste, but then something made him pause.

Wormtail had scrambled for cover behind a boulder, but was now coming out again, despite the fact that Severus was standing openly in the window. He stared in complete disbelief, eyes scanning the area rapidly, and it dawned on Snape that Pettigrew could no longer see the house. Obviously he had found it before, and sheltered himself and his prisoner here, but now that Severus had come for the boy, the rat could not return. And he had not been able to find his way off the mountain, or signal his compatriots, or…what IS this place?

Severus shook off that line of thought, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, and watched as the defeated traitor shuffled off down the hill, searching for the still-elusive fellow-Death-Eaters. When he had gone, Snape let out the breath he'd been holding. His side was burning something fierce, but he ignored it and turned back toward the column where Potter was bound.

Briskly, Severus went to release him, but a single look at Potter's face made him stop in his tracks. The boy's expression was one of helpless, desperate panic; unable to speak past the tight gag, his eyes were locked upon Snape's as though he were begging the man for help.

Draco…

Now how in God's name could Harry Potter remind him of Draco? Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter could not look or be less alike if they tried. So why had the thought of Draco struck Severus with such intensity that it took his breath away?

It was the eyes…but Draco's were narrow and gray, and Potter's were large and green. So why would he…it was the fear, it suddenly dawned on Severus. That's what it was.

It was not even the same degree of fear. Draco's frightened outrage did not hold a candle to the stark terror that burned in Harry Potter's eyes at this moment. He was not afraid of Snape, but something in the way he looked at the adult wizard was precisely the same as what Severus had seen in Draco's eyes only a few days before. Both looked to Snape as their only source of rescue.

He forced his mind off it and went to work on the bonds. "Hold still. Dissendium" The cloth tore neatly, and Severus removed the gag from Potter's mouth. The boy remained silent and squeezed his eyes shut as Severus cut the ropes. "There, are you—"

He was completely unprepared for the boy falling into his arms with a strangled gasp, shaking like a leaf. Rocking back in surprise, Snape managed to keep them both from toppling over, stunned as he was to find Harry Potter literally clinging to him, the boy's face buried in Snape's robes. Even days ago, he might well have shoved the boy away in revulsion, but now he could not seem to find the will—or even the disgust needed to do it.

Instead, Severus awkwardly held him up. Perhaps it was merely exhaustion that prevented the boy from standing on his own. "Potter…it's all right. He's gone. Calm down."

To his intense relief, Potter did let go, though he was leaning heavily against the column and breathing far too fast. "S-sorry," he whispered shakily as he sank to his knees. "I don't…like being…tied up."

Oh. Of course. At Death Eater bragging sessions, Wormtail's favorite story was of tying the famous Harry Potter to a tombstone. Or rather, of the then-fourteen-year-old's terror as he was bound, beaten, and cut, and forced to watch his parents' murderer restored to full life.

It almost made Severus put an arm around him. To stave off that bizarre impulse, he hurriedly reached into his pocket and pulled out the last remaining vial of Vitalizing Potion. "Drink this."

That was a mistake. Potter wrenched away from him in a panic, blindly scrambling to his feet and making a staggering dash for the doorway. Severus all but tackled him, and the boy fought wildly, beyond all sense. Severus was at a loss to do anything but hold on until it dawned on him what had happened to Potter in the last few hours: spirited away to the stronghold of his enemies, bound, tortured, and now facing a vial of strange potion.

"Potter, listen to me! It's only a restorative! You don't have to drink it! Listen to me! Potter! HARRY!"

The boy went limp in his arms, and for a moment, Severus thought he had collapsed. But then he drew in a shaky breath and whispered, "What?"

"You don't…have…to drink it," Snape repeated. Potter was silent, and Severus steered him to the fireside and conjured a blanket. "Relax. Pettigrew cannot find this place again, it seems. Look at me." The boy raised his head, and Severus examined his face. His lip was split, one side of his face bruised and puffy from the worst of Wormtail's blows. A few charms brought the swelling down, but the bruising would have to heal on its own. "Are there any other injuries?"

"Hands're a bit...numb."

Severus took the boy's arm and rolled up the sleeve of his jumper, finding dark bruises on his wrist indicating how tightly Pettigrew had bound him. He gripped Potter's hands in each of his. "Can you grip?" Potter tried, but the grip was weak, which worried Severus. The boy had not been bound for that long, but Severus had no potions or spells for possible nerve damage. Still, if there was nothing he could do, there was no point in sharing that information. "Flex your fingers. Continue, and they should begin to recover." Potter did, holding his hands out toward the fire. "Anything else?"

The boy shook his head. "No," he murmured. "I don…don't think so."

Severus , he pulled out the vial again. "It is Vitalizing Potion, and you need it, Potter. It will help."

Slowly, Potter reached out and took it, swallowing the contents. His green eyes cleared, but Snape's relief was short-lived. The boy swallowed again, thickly; it was as Severus had feared, he was becoming dehydrated. "I didn't…sorry, it was stupid," he muttered, shaking his head. "I don't know why I panicked like that."

"No, it was understandable—" Severus began, but then he broke off, astonished at his own words and the feeling that had driven them. Potter was staring at him in surprise. Severus looked away and grimaced.

Damn this place anyway.

The struggle with Pettigrew had made the pain from Snape's own injuries worse, but there was little to do about it now.

Potter glanced around the room, his eyes falling on the column and the ropes that had bound him, and shuddered. "Do we have to stay here?"

Severus considered it. If this house was somehow protecting them by hiding them from the Death Eaters' view, there was every reason to stay. But what if the illusions somehow failed? They would be incredibly exposed…not to mention that his charge would not do well remaining in the room where he'd been tied up, hexed, and beaten like an animal.

Rage coursed through Severus, so intense that it startled him, but the savage thoughts would not be suppressed. I should have killed Pettigrew when I had the chance. Or at least hit him with something suitably painful.

And there was also the question of whether the illusions would keep the werewolf out. Glancing at Potter, he stood up. "Wait here. I'll have a look aroun—" The expression on the boy's face made him pause. On second thought, leaving him alone would not be a good idea, and that had only partly to do with the possibility of Pettigrew returning. "On your feet, then. Stay behind me."

To his relief, Potter's injuries did not seem to prevent him from walking, so Severus led the way around the ancient, barren walls, searching for any sign of what this place was and whether it would make a suitable shelter.

Potter stayed close, his eyes scouring their surroundings in the light of Snape's wand, never saying a word. Severus astonished himself yet again by wishing fervently for the old, obnoxious Harry Potter, up to and including his arrogance. That brat was at least familiar and manageable. This frightened child was evoking thoughts and impulses that Severus did not understand, and liked even less. But after the night's events, what else was to be expected?

Their search of the house, upstairs and downstairs, revealed nothing of use. No signs of the source of the magic that filled this place, no tools they could use, and worse, no water. Growing concerned about Potter, both the dehydration and his reaction to this place (anyone who did not know the boy well might not have seen his suppressed fear, but Severus did) Severus considered. "Where's Pettigrew?" Potter asked.

Severus frowned, having already told him, then recalled the boy's state of mind at the time and said, "After leaving the house, he could not seem to see it anymore. This place may shield us from him and other searchers." Potter still looked resistant to remaining here, but at the moment it seemed to be wiser than venturing out into the night—there was a thump.

Potter froze, and Severus grabbed his arm, drawing his wand. "What—" the boy began, but then they both saw the source of the thumping. A large, stone chest resting against a wall was rattling slightly as if its occupant had sensed the intruders.

Severus motioned Potter behind him and aimed a spell at the chest, knocking the lid off. From within it stepped a black-robed wizard in a white mask, and Potter backed up hurriedly. Severus hesitated; it seemed odd that a Death Eater would lie there in wait…the other wizard removed his mask, and for a moment, coherent thought deserted Severus.

The face behind the Death Eater's mask was his own.

He heard Potter's shaky intake of breath behind him, and struggled to make his brain function again. The Death Eater, Severus Snape, peered past the real Snape at the boy behind him and smiled coldly, raising its own wand. "Cru—"

"Riddikulus!" Severus shouted frantically as Potter flinched.

The Boggart stumbled, but neither changed nor vanished. Severus never had been able to get rid of the bloody things—Potter stepped in front of him. "Mine's a Dementor," he muttered, and Severus handed him the wand.

Snape the Death Eater paused, then changed…but not into a Dementor.

Potter cried out and recoiled, and even Severus gasped: it was the Dark Lord, his eyes glowing red with malice as he stood before a scattered mass of bodies. Dazed, Severus recognized them all:

Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley—multiple Weasleys, in fact—Remus Lupin, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Neville Longbottom…and by the throat, the Dark Lord held one remaining, living victim, who was struggling in terror. It was Ron Weasley. The Dark Lord aimed his wand directly at the red-headed boy's heart and hissed, "Avada Kedavra!"

Sensing that they were both outmatched by this Boggart, Severus grabbed Potter around the chest and hauled him bodily out the door. "There's nothing here of use to us. We're leaving."

Potter's breathing hitched, but he said nothing. They still had several hours until dawn. Severus took him in the opposite direction from the one Pettigrew had gone, and to his surprise, Potter kept up well. First it surprised, then it concerned him; the boy should have the sense to speak up if their pace of climbing and walking was too much. He had only recently been tortured, not to mention violently ill. But he did not speak, so Severus was forced to keep a close watch on his efforts and judge when best to slow down. It was frustrating, sensing the boy was struggling and not saying, but on the other hand, Severus could not help feeling…a sense of grudging respect.

Harry Potter was stubborn, without doubt, but Severus Snape of all people knew there was not a very great difference between stubbornness and strength. And despite being tied up and tortured by the same wizard who'd resurrected his parents' murderer, Potter had defied Pettigrew. Perhaps there was another reason the boy had survived his encounters with the Dark Lord after all.

WHAT are you suggesting, man!

When he felt they had gone a safe distance without signs of pursuit, Severus performed a Seek Spell, this time for water. Potter didn't ask what he was looking for, which was fine with Severus because he did not want the boy dwelling on his thirst. But the Spell was leading them, giving Severus the first real hope he'd felt in ages, that perhaps there was water to be found on this rock.

After a time, Potter began to visibly falter, and Severus silently put an arm around his shoulders to support him as they walked. He considered simply carrying him, but Potter seemed to be managing for now, and in all honesty, he wasn't certain he himself would manage it. While his own situation was not so precarious as the boy's, it was growing harder to ignore his own injuries.

Still, they kept on, until Potter broke the silence and startled Severus into stopping. "I smell water."

Severus straightened and eyed the Seek Spell. It did appear to be slowing. "Then hope it's drinkable. Come on."

It felt as though they had circled the entire bloody mountain, but when they picked their way around a final outcropping, Severus mused that this must be how men lost in the desert felt when they encountered an oasis. The sight of a small stream running silently (odd, that, very odd) down the mountainside to form a shallow pool before trickling down into another cave seemed to lift all weariness and pain from him. Obviously, it had the same effect on Potter, for the boy let out a heavy sigh and would have gone straight to the water if Severus hadn't stopped him.

"Wait here." After everything else he'd seen in this place, he was not going to trust this new, too-convenient reprieve. He pulled one of the empty potion vials from his robe, spelled it clean, and filled it with water, then aimed his wand at it. "Aperio Periculum!"

The water in the vial began to glow softly white, until it resembled the Phial of Galadriel, but Severus saw no flickers of red, black, or green. The water was pure. "Is it safe?" Potter asked softly from behind him.

"Yes. Go on, but drink slowly," Severus told him, and swallowed the water in the vial before joining the boy at the pool's edge.

Potter was visibly restraining himself from gulping it, but dipped it out with his hand and sipped, his eyes closed in relief. Severus frowned at the bruises on his wrists before drinking more himself. The water was perfectly cold and clean, the most blissful thing he had tasted in a very long time. He scowled at the silvery rocks surrounding him. What kind of game was this bloody mountain playing with them?

Before he had time to contemplate further, sounds brought both of them leaping to their feet, the bliss of the water forgotten. People were clambering over the rocks—more than one. Voices drifted through the cold air, irritated, frightened voices. Definitely not Aurors. And they were close.

"Come on," Snape hissed, grabbing Potter's shoulders and pulling him back away from the water. He thought of retreating into the small cave where the water was running, but its entrance was too visible; Death Eaters would look there. They scrambled back the way they had came, hurrying around the outcropping…only to find themselves mere yards away from a werewolf.

Potter gasped as Severus yanked him backwards. Shit. Oh shit. The werewolf let out a yelp—as surprised by them as they were by it, apparently—and shouts rang out near the pool.

"I heard something! Go! Go!"

"Keep up, Pettigrew!" The werewolf's ears pricked at hearing the noises, then it gathered itself, and Severus dispensed with stealth as scrambling footsteps came toward them from the opposite direction.

"MOVE!" He threw Potter to the ground and himself across the boy as the werewolf sprang, but to both of their astonishment the creature went right past them to meet the group of black-robed wizards who were just then coming around the rocks in search of them.

The air filled with the werewolf's snarls and shrieks of panic from the Death Eaters. Severus heard the sounds of robes tearing (among other things) and one scream taking on a much wilder tone, and didn't wait; he yanked Potter to his feet and hauled the boy with him over the rocks, back to the pool side. They slid down, completely ignored by the fleeing Death Eaters, and landed in the water. Severus grunted as pain lanced through his side. Sputtering and coughing, Potter scrambled to his feet and held out a hand. Severus took it, staggered upright with the boy's help, and they stumbled together into the other cave. If the Death Eaters were preoccupied, they might not see their quarry coming in here. And the werewolf might just be preoccupied all the way back to the Forest.

The cave where the stream ran was no larger than a closet, with the water trickling off into the rocks, but it served its purpose enough. Severus pushed Potter in front of him against the wall, muttered a quick drying spell on them both, then they huddled there listening to the agonized screams and feral growls as the Dark Lord's followers fled the werewolf.

He could feel the boy's heart pounding against his arm, but Potter did not make a sound as the ruckus gradually faded. When silence had hung for several moments, Severus moved, gritting his teeth against his throbbing wounds, but motioned the boy to stay where he was. Then he crept carefully to the small mouth of the cave and peered out.

The werewolf was there, drinking from the pool. Severus hastily pulled back and shook his head at Potter's questioning look. They weren't going anywhere, it appeared, and when that thing found them…he stayed in front of Potter and watched the entrance. Not that his wand would do much good, but perhaps if he could buy the boy time to get out—and yet how far would Potter get, in his condition?

Potter was pressed up against his back, peering over his shoulder, when the inevitable sight greeted them of the werewolf sniffing its way to the entrance of their dubious shelter, blocking the moonlight. Severus put a hand over the boy's mouth and waited.

The creature stood there, staring at them, but did not attack. Perhaps it had eaten its fill of Death Eaters or…what was it waiting for?

The werewolf whined softly, tilting its head and looking, not at Severus, but past him…at Potter. The boy pulled his face out from behind Snape's hand, and Severus did not stop him. It did not seem possible, but… "Remus?" Potter whispered.

The werewolf nodded its head. "Lupin?" Severus demanded. Another nod. Then it turned and left the cave.

Potter squirmed past Severus. "Remus, wait!" he called.

"Potter, slow down!" Severus said, pulling him back before cautiously exiting the cave. The boy was practically hopping to get to the werewolf, which had returned to the side of the pool. Severus met its strangely-calm gaze and said, "You've kept your mind, then?"

The werewolf nodded, but moved away when Potter tried to approach it, obviously not wanting to risk being close to the boy even while lucid. "Do you think it's this mountain?" Potter asked.

"More than likely," Severus replied, returning to the water's edge. He noticed Potter rubbing his wrists. "Has the feeling returned?"

"A little. They're still…clumsy," he muttered, awkwardly trying to pick up a stone.

Severus filled the empty vial and muttered a Warming Spell on it, then motioned Potter over. The heat would at least increase the blood circulation. The boy hissed as the hot water flowed over his hands, but held still. Severus released him and turned his attention to his own injuries once Potter had gone to drink again. Conjuring some bandages, he attempted to clean and wrap his side and shoulder while the boy's back was turned, but Potter glanced at him and froze when he saw the bloody, bruised flesh where the curses had struck.

"You're hurt!"

"Of course I am, you idiot, I've fought five duels in twenty-four hours," Severus muttered, binding the wounds as best he could. That took care of the visible hurts, but breathing had been growing more painful in the past few hours, and some of the bruising from hexes and falling rocks in the first cave was, he suspected, more serious.

But now Potter was watching him more closely. "It's bad," he said softly.

"I'm aware of that," he growled. He disliked the child's concerned words, more so because they were genuine.

"Is there anything—"

"No, damn it, there is nothing you, I, or anyone else can do under present circumstances," Severus snapped. "Now mind your own—"

The werewolf growled from the other side of the pool. Severus glowered, expecting that Lupin was annoyed with his harshness toward Potter, but the werewolf was looking in another direction. It turned and pointed a paw very deliberately at the cave, then looked back off down the mountainside again. "Remus?" Potter whispered.

The creature looked more urgently at them. "Come on," said Severus, dragging himself to his feet and motioning Potter toward the cave. "I suspect we've got company." They slipped into the cramped shelter as the werewolf went to stand directly in front of it. The creature's howl made them both wince as it reverberated through the small space. That ought to discourage them from investigating in this direction, Severus thought snidely. He'd never imagined himself appreciating Lupin's alter-ego.

At the moment, the werewolf was drinking loudly from the pool, howling at the moon occasionally, letting any curious Death Eaters know of its presence.

"Get comfortable, Potter," Severus told the boy. "We'll wait out the remainder of the night." Truth be told, he wasn't sure how much more he would be able to move around.

Fortunately, the boy didn't argue, but sat back against the cave wall, dipping his fingers idly in the stream. "Remus is guarding us."

"I know." He ran his head through spells to diagnose or treat internal injuries and shock. Nothing that would work out here in these conditions without a potion. He closed his eyes and took a painful breath, then opened them and saw Potter watching him. No sense delaying the inevitable. "Come dawn, Mr. Potter, you and Lupin must continue."

"Contin—without you! Leave you here?" the boy looked more resistant to the idea than Severus had expected.

"Yes," he said wearily. "I will not be able to travel swiftly, and the two of you must get off this mountain as quickly as possible so Dumbledore can find you."

"We can't leave you!" Potter protested.

"Damn it," Severus hissed, wincing at the pain in his side. "Drop the bloody Gryffindor hero complex for once!" The boy winced. "You must get out of here alive, Potter, and I can no longer aid you!"

Potter pulled his knees up to his chest and avoided Snape's eyes. "It's not a 'hero complex,'" he muttered. "It's just…we shouldn't leave one of our people behind."

"I will only slow you down."

"You saved me!" the boy protested.

"And not merely to have you tracked down and killed because you did not have the sense to cut your losses," Severus snapped. Potter looked genuinely stricken, why, he could not imagine. In a calmer voice, he informed him, "I told you before you must learn to master your emotions, Potter. That includes this mad idea that you must rescue every person you meet."

To his surprise, Potter smiled wanly. "A 'saving people thing.' That's what Hermione calls it," he murmured, looking away.

"For once, Miss Granger has shown real insight. You'd do well to heed her."

"You're wrong. She's wrong."

"Potter—"

"It's not! I mean, not a…hero thing. I don't…I didn't…" the boy shook his head, resting his chin on his knees. "You don't understand."

"Then explain it," Severus said shortly. "Why do you insist on these damn fool jaunts to single-handedly rescue every person in difficulty rather than relying on people trained to do it?"

Potter looked directly at him, his eyes bright with some emotion Severus could not identify. "Have you ever been a prisoner before?" he dropped his eyes, but they were still intense. "I mean…I know you were…trapped, doing things you didn't want…as a spy, but have you ever been…locked up? Or tied up?"

Severus stared at him, comprehending in spite of himself, recalling the boy's near-hysteria when he'd cut him loose after chasing off Pettigrew. "I don't like being tied up." So that was it.

And he heard himself say, "No. Other than willingly taking up the role of an infiltrator, I have never been held against my will."

The boy looked away and muttered, "Did you ever wish…someone would make it stop? Someone would come help you so you wouldn't have to…go to him anymore?"

"I did not have time to think of such things," he replied curtly. "Not if I wanted to survive. What is your point? You were engaging in ridiculous escapades long before the Triwizard Tournament." His heart wasn't really in the debate anymore, but it gave him something to think about other than the burning pain in his insides and the increasing weakness in his whole body.

"I know, Hermione pointed that out. It was stupid, but…I wasn't trying to be heroic, I just…ten years," Potter whispered, closing his eyes. Severus looked sharply at him. He opened his eyes and explained, "I spent ten years locked up, wishing someone would come for me. I thought I'd always be there, in the cupboard. Then Hagrid came." He took a deep breath and looked away.

Against his will, Severus found himself running through the memories he had seen in Occlumency in his head. The boy in the cupboard, the many locks on the bedroom door…Severus remembered the vague echo of emotion from those old memories he had uncovered, a sense of hopeless longing…

With an effort, he shook it off. "And how does this lead you to attempt to single-handedly protect everyone yourself?" he asked. He did not like thinking about this, it was too disturbing, but something was compelling him to probe further.

Potter's face was bleak. "You don't know what it's like. Alone, trapped…when Wormtail killed Cedric and tied me up, I…I wished anyone would come, anyone at all. The police, even. Just someone…I dream about it, wishing and wishing for help and no one comes. I…I couldn't leave Sirius like that!"

"You left, even though you had given me the message," Severus remarked.

He would not have thought it possible, but the boy curled up into an even smaller ball, his forehead pressed into his knees. "I thought you wouldn't do anything," he groaned. "I thought you didn't care."

"I am a member of the Order," Severus said indignantly. "You should have trusted me to—"

Potter raised his head, green eyes flashing, his face pinched as though in physical pain. "After everything that'd happened that year, why should I have trusted you to help Sirius, of all people?" he hissed bitterly. "And I—I—couldn't—he's—he was—I couldn't just wait—couldn't stand that happening to him!"

Severus sighed heavily, wincing as his side protested. "Potter, the Order exists for a reason. Going into a situation without backup—and your friends do not count as such—is dangerous both to you and the person you are aiming to help."

"I know that now," the boy sighed. "Just too late for Sirius."

"For God's sake, Black is…" Severus broke off. Potter glanced up at him. Appalled at his carelessness, Severus said slowly, "Black was a capable dueler. You are not the direct cause of…what happened. You have seen since that we are at war. Those who fight it always risk death."

Potter did not seem very comforted, but Severus was busy cursing himself for the almost-slip of the tongue that might have sent the child into complete hysterics. Besides, you don't know for a fact that Black is alive. Lupin was right; the Dark Lord has probably killed him by now.

More appalling to him still was the fact that he found himself wishing it were not so, for Potter's sake. He justified it by considering that the boy would be far easier to manage if Black were to return.

"Why did you call Sirius a coward?" Potter asked suddenly, staring at him. "You knew he wasn't."

Here at least, they were on familiar territory. Severus made no bones about replying bluntly. "And Black knew I was not a Death Eater. Do not try to hold him blameless for our quarrel, boy, you saw precisely what the man got up to."

Potter winced. "I'm sorry for that, the Pensieve, I mean. I didn't realize it was something personal." He didn't look at Severus, which was a good thing, because Severus was flat-out gaping at him.

"What on earth did you think it was, then!"

"I…something about the Order, I suppose. Or what was in the Department of Myst…" he shook his head. "I was just tired of being kept in the dark."

Severus shifted, trying to ease the pain in his burning side, and asked curtly, "Why didn't you leave once you discovered it was not?"

Potter's pale face flushed, and he bit his lip. "I…I saw my father. I forgot…I just wanted to see him…alive…what he'd been like. I didn't know."

Severus scowled at the cave entrance, at the shadow of Lupin-the-werewolf moving around outside. Damn the boy for apologizing, for explaining himself! And damn the whole bloody thing for making so much sense. Damn it, he didn't want to understand Harry Potter! Then his side distracted him with an intense stab of pain that made him gasp. Potter jumped. "Are you—"

"No, but there is nothing either of us can do about it," Severus retorted through clenched teeth. "Whatever your sensitivities say against it, leave me in the morning when Lupin returns."

"We—"

"Potter!" he snapped, wincing at the pain. "Do not argue with me in this!"

The boy was breathing hard, staring at him with anxious eyes. Why did Potter care about his fate anyway? But before Severus could wonder further, Potter blurted, "Isn't there any way we could get help to come to us?"

Severus closed his eyes and leaned back against the cave wall. "Dumbledore is tracking me by means of another torch—or at least we intended to do so. Whether he can find me on this mountain is another matter; all he is likely to know is that I am alive for the moment. And apparating is impossible from here." And he wouldn't have the strength to do it now if it did prove possible. He was growing light-headed.

"But if we could signal them somehow…" Potter mused, chewing on his lip as he glanced at the cave mouth. There was more light coming in; dawn was approaching. Severus wondered idly if he would be conscious to see it. It might well be his last sunrise.

"Your owl will not be able to find us here," he told Potter. "The magic concealing this place is older than the Four Founders."

"I wasn't thinking of owls…" Potter looked at him. "What about Fawkes?"

"Perhaps, but how do you propose to signal…oh." Severus broke off. Come to think of it. Perhaps the torch and the Phoenix would be enough to guide the Headmaster to their location. His side was so painful it took his breath, and he felt off-balance, closing his eyes. "If you wish to try it," he told the boy vaguely, "then I suggest…you do."

After that, he knew nothing more.

"Severus? Severus, can you hear me?" A familiar, comforting voice—one of the only comforting voices Severus Snape knew of—pulled him gently out of a well of black velvet. "Wake up, Severus. It's time to go home."

His side ached, but his insides no longer burned, and breathing was easier. It also felt as if someone had dressed his injuries. He dragged his eyes open to meet a pair of twinkling blue ones behind half-moon spectacles. "Albus."

The headmaster smiled and patted his hand. Severus Snape was not the sort of man who could be moved by words; flattery fell flat with him, as did criticism or cajoling. But there were three in Albus Dumbledore's vocabulary alone that could reach him like nothing else.

"Well done, Severus."

Taking a deep breath, he let the headmaster help him sit up. They were beside the pool on the mountainside. The sun was only just over the horizon. It had been an hour, maybe two.

"Potter?" he began, but looking around, he saw the boy sitting a few yards away as Madam Pomfrey fussed over him. Someone had wrapped an Auror robe around him—Tonks, Severus noticed, seeing the Metamorphmagus kneeling beside Potter. Also sitting with the boy was Dumbledore's Phoenix, singing softly. Lupin appeared recovered from the night's trials and was talking with several other Aurors, all Order members, and they were all glancing apprehensively at the dark, hulking pyramid of the Fortress of Shadows, rising above the Forest like a mockery of the silver mountain upon which they stood.

A ways down the mountain's slope was a carriage, drawn by Granians. "We left as soon as our diversion ended," Dumbledore told him, helping him to his feet. "Finding you with our own torch was difficult, but Fawkes suddenly joined us in the carriage, and between the two of us, we managed it."

"So Potter called him?" Severus concluded. The Phoenix fluttered along over their heads; he had never had much interest in Severus, like so many others who served Dumbledore.

"Remus helped too," said Potter. He looked everywhere but at Severus.

Dumbledore went on. "Harry sent up red sparks as soon as he saw Fawkes. He was very worried," he remarked, smiling at Severus. "He would not allow us to take him back to Hogwarts until we were certain you could be moved."

Lupin went to help the boy to his feet. "Come on, Harry. Let's get out of here."

Har—Potter laughed weakly. "Yes, please, let's." He seemed very weary, and there were more bruises on his face that Severus had not seen in the darkness the night before, but other than that, he appeared well on the mend.

Lupin had an arm around his shoulders, and Potter leaned gratefully against him until they reached the carriage and were ushered inside. The interior had been enlarged, making it perfectly comfortable for ten people to sit in the seats. Severus wound up sitting on the opposite seat from Dumbledore, Lupin, and Potter.

Tonks sat on one side of the boy, Lupin on the other, and Potter's head was already on the werewolf's shoulder. "Remus?" he murmured suddenly, his eyes half-lidded. "I meant to…I'm sorry about…Hogsmeade. It was stupid." Severus felt very odd at hearing that confession, for reasons he couldn't quite pinpoint.

Lupin sighed and pulled the boy closer. "I'm glad you're sorry. You frightened us. Just promise me, Harry. Promise me you won't sneak out again. Not while we're at war, and while you're a target. We, Ron, Hermione, your other friends, and I…we couldn't bear losing you."

Drowsily, the boy nodded. "I promise." Lupin gave his shoulders a squeeze.

"So much for professional detachment," Severus couldn't resist remarking.

For some reason, he could not seem to muster the acidity to make the words sting as he usually intended them to. "Sod off, Severus," Lupin said cheerfully.

The Aurors talked among themselves and with Albus as the carriage rose into the air. Severus did not wish to look out at either the mountain or the Fortress, and instead found himself watching the boy's steady march into sleep. Tonks was fondly rubbing his back as he leaned against Lupin, green eyes drooping lower every second. "They say you stayed yourself last night, Remus," she murmured.

Lupin nodded, careful not to disturb the boy on his shoulder. "That's among several things I can't explain. What is that mountain, Albus?" he asked softly.

The headmaster looked out the window for a moment. "No one precisely knows. What is known is that of the many who fled imprisonment in the Fortress of Shadows throughout history, those who managed to reach the mountain were able to escape. It is a haven."

"Pettigrew was able to get onto the mountain," Severus mused. "Even to take Potter. But I heard him say he could not find his way back off the mountain with the boy."

"Hmm. Interesting. And the two of you were able to shelter in a building which became invisible to Pettigrew, Harry tells me?"

"Yes. And we found water at the moment when we were most in need of it." Severus looked at the sky through the window. There were other things he had noticed on the mountain too…impressions, sensations…emotions, things that were alien to him but which he had not been able to avoid.

Albus was watching him. He then glanced sideways at Potter, who was now completely oblivious to the conversation, and smiled. "Of all the accounts I have read of those fortunate survivors," he said softly. "Another universal observation is that no one leaves the mountain unchanged."

Severus blinked. That bloody…all-knowing…why was he surprised? Albus knew everything! Of course, he would have sensed immediately that something had passed between Severus and Potter not at all like their usual vitriolic exchanges. He shot the headmaster a warning look and dropped his gaze—only to find himself looking at Potter again.

Lupin had conjured a pillow and shifted the boy into his lap without even waking him. Sound asleep, Potter was unaware of Snape's discomfited scrutiny.

It felt as though they had all been gone from Hogwarts for much longer than forty-eight hours. Severus found it highly disconcerting that he could not reconcile the Potter who had been the bane of his existence for five years with the battered, shaken child who had, for the most part, kept it together through all that had happened last night. It was not the sort of courage Severus expected to find in a Gryffindor.

Dumbledore's Phoenix flew through the window just then and settled himself on the floor of the carriage. Then, to everyone except Albus's surprise, he stopped at Snape's feet, trilling cheerfully at him.

Severus blinked, startled. Fawkes had never done that before.

"HARRY!"

Remus actually had to let Harry go and grab both Ron and Hermione around the waists, one in each arm, to keep them from knocking Harry off his feet when they entered the hospital wing. The two of them struggled blindly against him.

"Easy! Easy, you two! Calm down! Harry needs quiet!" he urged as Harry stepped around them, heading mechanically for his usual bed.

Ron and Hermione got a grip on themselves and slowly came to Harry's side, watching with anxious, tired eyes as he sank gratefully onto the mattress. "Are you okay, mate?" Ron whispered.

He was, he supposed, even though he felt more bone-tired than he had in a long time, his feet were all scuffed up from barefoot rock-climbing, and his bruises were sore. And he had a funny, tight feeling in his stomach, that queasy sense of not knowing exactly what to feel. He couldn't remember much of what had happened in the Fortress of Shadows, but what had taken place on the mountain was giving him quite enough to think about.

"I'm okay, I think," Harry sighed, looking at Ron. "Just tired. Hi, Mrs. Weasley," he said, forcing a smile as Ron's mother came to join them.

Mrs. Weasley was smiling, but her eyes were full. She had a pair of Harry's pajamas in her hands, but she set them down and pulled him into her arms. "Oh, Harry," she whispered. "Thank heavens. Thank heavens!"

"I'm all right," he murmured, feeling his throat tighten at once. He hated that—not her hugs (not at all) but the way he always reacted to them. She let him go, and he smiled weakly. "Really, I'm all right."

"You were so sick! And then, when you disappeared…we thought you were dead," Hermione said in a small voice.

"All right now, everyone calm down," said Madam Pomfrey, bustling over and setting up the screens. "Mr. Potter has had quite enough excitement. Change out of those filthy clothes, Harry," she told him in a gentler voice. "You'll be here for at least two days."

Numbly, Harry obeyed, but as he went behind the screens, he saw Madam Pomfrey returning to Professor Snape, who was grudgingly allowing her to treat his various injuries. His eyes met Harry's over her shoulder once, but Harry lost his nerve and ducked behind the screens. Once he got changed, he moved them away himself and climbed into the bed. He didn't know why, but he didn't want to be shut into any enclosed space.

Ron and Hermione came to sit with him, and he could see Remus talking to Professor Dumbledore. Why did he still feel so…nervous? Mrs. Weasley brushed a hand over his dirty hair. "All right, Harry?" she asked softly.

Harry nodded. "Yeah." He swallowed hard; he had to find something to think about! "What did I miss?"

Ron laughed weakly. "Nothing much. Just all of us getting flipping hysterical." Harry mustered a grin. "What did…I mean…if it doesn't bother you to talk about it…"

"Ron!" scolded Mrs. Weasley, but Harry shook his head.

"It's all right. I don't…really remember that much of the first part. I know I wound up in the Fortress, but then Remus and…Professor Snape brought me out. We spent the night on the mountain outside the Forest before Professor Dumbledore came with the Aurors." Harry avoided their eyes. He didn't think he could stand to go into detail now. At that moment, movement across the room caught his eye.

"Yes, you may go, but do not overexert yourself for the next few days," Madam Pomfrey was admonishing Snape as he straightened his robes and headed for the door.

"Sir!" Harry blurted, before he knew what he was doing. Snape paused, looking at him with a blank face, and he gulped. "I…I just wanted…er…for everything you…" he trailed off, feeling blood rush to his face as his nerve failed again.

An odd expression crossed Snape's face for a moment, but it was gone too quickly for Harry to identify it. Then the Potions Master slowly nodded. "Understood, Mr. Potter." As his friends watched in confusion, Harry nodded back, and Professor Snape headed out the hospital wing door and was gone.

He let out his breath slowly. He hadn't expected Snape to accept his gratitude. "What was that all about, mate?" Ron asked.

As Madam Pomfrey came over to the bedside carrying an entire tray of potions, Harry said, "He saved my life. Again. He and Professor Lupin. It was a big risk, and he got hurt, but…" he shook his head and took a vial Madam Pomfrey handed him.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want," said Hermione softly.

"What he does have to do is rest," Madam Pomfrey said, shoving another potion at him. "Talk later."

"Can we still sit with him?" Ron pleaded, startling Harry.

"You may, but you are not to tire him!"

"Yes, ma'am! All right, Harry?"

Harry nodded, finishing his last potion and immediately starting to feel sleepy From the way Ron was reacting, he must have really been worried. "I'll tell you about it," he promised them. "Just…" he yawned heavily and leaned back on the pillows, "not right now. 'sa kinda long…story…mmm…"

Black-robed wizards writhed one after the other on the cold, wet stones at Harry's feet. There was no mercy to be had for any of them; he ignored their babbled apologies and shrieks for forgiveness. "You have failed me again. Again!" he hissed, his high, cold voice tight with rage. "The boy was in my power, and again, you allowed the traitor to take him from me!"

The wizard at his feet looked up, groaning, as Harry lifted the curse at last. "We'll get him back, Master! We will find a way!"

"You will, or you will all suffer! And you will kill the traitor!"

"Yes, Master!" sobbed the balding little wizard.

"Get up. We have no more time to waste here. Go to the meeting site and wait for me. All of you."

Cringing and quivering from their punishments, the Death Eaters filed out. Harry waited, standing at the large window and glaring out at the silver mountain beyond the Forest. Then he Disapparated, and the world re-formed in a clearing deep in the woods. He made his way to where the others awaited him, just outside a ring of tall torches.

The flames and the wizards' robes whipped in the high wind. In front of each torch stood a Death Eater, and more—many more—waited outside the Circle. Harry surveyed the scene with satisfaction—at least his followers had not rendered his plans a complete waste. He nodded briskly to the tall, masked wizard on his right. "Let the students have the privilege of witnessing tonight's ceremony. It will do them good."

"Yes, Master." The Death Eater leaned beyond the torch and beckoned. A small group of figures, definitely younger than the others, came close to the light but did not enter. Their hoods were raised, obscuring their unmasked faces, but Harry nodded to them. They bowed in return, his youngest recruits, future servants. The children of all his favored Death Eaters. In that at least, his followers had done well, raising their offspring to serve him.

Returning his gaze to the circle directly in front of him, Harry ordered, "Let the initiates approach!"

From the shadows without, more unmasked wizards and witches filed in, each escorted by a masked Death Eater. They came, more and more, until there was a very large crowd of black robes in the circle, although ample space remained in front of Harry himself. They waited silently for him to speak.

"We gather tonight to a great purpose," he declared, his voice carrying easily through the circle. "Tonight we join into our ranks the newest wizards and witches who have proven themselves worthy of service to me. They are welcomed because they have shown the will for our unrelenting search for power. They are welcomed because they have shown the strength to stand against the Mudbloods and their supporters. They have shown themselves fit to take the places we shall all occupy when those who oppose us are overthrown, and we have assumed our rightful position of absolute power!"

A great roar of affirmation went up from the Death Eaters. The initiates were silent, but Harry could sense their anticipation. There was an even stronger scent of excitement without, from the students. Harry turned to them.

"I summoned you here, my young candidates, that you may see the consummation of this vow to which you all aspire. In two years, when you have proven yourselves worthy, you shall take your places among us and enter our circle freely."

The children shifted eagerly, and Harry turned to their parents. "Bring your sons and daughters closer. Within the circle. Let them have a clear view of this goal."

It never hurt to stir the flame for those little moths. He watched as certain of his Death Eaters left the circle and brought back their children, leading them by the shoulder. They returned to their respective places with the youngsters standing in front of them.

Harry returned his attention to that night's initiates. "Advance," he ordered.

They did, nearly twenty strong, some young, some older, all powerful and pure-blooded. Worthy additions to his ranks; he took no useless servants. The first pair stepped forward. The sponsoring Death Eater, Avery, removed his mask.

"I present Nicholas Dawlish to your service, my lord."

"Come forward and swear your fealty, Dawlish," Harry ordered.

The wizard lowered the hood of his robe, revealing short gray hair, and stepped toward Harry, eyes lowered, kneeling to kiss the hem of his robes. "Master, I am at your command for as long as I live." He held out his left arm.

Harry touched his wand to the wizard's bare skin. "Nectoviscus Morsmorde!"

He saw, from the corner of his eye, the other Death Eaters' movement as their own flesh reacted to the new Dark Mark now burned black on Dawlish's arm. "Rise." Dawlish did, betraying none of the pain that Harry knew he had felt with the branding. Good. "Welcome, my servant. Join your fellow Death Eaters."

With a trembling bow, Dawlish followed Avery to the others, where they gave him a mask of his own to put on. The next pair advanced. The initiate was an astonishingly beautiful young witch, with deep golden hair and blue eyes that would appear innocent and artless to any outsiders. So much the better. Bellatrix Lestrange removed her mask. "I present Delilah Hornby to your service, my lord."

And so it went. Eighteen new Death Eaters received the Dark Mark in that ring of torchlight, and in the end, Harry was satisfied. He allowed the recruits to mingle with their fellows as the children were being escorted from the circle by their parents. "Wait."

Everyone froze. To the children, Harry ordered, "Lower your hoods."

Hesitantly, they did so and stood openly before him. Pansy Parkinson, flanked by both her parents, Millicent Bulstrode and her mother, Crabbe, Goyle, and their fathers, young Theodore Nott and his father, Montague and his mother, and, of course, Lucius and Draco Malfoy. "Each of you have committed yourselves to this service in two years' time," he told them. "Devote all your power and skill to me, and the power deserved by all our kind shall be yours. Remember that, my young followers. Your night is coming."

There was more than one excited intake of breath from the youngsters. As their parents escorted them out, Harry intercepted one pair. His father's hand on his shoulder was all that stopped Draco Malfoy from rocking back on his heels. The boy bowed hastily, and Harry smiled thinly at him. "I am pleased with you, Lucius. You have raised your son well. I sensed his eagerness above all the others."

"You are generous, Master," murmured Lucius, half-bowing.

Harry held up a hand, and Lucius released his son's shoulder. "Come to me, Draco."

Tension was at the forefront of the surge of emotions from the boy, but he did not hesitate to step toward his future master. Harry placed two fingers beneath the youth's chin and made him look up. Despite the fear that Harry expected—and enjoyed—he met Harry's gaze steadily. "You are a credit to your breeding, Draco. I have no doubt you will join your father at my right hand in time."

"I will, my lord," the boy whispered fiercely. Harry released him, and he stepped back to Lucius, whose grip on his shoulder was tighter still. Harry sensed that Draco was as delighted by his father's display of pride as by his lord's attention. Both were useful.

As they took their leave, Draco was greeted and praised by many of the others. "Until next time, son," said Rudolphus cheerfully, and Bella went so far as to kiss the boy on both cheeks. They had sensed that their lord wanted them to cultivate this one.

"I can't wait until I can stay," Harry heard Draco say to his father as they exited the circle.

"Patience," Lucius replied proudly. "Our lord favors you; your time will come."

Harry waited until all the children had been safely escorted out and their parents returned so the second half of the initiation could begin. The newcomers were already bracing themselves as they stood in front of the others.

"Dawlish," Harry called. The wizard came slowly to stand in front of him. "Crucio!"

And the circle filled with the newest Death Eaters' screams.

Someone was shaking him vigorously. "Potter!"

Harry jerked out of sleep with a strangled gasp, looking instinctively at his hands. "He's cursing them," he panted, struggling against the restraining arms. "He sent the younger ones away so he could torture—"

"HARRY! Slow down!" Hermione's voice cut through the haze of panic. Blinking, he took his glasses from her and put them on, sighing heavily as the world came into focus.

He was still in the hospital wing; judging by the moonlight in the windows, it was late at night. Ron and Hermione were still with him, along with Mrs. Weasley, Madam Pomfrey, Dumbledore, Tonks and Moody, and to Harry's surprise, Snape.

"What did you see, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry swallowed hard. For some reason, Snape's presence made him nervous. "Vol—I mean, the Dark Lord was initiating new Death Eaters. I couldn't…it lasted a long time, and I couldn't wake from it…"

"That's my fault," sighed Madam Pomfrey. "I gave him a heavy Sleeping Potion."

"'s all right," Harry muttered, drawing his knees up to his chest. "It wasn't bad…till the end. There were a lot of them."

Tonks and Moody groaned simultaneously. "That's all we need. How many?"

"Eighteen," said Harry. He started naming them, and Dumbledore motioned for silence, though the others hissed when they heard a name they recognized.

"Oh, Dawlish, you bloody fool," growled Moody when Harry finished.

Tonks pulled a face. "Delilah Hornby was a year behind me at the Auror Program. Talented witch, but doesn't like rules. If she's joined You-Know-Who, we're in trouble."

"Bloody hell," Moody muttered. "Two more Aurors gone bad. This is reminding me more and more of the last war. Dawlish was at the top of his class, and the Hornby girl has all the skill and charm of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy rolled together."

That triggered Harry's memory. "The Death Eaters had their children there too. Voldemort wanted them to watch the ceremony."

Snape stiffened. "Draco was there?"

Harry nodded. "And Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson and—"

Snape sprang to his feet and sprinted for the hospital wing fireplace. Dumbledore watched him go, then closed his eyes for a moment. "Who else do you remember, Harry?"

"Crabbe, Goyle, and Millicent Bulstrode are the only others I knew. But there were more," Harry said. "Voldemort sent them away before using the Cruciatus Curse on the new Death Eaters."

"He is a skilled recruiter," Dumbledore said grimly.

"Headmaster, can't anything be done to keep the Slytherins away from him?" asked Hermione.

"I can control their movements to some extent in school, Miss Granger, but I fear I have no claim upon their hearts. If they are set upon joining him, all I may do is delay it."

Harry sighed. "They don't know what they're getting into! Voldemort's keeping the worst of it from them. As soon as they join him, then he'll start to torture them."

"As Severus knows all too well," said Dumbledore, patting his hand. "We will do what we can. You should continue to rest, Harry. Would you like some Dreamless Sleep Potion?"

"Yes, please," Harry murmured. The memory of the torch circle seemed burned into his head. They all seemed so…devoted. Even the ones who knew what Voldemort was going to do to them. Why! Why would anyone want to live like that for some vague promise of power? Since when did kissing somebody else's robes and groveling on the ground and getting tortured make you powerful?

Along with everything else that had happened, it was becoming too much to think about, and when Madam Pomfrey came with his potion, he gratefully gulped it down.

"What day is it?"

"Tuesday. You woke up from the vision last night, Monday."

Harry sat up and rubbed his eyes. He did feel better, just tired now instead of weak and sick. "Did Professor Snape catch Malfoy and the others?"

Ron had awoken and sat up, pulling a face. "He caught them all right: Malfoy and Parkinson were snogging in a broom closet, Crabbe and Goyle managed to get into the boys' loo, and Nott and Bulstrode were snogging behind a suit of armor."

"Ergo, nobody can prove anything," sighed Hermione. "All Professor Snape could do was give them all detention for a week. He's supervising it himself, so with any luck that'll keep them all under supervision for now, but that won't last."

Harry shuddered. "That bad, mate?" asked Ron.

Shaking his head, Harry flopped across his bed and groaned, "They think they're going to be powerful. But they're just going to wind up torturing and killing people and getting tortured whenever Voldemort's in a foul mood, and kissing the git's robes. No better than slaves."

"I read about his recruiting efforts in the first war. Voldemort's good at making attractive promises," said Hermione, but something in the way she glanced at Ron made Harry groan.

"What else has happened?"

Ron avoided his eyes, confirming that it wasn't good. "The top git's already making good use of his new lackies. They attacked Diagon Alley this morning."

Harry sat bolt upright. "Was anyone hurt?"

Miserably, his friends nodded. "We don't know much so far, but there were injuries."

"The twins?"

"They're okay, just really livid. Especially George. After what happened to Fred, he takes every Death Eater attack personally. Fred had to put him in a Body Bind to keep him from running out into the fray. We just got an owl saying they're fine, but nothing since. Classes are cancelled," Ron told him.

Harry frowned thoughtfully. "It must have been bad."

"There's no way to know yet," said Hermione. "But some of the teachers went to help. Professor McGonagall and Mr. McGonagall are gone, and Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout."

With another groan, Harry rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. "I am so ruddy tired of all this."

"Aren't we all, mate," said Ron, patting his back. "I just hope that was the last time you ruddy disappear on us!"

Peering over his arm at Ron, Harry smiled wearily. "Sorry about that. I guess it must have scared you."

Hermione nodded gravely. "Nobody knew what had happened to you. We thought…" she looked away.

"You thought I was dead?" They nodded. Harry sighed. "So did I, for awhile."

"What happened?" asked Ron. "Especially with Snape, the git's been here twice to see how you are!"

"Really?" Harry stared, and Hermione nodded confirmation. "Well…I guess you'd better get comfortable. It's a bit of a long story."

By the time he had finished, both their mouths were hanging open. "Remus kept his mind in full werewolf form?" Hermione gasped, delighted.

"I doubt if it'll happen again," said Harry. "There was something really odd about that mountain."

"What shape was the Boggart?" asked Ron.

"Huh?"

"How did you know what it was? What shape did it take?"

Harry swallowed. "Oh. Right. A…dementor. I guess it saw me first, and Professor Snape got rid of it."

"Did it change to anything for him?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I…guess there wasn't time. He was quick." Ron seemed to accept that, but Hermione shot Harry a doubtful look. To his relief, she didn't press. "I wonder how soon I can get out of here?"

"When classes resume, Mr. Potter," said Madam Pomfrey, coming to join them. "Until then I want you off your feet—no arguments. We are not going down this same old road every time you wind up here. You leave when I say you leave." She shoved a dinner tray at him and walked off, muttering, "Your health's fragile enough as it is."

"I am not fragile!" Harry exclaimed in outrage.

They met Neville outside the common room Wednesday morning after Harry got out of the hospital wing. Neville was carrying a rucksack for an overnight trip to London to visit his grandmother in St. Mungo's. "Oh, Neville, was it bad?" Hermione exclaimed.

Neville's face was drawn and pinched, but he shook his head. "Not too bad. They say she'll be able to leave in a few days. She just wanted to see me." He glanced around and lowered his voice, leaning toward them. "It was Bellatrix Lestrange."

Hermione put a hand over her mouth, and Harry felt his stomach lurch. "How'd you hear…"

"An Auror friend of the family. I asked him. He said it happened in front of a lot of witnesses. Lestrange knew who my gran was and…" Neville looked away, but he didn't look like he was going to cry. To Harry, he seemed to be shaking with fury. And Harry didn't blame him one bit.

"We'll get her, Neville. One day we'll get her," he promised.

"Bloody right we will," Neville growled, his fists clenched. He forced a smile at Ron and Hermione and gave Harry a little pat on the shoulder. "I'd better go. See you later?"

"Send us an owl if you need anything," said Hermione.

"When's the next DA meeting?" Neville asked, pausing at the top of the stairs.

"Ahhh…" Ron and Hermione looked at Harry.

Harry shrugged. "A lot of people are gone to visit St. Mungo's. Let's just make it…sort of…independent practice this week for anyone who shows up, and we'll do something more organized next time."

"Right then. See you Thursday."

"I'll copy my class notes for you, Neville!" Hermione called after him.

"Thanks!"

Scowling, Harry headed through the portrait hole. "The sooner somebody offs Bellatrix Lestrange the better."

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, but Ron growled, "Right about that, mate."

"Don't talk that way, you two, you shouldn't joke about killing people!"

"Well, what else does she deserve!" Harry snapped, rounding on Hermione. She jumped in dismay, and even Ron stared at him. Harry caught himself, seeing other people in the common room, and said tightly, "Besides, I'm not bloody joking."

"Harry…" Hermione moaned, but Harry turned and stalked up the dormitory stairs.

Behind him, he heard Ron saying, "Just leave it. He's not in the mood."

"He's never in the mood, that's what worries me! He's not in the mood to be reasonable anymore!"

If Harry no longer dreaded the lessons because of Snape's sadistic enjoyment of his misery, the awkwardness that had replaced it didn't help much. Of course, Snape was anything but friendly. Harry knew better than to expect that (and didn't especially want it either.) But the awareness of all that had transpired on the mountain hung over them like a cloud, and neither could seem to wave it away.

Nothing was the same anymore.

Not that Harry and Snape were the only ones living under a cloud. Students walked around school with heads hanging, shoulders hunched with tension, especially if an owl flew toward the teachers' table at an unusual time. Everyone waited for news of the next round of casualties. And there were lots of casualties.

Hermione used her tips from Rita Skeeter to keep a step ahead of the newspapers, which gave them something of an advanced warning of the rising call for action by the Ministry about the threats from the Death Eaters…and Harry.

"Nothing's being released to the papers yet," Hermione told them one day at lunch. "But Rita's getting some gossip from people in the lower levels of the Ministry: there are meetings going on. Talks of new Educational Decrees and the like."

"Meaning they're going after Dumbledore again," said Ron, losing interest in his sandwich.

Harry folded his arms on the table to rest his head as Hermione replied, "Not going after him, just trying to overrule him. 'For the greater safety of the student body' or some other such nonsense. Rita thinks Fudge is obsessed with getting to Harry."

"Why!" Ron demanded. "What can he possibly hope to accomplish!"

"A one-up against Dumbledore," growled Hermione "That's what." She reached past Ron to pat Harry's hand. Harry noticed they had both taken to doing that lately, along with Ginny—constantly poking, tapping, or patting him as though to reassure themselves that he was really there. It was alternately annoying and comforting.

"What she's saying is Fudge is off his rocker," he told Ron. "Remus told me Fudge likes to kill the messenger. I'm the messenger."

"Can't Percy do anything?" groaned Ron.

Hermione shook her head. "Percy's in enough trouble. Fudge is convinced Dumbledore has spies in the Ministry, and he's constantly hauling staff in for questioning. If Percy mucked around with the hearings on Harry, he'd get caught."

"Blimey, I hope he'll be okay."

"What's the worst that could happen? He'd get fired and come home," said one of the twins.

"Or sent straight to Azkaban," said Ginny darkly. "I wish he'd quit that job. I don't like him being there. He's in danger from two sides."

"Our side will take care of him if anything happens," said Hermione firmly. "Let's just hope this all blows over."

Harry watched his posturing in Defense one day with disgust. "He thinks he's got it made because he got personal attention from Voldemort," he whispered to Ron and Hermione as the bell rang.

She shuddered as they waved to Remus and headed out the door. "Why anyone in their right mind would want his attention is beyond me."

Pansy Parkinson was simpering along behind Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle in the corridor and elbowed Hermione out of the way. "Stand aside, Granger! Let the proper wizards through first."

Hearing Malfoy's chuckling ahead of them, Harry snapped, "Yeah, everyone better clear the way for Voldemort's future chief bootlicker!"

Gasps rang out, and predictably, Malfoy spun around. Ron grabbed Harry's arm, but Harry shook him off. He wanted to make that stupid, stupid Slytherin good and mad, and let him know just how astronomically stupid he really was. At least the adrenaline rush was burning away some of the frustrated tension.

On the other hand, it was being replaced by an almost unbearable temptation to smash Malfoy's sneering face. "You don't realize who you're dealing with anymore, Potter. You'd better watch your mouth," Malfoy drawled.

"Or what? You'll Crucio me like your friend Bellatrix Lestrange? Or use the Killing Curse like your dad?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about!" Malfoy retorted and turned to go.

"No?" Harry sneered. "How'd you like Voldemort's little initiation party? Must've made you proud, getting personal attention from the red-eyed git, hearing him congratulate your dad on training you to be a proper little house elf!"

Pansy's mouth fell open, and Malfoy turned dead white. "Wha—what're you—"

Gleefully, Harry dug deeper, "Yeah, that's right, I saw it! You're an idiot, Malfoy, you're all idiots. Want to know what happened after your mummies and daddies sent you home?"

"Shut up, Potter! SHUT UP!" Malfoy roared, whipping out his wand, but Harry's was already pointed at him.

"Your dad's boss welcomed all his new 'servants' with the bloody Cruciatus Curse! That what you've got in mind for a job? The git torturing you for fun?" Harry spat.

Crabbe and Goyle blanched, glancing at Malfoy, who hissed, "You're a liar."

"Think that if you want, but keep crawling along after Voldemort, and you'll find out first hand who's got the real power—"

"Harry, that's enough!" Someone grabbed his arm, and he turned to see Professor Lupin. Pushing through the crowded students from the opposite direction was Professor Snape. "Clear the corridor, all of you!" said Lupin. "Harry, Draco, I—"

"I will see to my House, thank you, Professor Lupin," said Snape curtly. "Slytherins, with me." Over the rebellious mutters, he roared, "NOW!" Shooting Harry a last, furious glare, Malfoy scurried with the others.

"Harry." As the adrenaline and disgust at the junior Death Eaters wore off, Harry felt the first twinges of apprehension as he turned to face Professor Lupin again. Remus's face was carefully calm as he motioned to the classroom door. "Hermione, Ron, run along, please."

"Yes, Professor," Hermione said, and gave Harry a helpless look as they headed down the hall.

Harry followed Lupin quietly back into the classroom and found that it was hard to look him in the eye. He stared at his feet instead and waited for the ball to drop. "Tea?"

"No," he muttered, not looking up.

Silence echoed for several moments until it was almost unbearable, then he winced inwardly as Lupin said, "That was irresponsible, Harry."

"I know," he sighed miserably.

"Why did you do it, then?"

"Because I'm sick of this!" Harry burst out in frustration. He managed not to shout, and hoped Lupin realized he wasn't the one Harry was angry at. "I'm sick of all this…this…mincing about! There's a war on, and those little gits are working for the other side, and nobody's doing anything!"

"Harry, first of all, calm down. The way I showed you," Remus said firmly. Harry tried to breathe, but the hot, churning mass of frustrated anger made it hard. "Sit for a minute." He obeyed, glaring at the desk top. He wanted to hit it. "Harry…"

"I'm sorry!" he exclaimed. "I'm trying, I just…I can't be calm all the time!"

Remus sighed and sat down on the edge of the desk. "I know. I do know this isn't easy on you."

That's what Dumbledore always says, Harry thought bitterly. He hated that heat in his stomach. He wished it would go away. It was keeping him from being comforted by Remus's quiet voice as he usually was.

"I won't talk about…the vision again. Can I go now?" he tried, but failed to keep the resentment out of his voice.

"Harry…"

"What's the point of this!" he demanded. Remus was hiding something—as usual—Harry was certain of it. Whatever the Order was up to, they were keeping him in the dark—like always. "I don't know what's going on, and you're not going to tell me! You can't because ruddy Dumbledore won't let you! Just let me go!"

Remus looked sympathetically at him. Stop it! "All right. I'll see you later."

Harry left in a hurry and met Ron and Hermione for lunch. "What happened?" Ron demanded. "He didn't yell at you, did he?"

"Might as well have," Harry muttered. "They're planning something. I can tell."

"Well…" Hermione pushed a sandwich toward him and said, "That's good, isn't it?"

"Yeah, except that as usual none of us is allowed to know anything," Harry groused.

"Come on, mate, be reasonable!" Ron exclaimed. "You…" he lowered his voice and leaned toward them. "Anything you find out, Voldemort could!"

Harry sighed heavily. "I know, I bloody know! I just…I hate this!" Hermione tried to rub his back, but he shook her hand off. "Don't, I'm not in the mood."

What reply Hermione would have made was forestalled by a flock of owls soaring into the Great Hall with rolled-up newspapers in their beaks and claws. "Oh no…another special edition."

On Harry's other side, Neville sat stiffly as the birds swooped down. Ginny reached over to squeeze Neville's shoulder. "Your gran hasn't been going out much since Diagon Alley, has she?"

Neville shook his head. "Only when she needs to." He took a deep breath as the papers were handed out. "Brace yourselves."

The Great Hall was unnaturally quiet as people snagged papers and opened them. Then sighs of relief echoed and conversations sprang up as the headline was revealed to be nothing involving death and destruction, but Ron, looking at the headline, was frowning. "Ron? What is it?" asked Ginny.

With a puzzled face, Ron turned the paper around so Harry, Ginny, and Neville could see the front page:

Ministry of Magic Launches Massive Investigation, Minister Revealed to be Victim of Memory Tampering!

Harry's blood froze. "That's very odd," Hermione was saying as she scanned her own copy. "Could this be a farce or do you think someone actually—Harry? What's the matter?" she asked, seeing his white face.

This is all my fault… "I should talk to Dumbledore," Harry murmured. This was it. If Percy was found out…they'll go after both him and me. And the rest of the Weasleys. All because of me, he'll wind up in Azkaban!

Ron and Ginny were watching him. "Harry," said Ginny in a very low voice. "Do you know something?"

Harry nodded mutely. He couldn't…he'd promised Percy…but he had to do something…

He was let off the hook when Hermione, as usual, figured it out. Her mouth fell open. "Oh my God." Keeping her voice barely above a whisper, she breathed, "It was Percy."

Ron and Ginny stared from Hermione to Harry, then they both buried their faces in their hands. "That's why Fudge didn't go after you the first time, isn't it?" Ron moaned.

Harry nodded helplessly. "He made me swear I wouldn't tell you, but he thought I should know how far Fudge would go." He looked at Hermione. "Will they find out it was him?"

Hermione looked at the paper. "If they do Priori Incantatem tests on the staff's wands…which they are. Oh lord, this is bad."

"What'll happen to him?"

"Knowing Fudge? I don't want to imagine!"

Harry stood up. "I'm going to go talk to Remus. He'll know something."

Carrying a copy of the Daily Prophet from lunch, Remus raised his eyebrows, and Harry nodded significantly at it. "Let's go back to my office." They walked there in silence and took seats by the fireside and Harry sat back in the chair to hear what Remus had to say. "So Percy told you?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "What's the Order going to do?"

Remus stared into the fire, then looked at Harry. He hesitated for a moment. "This is going to be unpleasant. I'm sure Hermione has already had it from her resident source on Ministry gossip. I'm afraid Cornelius Fudge is up to his old tricks, trying to stir up trouble for Dumbledore."

Harry snorted. "Is Fudge trying to get him removed as Headmaster again?"

Remus shook his head. "No, he won't try that. There's still too much bad press around from his last effort. No, Harry, after everything that happened with the Quidditch attack and your possession by Voldemort last month, he's calling for Dumbledore to be censured for failing to protect the students. Trying to place a black mark on his otherwise perfect record."

"What a swine!" Harry exploded. "As if we need to be wasting time on things like that!"

Remus fixed troubled eyes on Harry. "Fudge is doing this because he can't figure out how to respond to the threat of Voldemort. They know about his increasing recruitment not only because of the bolder attacks, but because Dumbledore reported your vision. He's calling again for you to be removed from Hogwarts immediately and placed under Ministry supervision indefinitely."

For a moment, Harry thought he was going to be sick. He stared at Lupin. "Remus, they can't...they won't..."

Remus shook his head. "No, Harry. They can't and they won't. Not while Dumbledore is here. In fact, not while Minerva or Severus or any of the staff are here." He took a very slow, deep breath, in the same manner that he'd taught Harry to calm down when he was agitated. "Not while I am alive will Cornelius Fudge use you as a pawn."

There had to be more to this. Remus was as upset as Harry had ever seen him. If there was no danger that he could be forcibly removed, then the problem was…something else. "Remus, what's going on?"

Remus hesitated. "Steps are being taken, Harry. We hope to have a resolution to the situation soon—well, part of the situation anyway." He pulled a face. "You have to understand that I can't go into detail."

There was something there, something Lupin wasn't telling him. "But what about Percy? What will happen when they find out about the Memory Charm?"

"You have to trust us in this," Remus urged him. "Percy will be all right. Remember, we have other friends in the Ministry; you have nothing to be worried about."

"Then what are you so worried about?" Harry pleaded. "Something else is happening, I can tell!"

Remus looked directly at Harry. "This isn't an easy thing for me to say to you, Harry, but try to understand. From this point on, we can tell you nothing. You have to be kept completely in the dark. That's the only way we can be sure that there is no possibility that what we plan will be picked up by Voldemort."

Harry sat, feeling frustrated, let-down, and confused, then suddenly found himself angry, overwhelmingly so. "That's just great! Keep me in the dark just like Dumbledore did last year! Who'll get killed this time because I'm stumbling around in the dark with Death Eaters chasing after me?"

Remus flinched—sharply—and Harry instantly felt ashamed, but frustration still churned hot and poisonous in his insides, and he couldn't muster the effort to apologize.

He just got up and walked out the door.

Harry sat on the stool, head down, barely paying attention. He'd refused to answer questions from Ron and Hermione as to why he was so upset. He fumed, aware that he was being completely irrational but too frustrated to care, as the conversation with Remus repeated itself in his mind. Like I'm a liability, not to be trusted! Like all the progress I've made in Occlumency is worthless!

"Harry!" Hermione sounded exasperated. "I've set out all the ingredients. Come on! We've got to get started."

Hermione read the instructions as Harry added the ingredients to the cauldron. He found it impossible to concentrate, and Hermione's repeated scoldings of "Slower, Harry, slower!" just served to infuriate him more.

Finally, as Hermione turned away for a moment, Harry picked up the next ingredient and dumped the entire contents of the vial into the mix. The cauldron erupted with a roar, white-hot flames shot towards the ceiling—and Hermione screamed as the back of her hair and her robe caught fire.

Snape whirled around, pulling out his wand in one motion and sending off two spells. The first extinguished the flames on Hermione. The second doused the fire roaring out of the cauldron. Moving across the room even as he aimed the spells, Snape reached her in a matter of seconds and lifted the mass of singed hair to look at her back.

"No burns. You are exceedingly lucky, Miss Granger. Perhaps this incident will teach you, if nothing else, never to turn your back on Potter."

Harry stood horrified. His eyes took in the melted cauldron, Hermione standing tearful and shaken, and Snape bearing down on him. It dimly struck him that this was still different from all the grudge-driven, retaliatory chewing-outs Snape had given him in the past. Now the professor was simply—and rightly—furious.

"Potter, your stupidity and carelessness have finally caused serious damage. One hundred points from Gryffindor! And I shall be discussing with the Headmaster the wisdom of allowing you to remain in this class. Now...clean up this mess!"

The rest of the students began to file out, as Harry attempted to gather up any salvageable materials. Hermione stopped him. Her voice was shaking. "Harry, your temper. You have got to learn to control it." He felt miserable, looking at her tear-streaked face and mass of burnt hair. Before he could reply, she whirled and hurried out the door, covering her mouth to stifle her sobs.

By the time Harry finished cleaning up the debris from the exploded cauldron and left class, Ron was waiting for him right outside the classroom door. He pounced on Harry with as much fury as Snape had, in his own way.

"Harry, you are one stupid git! There are enough people in hospital right now without you sending more there just because you are ticked off! And you are bloody lucky that you didn't seriously hurt her, or I'd be sending you there myself!" he bellowed.

Harry rocked back on his heels from the force of the words and managed to choke out, "Is she okay?"

"No, she's bloody not okay; she's completely shaken up, and I had to leave her to come tell you what I've wanted to tell you for awhile: bloody get it together, Potter, because I am sick of you taking out your temper on Hermione and me!" With that, Ron turned and stalked back down the corridor.

A noise from behind him made Harry glance around. Snape was standing in the classroom doorway. In an astonishingly mild voice, he remarked, "Hell appears to have frozen over; I believe I have just witnessed a blinding burst of wisdom from that boy."

Harry ran. He took the stairs two at a time and plowed through groups of first and second years, not really sure where he was trying to go until he found himself staggering, with aching legs, pounding heart, and burning lungs, back in the DADA Corridor. Driven by a desperation he couldn't begin to explain, he burst into the office without even knocking. Professor Lupin was already on his feet, leaning toward the door in surprise.

"Remus, I'm sorry! This morning…I'm so sorry."

Remus crossed the distance between them in a few quick strides and put an arm around him. "Harry, come over here—sit down. Harry, it's all right."

Harry put his head down on the arm of the chair, balling his fists as he tried to catch his breath and keep from losing it. It took several failed attempts at calming down before he could raise his head and look at Remus without breaking down. "Whew!" Remus let his breath out. "You had me scared there, Harry."

Harry gave a shaky laugh. Remus produced a cup of hot, sweet tea. Neither spoke while Harry drank it down. It did make him feel better. He tried again. "Remus, I'm really…"

Lupin interrupted him. "Don't, Harry. It's not necessary. I knew you wouldn't react well to what I had to tell you."

"No, I was completely wrong, and you were right not to tell me—"

"—And you know that now, that's all that matters." Remus said firmly. "I'm not angry."

Harry gave a sigh of relief, fighting against the emotions still tightening his throat. "Thanks. I was afraid that this time I'd really…"

Remus stopped him again. "Don't ever think that, Harry." He smiled. "After all, if I could deal with the temperaments of James and Sirius all those years, I'm well able to deal with yours."

Harry rubbed his stinging eyes, completely disgusted with himself. "I don't know why I keep…messing up this way," he muttered.

"Don't be ashamed," Remus told him. "You're holding up very well."

"Holding up well!" Harry exclaimed, looking up at him. "If you'd seen what I did to Hermione in Potions—I…I…I burned her, Remus! All because I was angry and—"

"You burned her deliberately?" Remus interrupted.

Harry shook his head distractedly, "Well, no, I wasn't trying to burn her, just mess up the Potion, it was so stupid!"

Remus's laugh startled him out of his agitation. "Yes, it was. But you didn't mean to hurt her, correct?" Harry shook his head. Remus put a hand on his shoulder. "Then calm down and forgive yourself. I somehow doubt she will hold a grudge."

Furious at the lump in his throat returning yet again, Harry muttered, "No, she just says I need to control my temper. Ron's the one who's ready to strangle me."

"Well, you did maim his girlfriend," Remus said, smiling gently. Harry groaned and buried his face in his arms.

"I hate this, Remus! I hate this! I want it all to stop, I wish I was dead!"

"Harry, no!" Remus knelt down next to his chair, catching his arm and forcing him to look at him. "Don't say that."

"It's my fault!" Harry cried. "Hermione's hair is half-burned off, Neville's gran is afraid to go out, and Percy's going to be arrested—"

"Harry, listen!" Remus insisted, grabbing him by the shoulders. Harry bit back the rest of his hysterical words and forced himself to sit still. Remus looked more haggard than ever. There was as much pain in his voice as there had been that night in the Department of Mysteries. But he seemed desperate to make Harry listen, so Harry did. "Listen to me. You are involved. No one can deny that. But being involved and being at fault are two very different things. It was to protect you that Percy Obliviated Cornelius Fudge. But you are not to blame. Would you blame Percy for failing to prevent Fudge from finding out about your possession in the Great Hall?"

"I…" Harry blinked. "No, of course not."

"Why not?" Remus asked.

"Because…" taking a deep breath, Harry said slowly, "because there's...nothing he could do about it."

Remus smiled and nodded. "Now do you understand? You're a sixteen-year-old wizard still in school being targeted by a madman for something that happened before you were born. You are not responsible in any way for protecting Neville's grandmother or Percy's career. What happened to Hermione…well, you are responsible for that, but you know what you must do to make sure it doesn't happen again, don't you?" Harry smiled weakly and got up, wandering to the window just for something to do. Remus came to stand beside him. "And don't worry about Percy. He's being taken care of."

"What'll happen to him? Ron and Ginny are really worried. Fudge could do worse than sack him."

"If the worst should happen, we will take him to Headquarters. He can lie low there. The time is coming soon when even an incompetent like Fudge will have to pay attention to the war rather than petty grievances." Harry had to laugh, and Remus put an arm around his shoulders.

Gratefully, Harry let himself lean against the werewolf, watching the stars come out. One in particular, brighter than the others to him at least, caught his eye and before he knew it, he asked, "Remus, do you ever look at…"

He felt Remus tense beside him, but then he chuckled. "I was just thinking the same thing. Yes, I look at the Dog Star quite often. It's rather hard to shake the superstitions you're raised with." Harry watched the star brighten as the sky darkened, and sighed, closing his eyes. "I know," Remus said softly. "I…I miss him too. Always."

Harry nodded, then slowly asked a question that had been nagging him for some time. "Did he…did Sirius ask you to…you know…"

"To look after you?" Remus finished. When Harry dared a glance at him, the werewolf was smiling sadly. "Many times. Long ago, in fact, Sirius first asked me before he became Secret Keeper to your parents—or at least when he let me believe he'd become Secret Keeper." Remus sighed, and looked much older than Harry knew him to be. "Then there were several times at Grimmauld Place." Suddenly he glanced at Harry, seeming a little apprehensive. "You realize, Sirius's incessant demand that I repeat the promise had nothing to do with any reluctance on my part."

Genuinely surprised, Harry blurted, "No, I never thought that!"

Remus swallowed hard and smiled. "Good. The reason was that you mean—meant more to Sirius than anything else in the universe. Even if he had known…what would happen at the Department of Mysteries, I know for a fact he would not hesitate to go after you again. That's why I don't want you to blame yourself for...his death. You shouldn't hate yourself for his loving you."

Harry swallowed thickly and said, "I've been having nightmares about him."

Remus tensed sharply. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Harry blinked and looked at him. "They're not visions, I mean…they can't be!"

Remus stepped away from him and leaned against the windowsill, breathing slowly again. "Yes, of course. But if you're having nightmares, perhaps talking would still help." He patted Harry's shoulder. "You've been so tired lately."

Walking closer to the window and watching the star, Harry sighed, "I've been dreaming about him since he died," Remus winced, "but it got worse after the Fortress of Shadows. I…you don't think Voldemort would just send me nightmares for the fun of it, do you?"

Remus snorted sourly, sounding like Snape. "He might. What are the…new nightmares?"

Harry swallowed hard. He hated thinking about them. "He's Snuffles. And they're torturing him." Remus's breath caught, and he abruptly straightened and hugged him. Harry cringed. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to make you—"

"Don't apologize, Harry, not for that. You can…always talk to me about Sirius."

Harry nodded, which was hard to do considering how hard Remus was hugging him, but cringed inwardly. Talking about Sirius obviously hurt Remus a lot, and Harry didn't want to do that. He'd hurt Remus enough today. "Thanks," he finally said. Remus smiled and let him go. "Listen…whatever's happening…whatever the Order is planning…you'll be careful?"

Remus blinked at him, then smiled. "I will. I promise, Harry. As long as it's within my power, I'll never let you be left alone." Harry swallowed hard past the lump in his throat and smiled. "Off with you now."

"Good night." Harry gave him a little wave from the doorway before closing it behind him. He still had to deal with Ron, and Hermione and her singed hair, but after talking with Remus, he felt strong enough again.

"I never left," Severus replied, draping the cloak over his arm. "And I'm infinitely grateful to you for confiscating this thing."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "And you say Harry has no regard for privacy."

"When I Floo'd here, I hardly expected that the boy would come barreling in five minutes later. There was no way out of the room without alerting him to my presence once he had closed the door."

Rolling his eyes, Remus turned back to the window. "After all your years as a spy, don't hand me a line that you can't sneak out of a classroom past a hysterical teenager while you're wearing an Invisibility Cloak."

"I was concerned that your attachment to Potter would lead you to say something unwise," Snape said from behind him.

"For God's sake! I don't pretend to be impartial where Harry's concerned, but grant that I'm not a fool. I'm not about to tell him about Sirius until we know for sure what's happened to him," Remus said, his guts twisting at the thought.

Snape tossd a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace. "Headmaster! We are ready here."

Professor McGonagall poked her head through. "There's been a slight delay, gentlemen. Albus and I must get Percy Weasley settled."

"Oh dear," said Remus, heading closer. "It's happened, then?"

She nodded gravely. "Young Mr. Weasley is rather distressed, and we had a difficult time getting him from the Ministry building without attention."

"Is Fudge here looking for him?" asked Severus.

"Yes. As soon as the coast is clear, we will send Weasley to Headquarters."

"We'll sit tight, then," said Remus, leaning back against a desk.

Snape held up the Invisibility Cloak. "Perhaps this will be of use."

Minerva wrinkled her nose. "Possibly, given the Minister's current state of mind." She held out a hand, and Severus passed it to her.

"Take care of it. It's Harry's," Remus said before he could stop himself. Severus shot him a withering look, but Minerva nodded, smiling faintly.

"I thought as much, having seen James Potter and certain cohorts employing it once upon a time. We will see you shortly." She vanished.

Silence fell. Remus glanced at Severus and saw the scowl on his face. "Honestly, Severus, let it go."

The Potions Master's head jerked toward Remus. "Easy for you to say, werewolf. Always so easy for you to say."

Remus wandered over to the tank by his desk to watch the grindylow. James had loved the things. He'd kept one in a tank himself until he married Lily, then Sirius had taken it. What had ever happened to that grindylow? Remus had no idea; someone must have taken it away after Sirius went to Azkaban. "Harry's nothing like James at this age," he remarked.

"I know."

Well, well! He hadn't expected that—well, he knew Severus knew it, but hardly expected him to admit it. Carefully, Remus pushed a little further. "I know what kind of boys they were, Severus. I can't excuse the things they…the things we did." Snape shifted, but did not retort. "But he grew into a good man, you know that. The two of you never had the chance to work together, but you were on the same side."

"Stop it, Lupin, there's sap oozing off the walls. Yes, yes, we were, in the end. But even if I had ever managed to set aside my feelings about Potter, he would never have stopped thinking of me as the enemy."

"You're wrong," Remus said bluntly. Severus stared at him. Softening his stance a little, he said, "James learned a great deal from Lily. At Dumbledore's word, he would have trusted you."

Severus stared at him for a long moment, then recovered his trademark sneer. "Perhaps, but seeing as the man is dead, it's a moot point. And Black never grew up."

"He never had the chance to, did he?" The words were sad, but Remus smiled inwardly as they struck home. Quite an impact, that time with Harry had on you.

He could tell by the fact Severus did not launch into denials and justifications, but instead looked away, troubled thoughts running across his eyes. On the other hand, there were some things even Harry's company could not change. Unable to deny, Severus instead attempted a diversion. "And that does not concern you, Lupin? Putting the boy back in Black's less-than-wholesome influence?"

Remus shrugged. "Harry's sixteen. He's surrounded by less-than-wholesome influence—although I think you don't give Sirius enough credit. Whatever failings circumstance has left him with, he loves Harry more than life itself, as you've seen firsthand…twice."

Something glinted in Snape's eyes, and he curled his lip. "And as you say, the boy worships the dog. Are you prepared to return to second place in your cub's heart?"

Remus blinked at him, then laughed out loud. "You're doing it again, Severus."

"What, being a 'greasy git?'"

"No, you're getting your archenemies mixed up. Before it was Harry and James."

"I'm not confusing you with Potter," Snape said indignantly.

"No," Remus told him. "You're confusing me with Sirius. He's Harry's godfather; I've never been jealous of their relationship—well, a little perhaps, but not resentful."

Predictably, Snape snorted. Poor Severus, you cannot understand the worth of caring about the happiness of someone else, can you?

And Severus did not, for he remarked, "Perhaps you can convince yourself of that now, but you may find yourself singing a different tune when Black returns."

"Harry's happiness will never be cause for my resentment," Remus informed Severus calmly.

"Your selflessness is admirable, Lupin, but I doubt Black will be so obliging," Severus sneered.

Remus sighed, supposing it was too much to hope that Severus would ever break the habit of needling people for amusement. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he said, even though he did.

In a sly drawl, the Potions Master remarked, "As you yourself admit, Black has never grown up. Will he be as accepting as you of your changed relationship with the boy?"

"As you overheard," Remus said curtly, "it was what he wanted."

"If he died. But if by some miracle he should return alive, I doubt it will escape him that it is now your shoulder Potter cries on."

"That's crass, Severus," Remus said, having no other real reply to offer. "And unimportant. Besides, this is not only about Harry."

"No?"

Remus turned to face him. "No. Sirius Black is my best friend left on this earth. I thought I had lost him. Now that I know it isn't so…I'm going after him. I'm getting him back. For Harry and for me."

He turned back to the window as silence fell once again.

"Somehow I doubt if a distraction from Albus will work twice," said Severus at last.

Remus let out his breath. "At least Harry's nightmares prove Sirius is still alive. But you're right about the distraction."

"When the headmaster arrives, we'll have to come up with something else, then."

Remus turned slowly to meet Severus Snape's eyes. "We?"

Severus's face was completely blank, stony. "Yes."

Remus could not think of anything to say then, which was just as well because he knew Severus would not care to hear any of the half-formed thoughts spinning around in his head. Instead, he went back to the window to seek out one point of light in an endless sky. It was dimmer now, hidden in the masking glow of the waning moon, but it was still there.

Still there.

He didn't care if Severus heard him.

"Hold on. I'm coming. We're coming."

The entire castle seemed to be conspiring against Harry getting back to Gryffindor Tower. It took three false starts, and directions from the Grey Lady before Harry found himself on a landing overlooking the staircase that would normally lead to the portrait hole. All adjoining staircases had swung away, and Harry was stranded for several minutes. Finally, another staircase hooked up, and he headed wearily up the stairs and gave the password to the Fat Lady.

When he got into the common room, he heard Ron and Hermione's voices and started quickly for the dormitory stairs. "Harry, wait." Hermione sounded exasperated. "We've been searching for you all over the castle."

Harry froze where he was, staring downward. He didn't want to turn around and see Hermione with her singed hair. "Bloody hell, Harry!" Ron didn't sound angry, just confused. "This place has turned into a labyrinth. You have to go backwards, forwards, and upside-down to get anywhere. What's going on?"

"I don't know." Harry took a deep breath. "Hermione, I'm…I'm so sorry…I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Harry, it's all right," Hermione said from behind him. "I don't hate you for it, it was an accident! Won't you please look at me?" she pleaded.

Harry sighed and turned around, then winced. Hermione had been forced to cut most of her hair off. It was now curling around her face, only just below her chin. Miserably, he said, "I can't believe I did that to you."

"Oh, Harry, stop feeling guilty and look at her!" Ginny exclaimed, coming to join him. "Don't you think it's cute?"

"What?" Harry blinked, then said hastily, "Uh, yeah, sure—it looks really great, Hermione." Soft snorts from the other girls now gravitating in their direction told him he wasn't convincing. Hermione rolled her eyes. He supposed it looked all right—at least she hadn't had to shave her head or anything—but the knowledge that he'd been the reason for her drastic change in hairstyle made it hard to see it as a good thing.

"Cheer up, mate," said Ron. "No real harm done. You should've seen this lot when we got back," he added, gesturing at Lavender, Parvati, and Ginny. "They pounced all over her with hair potions and styling charms."

Harry smiled weakly. "That's nice. Really, it looks very nice," he told Hermione. "I'm just sorry you…you know…couldn't do it by choice."

Throwing her hands into the air, Hermione exclaimed, "Apologies accepted, Harry, all fifty of them! Now stop feeling bad about it before I hex all your hair right off!"

Harry had to grin.

"Any news from Percy?" he asked Ron later when they were getting ready for bed.

Ron flopped onto his bed and swatted the curtains. "All McGonagall would say is they smuggled him out of the Ministry to bring him here so they can get him to Headquarters."

"He's here now?"

"He was, but Fudge and the Ministry are still searching the school, so we couldn't see him. They just made a Portkey and sent him on."

"Merlin's beard," Harry groaned. "Percy's a fugitive."

Ron pulled a face and nodded. "McGonagall says he's really upset."

"But he'll be okay, right? He'll be safe at least," said Harry.

"That's what Ginny said. We'll all see him when the hols start."

"Well…at least your family'll all be together for Christmas this year," Harry sighed. "So your mum can give everyone their jumpers."

Ron agreed absently, "Yeah, and Hermione's family will be there too, so it will be a wonderful holiday—oh, blimey, I'm sorry, Harry!"

Harry swallowed thickly. "'s all right. I'm glad Percy's come round and…you're all together. Really," he said, seeing Ron's doubtful face. He turned away and walked over to the window, watching the snow beginning to fall.

"Harry…will you be okay?" Ron asked tentatively.

Crawling into bed, Harry said quickly, "Yeah. I'll be there, remember?"

"I know, but will you be okay?"

Harry sighed. "For Christmas, you mean?" Ron nodded solemnly, getting the "Hermione look" as Harry had come to call it. "Not really, but…there's nothing to really…make it better, I guess. I'll just get through it."

"I don't want you to be sad on Christmas, mate."

"I'll try not to be. Really, but…" Harry looked away from his friend's sad gaze. "I can't stop missing him, Ron. Especially at Christmas." He forced a smile. "I'll…I'll try to have fun though."

"He'd want you to," Ron said. "And it might not be so bad with the house full of people. We can distract. I know the twins will."

"Yeah!" Harry said brightly, but only to reassure Ron.

You can't pack that house with enough people to make me not notice who's missing. It'll always feel empty to me.

Just before the end-of-term exams, Harry managed to arrive late at Specialized Defense on the same day that yet another article appeared in the Daily Prophet calling for his removal from Hogwarts.

"Harry Potter is a liability!" Fudge had been quoted as saying. "The life of every child in that school is in danger as long as he is present."

The other students were lined up in front of a row of, what appeared to be, targets. Ron and Hermione watched with obvious trepidation as Professor Smythe-Wellington advanced.

"How good of you to finally join us, Mr. Potter. Take your place at one of the empty targets." She stood up to address the group. "Although these objects appear to be targets, they will, in fact, be targeting you. One of the most crucial defensive skills is the ability to raise a shield with utmost speed to block an unfriendly spell. In fact, it may be the skill that saves your life. You may never have the chance to disarm an opponent before his spell reaches you. By shielding yourself, you get the second chance you need to do just that."

Well, that didn't sound too hard. Harry took his place and continued listening, keeping his face as blank as he could to avoid drawing Smythe-Wellington's attention. She went on, "These targets will attack you with a stinging hex. Nothing serious, just enough to let you know that you've been hit. And, they will hit you from different angles. The object is to block the hex. This exercise requires concentration. Ready? Begin!"

Next to Harry, Neville successfully blocked one hex, only to give a yelp as the target's next shot hit him in the knee. Harry blocked three shots in a row, then the target paused. Harry took a deep breath, trying to think about what he was doing and not the letters he had received by owl post.

You are a selfish child! If you had any decency at all, you would leave that school!

Since when is your life more valuable than my son's! The headmaster is criminally negligent in allowing you to remain at Hogwarts while you are You-Know-Who's target!

Am I a liability? Is Fudge right? Should I be removed from Hogwarts? A burning pain stung his cheek and, as Harry raised his hand to his face, he was stung in the arm. Before he could get his wand into position, the target hit him again, square in the chest.

You're always going to be a target!

Sting!

Harry Potter is a liability!

Ouch!

The life of every child in that school is in danger!

Sting—shield—sting—shield—shield—sting—sting—sting—

Ouch! Liability…

BLOODY ENOUGH!

Something inside him seemed to snap, like a firecracker inside his head—

CRASH! The target exploded into chunks of plaster and cloth, causing the rest of the students to yelp and jump in surprise.

"Cease!" Professor Smythe-Wellington's voice rang out and all the other targets shut down. Harry felt blood draining from his face as it dawned on him what had happened. Smythe-Wellington rounded on him. Her voice was low and furious. "Mr. Potter, your performance is completely unacceptable! The lack of control over your own emotions, most specifically your temper, renders you unable to complete even this most basic exercise. Control, Potter! That's the key word here. Without it, you are a liability..." Harry winced, "to any others working with you. I suggest that you make achieving that control your highest priority...from...now…on! Have I made my point, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry mumbled.

Scowling, she restored his target, but held up a hand when he started towards it. "To a seat, Mr. Potter. You will not be participating for the remainder of this class, and you have a zero for today's work."

Not daring to argue, Harry kept his head down and did as she said.

Harry didn't know whether to be grateful or not when term finally ended. On one hand, Ron was right: he needed a holiday. They all did; even Hermione was looking ragged and tense. On the other hand…there would be almost two dozen people at headquarters this Christmas…and Harry still keenly felt the knowledge that he was going back to an empty house.

It might not have been so bad if Remus were going with them, but all he would tell Harry was that he might be detained over Christmas. "I'll join you as soon as I can, but it may not be possible," he had said. "If not, I'll see you when you get back. Remember your promise."

Harry did, but it didn't make the knowledge any easier to bear. He dutifully cleared his mind every night before bed, and he and Snape continued Occlumency—though Harry's tension proved to be yet another emotion that could be exploited, and got him repeatedly scolded.

No, contrary to what Ron and Hermione were clearly hoping, the start of holidays gave Harry no peace, of mind or anything else. Tension was thick in the air as students packed to go home, with everyone painfully aware that they were leaving the relative safety of Hogwarts for the even less certain safety of their unwarded houses. Far more students were staying at school over Christmas than had in the past. As for Harry and the others, they quietly piled into the headmaster's office to Floo to headquarters.

And the knowledge that the Order of the Phoenix was planning some kind of major action was made even worst by Harry's first steps back into Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny hovered close beside him as they stepped into the parlor from the fire place, each clearly wondering whether they should say something or simply pretend they didn't notice.

Harry stared numbly around him: the house was much cleaner than it had been even last Christmas. It also appeared that a real effort had been made toward making the place a little brighter; lanterns and candles and festive Christmas decorations were everywhere.

But the house, not surprisingly, seemed to resist parting with its traditional dismal atmosphere, and gloom crept into every nook and cranny available. Harry rather agreed with the house: the decorations weren't fooling anyone.

Still, he didn't want to ruin everyone else's holiday, and the others were determined to try and have fun. He forced a smile at his quiet friends and said, "I guess we'd better go settle in."

"Right," said Ron at once. "Come on, we've got the same room as last year."

"Is Percy here?" Ginny asked, opening the parlor door. "Hello? Anyone home?"

Feet came thumping down the hall—lots of feet. "Is that Ginny?" exclaimed someone, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley rushed in, followed by Bill, Charlie, Percy, and the twins, to hug all the new arrivals. "We weren't expecting you for another hour!"

"Dumbledore thought we'd better leave before anyone noticed we weren't on the train," said Hermione. "Are my mum and dad here yet?"

"They're unpacking; I sent Tonks to get them," said Mrs. Weasley. "Well, why don't we get all your trunks to your rooms, then have some lunch, and ring in the holidays properly." She had one arm around Ron, the other around Harry, and he took the hint to wax enthusiastic.

They deserve a good holiday. They're all together again, he thought, looking at Percy.

When Harry got to his room, he found Phineas Nigellus inhabiting his portrait, solemnly watching the scene as they unpacked. "Good day, Mr. Potter," Phineas startled him at last by saying.

"Hullo," Harry muttered. He didn't want to be rude, but even discounting his initial mutual dislike of Sirius's great-great-grandfather, the memories that came with him were enough to keep him from looking at the portrait very long.

"You are well, I trust?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, keeping his attention on his trunk. Oddly enough, Phineas didn't appear offended by his shortness, but simply kept watching them.

Harry and Ron gratefully escaped the room and dodged back down the hall past all the other Order members and assorted children getting settled in. "Ron…ah…is Buckbeak still here?"

"Yeah, upstairs in Mrs. Black's room still. Want to go see him?"

"Er…maybe later," Harry stalled. He did want to, but somehow doubted he'd be able to handle it at the moment. "Let's go have lunch first."

They met Hermione with her parents on the way down the stairs. "Harry, you've met my mum and dad, haven't you?" asked Hermione.

"Er…" Harry had seen Hermione's Muggle parents once or twice, but now that he thought about it, they hadn't really been introduced.

"Apparently not," said Hermione's mother, a tall woman with wavy brown hair and brown eyes, and a face very like Hermione's own. She smiled at Harry and held out a hand, "I'm Moira Granger, Harry. Hermione's told us so much about you."

"And you," said Harry, shaking her hand. He didn't say all he was thinking; namely, how bloody lucky Hermione was.

Hermione's father was shorter than her mother, with a receding hairline and alert blue eyes. He met Harry's eyes, but Harry could almost see the thoughts running through his head, which also reminded him of Hermione. "Hello, Harry. I'm Andrew Granger."

"Pleased to meet you," Harry murmured, dropping his eyes. On the other hand, Mr. Granger, although he had that "thinking" look that Harry identified with Hermione, didn't seem quite as warm toward Harry as Hermione's mother. Something about him seemed, while not outright suspicious or hostile, not entirely happy to meet Harry either.

I've gotten too used to the Weasleys. Why am I surprised? Their daughter's a target anyway because of them, and now she's one of the main targets because of me, he thought dully. On the other hand, it might simply be due to the fact that he'd burned half of Hermione's hair off.

Hermione, for her part, had sensed the sudden tension and shot her father a rather impressive glare before grabbing both Harry and Ron's hands. "Come on, I'm starving. Let's have lunch!"

They obediently trooped back to the stairs. "Harry, you haven't seen the dining room yet, have you?" asked Ginny. When Harry shook his head, she said, "It's a lot bigger than the old kitchen, and rather nice, now that it's cleaned up properly."

It was, Harry found, as they led him in the opposite direction from the stairs that went down to the basement kitchen to a small hall he had never ventured down during his times at Grimmauld Place. At the end of that small entryway was a large, formal dining room, clearly the kind of place a wealthy family would have their dinners.

Harry wondered how Mrs. Black would react to seeing it being used for this. More holly and evergreen garlands and tinsel adorned the room, and the huge, sparkling chandelier over the table was fully lit, its candles throwing dancing light over everything. The long, wooden dining table and chairs shone with polish.

It was different enough from what Harry remembered of the house that it almost made him forget he was at Grimmauld Place—until a small, hunched figure skulked around his feet, carrying additional table settings and muttering, "Filthy half-breed child has returned. Kreacher thought he was gone for good at last, but no, he brings more filth into Mistress' house. My poor Mistress, if she knew…"

Harry stopped in his tracks. Hermione quickly intercepted Kreacher and snatched the plates and silverware from his hands. "That will be all, thank you, Kreacher," she said in a tight voice, glancing quickly at Harry. "Go to your room and don't come in here again until lunch is over."

Kreacher glared at her and shuffled away, muttering, "What would Mistress say if she knew poor Kreacher is receiving orders from filthy Mudbloods—"

Tonks tugged Hermione gently aside and snapped, "Now, Kreacher!"

Kreacher went. The others looked at Harry nervously, so he just turned and headed for the table. I suppose it would upset Hermione if I admitted how much I'd hoped to find his head mounted in the hall, he thought idly. Aloud, he said only, "This place does look nice now."

More than one person sighed in relief. Harry didn't notice Mrs. Weasley quietly straightening some of the dishes—they had begun to vibrate when he had first seen Kreacher.

Lunch was forcibly cheerful. Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Granger questioned them at length about end-of-term exams, and the twins chattered with Percy about their new line of Wheezes for office parties. Harry plastered a smile on his face and did his best to eat along with the others.

Tonks and Moody left after lunch without explanation. Harry knew he wasn't even supposed to think about it, for obvious reasons, but he couldn't shake the knowledge that Remus was out there somewhere, doing…don't think about it don't think about it!

Harry allowed his friends to drag him into the downstairs drawing room later to see some of the new holiday products the twins had invented. Fred and George had commandeered the whole room to fill Christmas orders—it was a very busy season for them—and shanghaied Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny to help them.

"These crackers in themselves aren't pranks," said Fred, showing them to Harry. "They're ordinary wizard crackers, but full of our stuff."

"Can we try one?" Ginny pleaded as she gift wrapped a box and stuck a label on it.

"Wait till you finish and make sure there's enough to fill the orders," warned Percy from the writing desk, where he was working on the store's books.

The twins had wrangled Percy into taking up the job of official Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes accountant after he'd fled the Ministry, which, Ron confided to Harry, was probably more out of a desire to keep Percy from brooding too much, but so far the arrangement was actually turning out rather useful. "Who'd have thought Percy would wind up in partnership with the twins, of all people?" Ginny had laughed.

At the moment, Harry was helping her box up the last few orders of crackers and attach the labels. "How are you going to ship these? A lot of owls would get noticed," he remarked.

"We're sending them through the Floo back to Hogwarts, and they'll go out with the rest of the school's mail," said George. "Works out fine at this time of year." He pulled a face. "Would've been easier if we'd been able to take our N.E.W.T.s before the holidays."

Fred made a tsk-tsk noise and shook his head. "Ruddy Death Eaters have no respect for our schedule."

Harry wasn't the only one who saw the dark look on George's face at that, and Hermione said quickly, "Okay, that's all of them. And we've got three crackers left. What say we try them?"

George brightened. "Fire away!"

"One of 'em's mine!" Ginny exclaimed, grabbing one at once. "Harry?" She held it out to him.

Grinning, Harry took the other end. "Ready, and…"

BANG! Smoke and sparkles flew into the air as the cracker disgorged two Skiving Snackboxes, an assortment of Ton Tongue Toffees, Canary Creams, and other Weasley sweets, and a pair of Vanishing Hats. The twins followed with one of their own as Ginny turned herself into a headless canary with one of the hats and the creams, making Mr. Weasley and the Grangers laugh.

Ron and Hermione ended up with two golden crowns, trick wands, and a can of coiffure cream, which turned Ron blond and grew Hermione's hair to waist length. The crowns, once tried on, would not come off for three hours. "All you need are some dress robes and jewelry and you'd pass for royalty," Ginny told Hermione, tugging the rather pretty ringlets.

"She's right," said Ron. "Maybe you should let it get longer."

Hermione grinned and ruffled Ron's own golden locks, "My own hair would be a fright at this length! It would never really curl, as much as I like dressing up once in awhile."

Mrs. Weasley came in then and scolded them playfully for making such a mess before clearing away all the glitter and wrappings. "And if anyone plans to do any last-minute owl-order shopping, better fill out the forms now. Tonight's the last night you can order something and get it before Christmas."

Fred held out some forms. "We've got them if we need them," he said.

"Fred, George, can I ask you something?" Ron said suddenly.

"Shoot."

"I mean…alone? It's…holiday advice," said Ron cryptically, glancing at the others.

"Ah. Right. Let's pop down to the parlor and Floo these packages, shall we?" George handed a few forms to Hermione, Harry, Percy, and Ginny, and ushered Ron out the door, arms laden with boxes.

"Hmm," mused Ginny when they'd gone. "I wonder what he's on about?"

"Obviously one of us," said Hermione with a grin.

Harry was finishing up his forms (he had to order a lot since he hadn't been able to go to Hogsmeade like his classmates for presents) and Hermione was helping her parents with theirs when the drawing room door opened. They looked up, expecting to see Ron, or the twins, or one of the Aurors, but it wasn't.

It was Snape.

Everyone in the room sprang to their feet. He was dirty, his robes were torn, and Harry could see dried blood on his neck. "Professor!" exclaimed Hermione. "What happened?"

Snape's eyes darted around the room and came to rest on Harry. Harry felt a terrible chill, as if an icy hand had squeezed his heart. His throat tightened. Whatever Snape had been doing, it looked as if he had returned and immediately sought Harry out. Which could mean only one thing. Harry's voice failed on the first try, and he took a slow breath, trying to remember how to calm down.

"W-Where's Remus?" he asked weakly.

Snape dropped his eyes. He had never done that before. Hermione and Ginny simultaneously sprang toward Harry, each wrapping her arms around him from either side as if afraid he would fall over. He rather thought it was a good idea. "Sir?" whispered Hermione.

"Missing," said Snape quietly. "The mission has gone wrong. We were separated."

There was not a sound in the room but Snape's voice. Harry began to shake.

Snape went on, "There is no news as yet. We may learn more as others begin to return. I was one of the first."

Harry was finding it hard to focus his eyes. He heard Mrs. Weasley ask shakily, "Do you think we should prepare for wounded?"

"I would advise it," said Snape, looking again at Harry. "I must return to Hogwarts; I merely came to inform Mr. Potter of the situation."

Ginny and Hermione's grips tightened on him, and Harry looked up, opening his mouth to thank Snape, but nothing came out. Instead, Ginny spoke for him. "Thank you, Professor."

"Miss Weasley. Potter." Snape quietly turned and left.

Harry was vaguely aware of Hermione and Ginny pressing him onto the sofa. Mr. Weasley quickly got up. "I'll go and see what I can find out," he said. He reached past the girls and gave Harry's shoulder a squeeze before hurrying out of the room.

Mrs. Weasley knelt in front of Harry. "Oh Harry, dear, try to calm down, it's too early to assume the worst!" Harry tried to look at her, but couldn't manage to concentrate, so she said, "Ginny, run and see if we have a Calming Draught downstairs."

As Ginny quickly rose, Mrs. Granger said, "Wait a moment." There was the sound of her rummaging in a bag, then a pop, then an intense, burning stench shot up Harry's nose.

He lurched backwards into the couch cushions, coughing, and tears streamed down his face. "What is that!" he rasped.

"Ammonia," said Mrs. Granger proudly. "Modern Muggle smelling salts."

Harry blinked, wiping his eyes, and smiled weakly. "Something to be said for Muggle methods, I guess." His vision was a little clearer, and his head no longer felt detached from his body. "Thanks, I….I'm okay."

"Try and keep your mind clear," said Hermione. Harry blinked at her, and she explained, "I know it's hard, but until everyone gets back from the…mission, it's best if we don't give Voldemort any tips."

Ginny and Mrs. Weasley were frowning, but Harry nodded. "Right."

He tried to force himself to calm down. They didn't know anything for certain yet. Remus had just been separated from the others doing…whatever they were doing. That was all. He'd either catch up with them or make his own way back from…wherever they'd been. That was all.

He'd be back soon. He'd promised to be careful.

HE PROMISED NOT TO LEAVE ME! HE CAN'T LEAVE ME HERE ALONE!

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed.

Harry was breathing very fast. Ron, Percy, and the twins had come in by then and were crowded silently behind their mother, watching Harry with worried eyes. "Sorry," he muttered. "I'll be okay."

The twins exchanged glances. "Let's go downstairs," suggested George. "Hagrid's just dropped off the Christmas tree. We can decorate it while we…wait."

Harry didn't especially feel merry at the moment, but they were all watching him hopefully, so he nodded. "Right, then."

As they trooped downstairs, Ron (now red-haired once again) put an arm around his shoulders, and Harry forced himself to tease his friend about still wearing that silly crown. "We can't get the bloody things off, remember?" Ron protested.

After obediently hanging tinsel and ornaments on the Christmas Tree for a little while, Harry found himself desperately wanting to escape. His insides were twisting with anxiety, and every time the fireplace crackled or the house creaked, he jumped. The way everyone hovered around him didn't help, but above all else, he couldn't seem to stop staring fixedly at the doorway, praying with all his strength that a familiar shabby figure would come through it.

Remus Remus Remus!

Finally, he simply couldn't take anymore. Shifting out of the crowd of Grangers and Weasleys, he slipped toward the doorway and faked a yawn. "I'm going to go lie down for awhile."

Ron and Hermione immediately started toward him. "We'll go upstairs too."

"You don't have to!" Harry said, more sharply than he'd meant to. They both wavered. "I mean…I'm fine, really, I just…"

Hermione opened her mouth, but Ron nudged her gently. "That's fine, mate. Er…do you want some Dreamless Sleep Potion?"

"There's some here?" he asked in surprise.

Hermione nodded. "In the kitchen cupboard. It's probably a good idea…considering."

"Yeah," said Ron quickly, grabbing her arm. "We'll run and get it." Giving her a warning look when she would have protested, he tugged her away, and Harry headed up the stairs alone.

I owe you, Ron, Harry thought dryly.

Not that he didn't appreciate Hermione's concern—well, that was a lie, more often than not it was downright annoying—but he simply couldn't cope with it just now. Being surrounded by hovering, worried people only made him feel more conscious of the emptiness of Grimmauld Place compared to last year. If Remus had come here with them it wouldn't have been so bad, and now…

Remus, you have to come back! I need you, you promised you'd never leave me alone, you have to come back, I can't stand this place without you, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE I CAN'T STAND IT!

"The filthy little half-blood is distressed, doesn't even see Kreacher."

Harry jumped. He'd nearly stepped on Kreacher. "Sorry," he said curtly, and started past the elf.

As he started to walk down the hall to his room, he heard Kreacher muttering, "The traitors and the filth infest Mistress's house now, but soon they will all be gone again."

Turning slowly, Harry growled, "And what do you mean by that?" Kreacher stopped and grinned coldly at him—the exact same way he had when he had lied to Harry about Sirius and the Department of Mysteries. Harry's stomach lurched. "Cut…it…out."

Neither he nor Kreacher noticed the Christmas decorations rattling softly on the walls, nor the sound of footsteps downstairs. Kreacher sneered, "Kreacher has seen those that have not come back, filthy spawn of Mudbloods. Slowly the numbers dwindle."

His chest felt tight, and he was shaking again—but not for the same reasons as before. "Get back downstairs and don't ever speak to me again, you disgusting little worm! Get away from me!"

"Kreacher need not take orders from the half-breed," the house elf drove on, laughing.

Kreacher told me, laughing fit to burst, where Sirius had gone.

Spots were starting to appear in front of Harry's eyes. If there was anyone or anything in the world he hated more than Bellatrix Lestrange…how dare this murdering little monster stand here and taunt him!

"I'll bloody lock you in that cupboard for the rest of your life," he hissed, advancing on the house elf.

Kreacher kept laughing! "The half-breed would like to hurt Kreacher, Kreacher can see! Because Master is gone, gone in the Department of Mysteries, and now the half-breed's pet werewolf is gone too!"

"SHUT UP!" Harry screamed, and somewhere, glass shattered.

"The Dark Lord will have them all soon, the Master, the werewolf, the traitors, and the Mudbloods, all of them shall fall to the Dark Lord, and soon the half-breed will be alone, all alone—"

Blood roared in Harry's ears as he clenched his fists, fighting the urge to wrap his hands around that nasty little neck and choke its words off. From outside his ears came an incredible howl as wind like a storm gale roared down the hallway, sweeping garlands off the walls and snuffing out candles.

Soon the half-breed will be alone, all alone…now the werewolf is gone too…

"AAAAUUUUGH!" the bony little elf screeched in surprise as the gust—that had once knocked Draco Malfoy clean off his feet—lifted him clean into the air and carried him away from the enraged wizard.

"Harry! Harry, STOP!"

With a gasp, Harry came back to himself. Ron was pressed against the wall at the end of the hall, but the wind had already carried the airborne house elf out of the hallway over the top of the stairs, so that when it died, Kreacher hit the stairs with another screech and went crashing all the way down them, despite Ron's attempt to grab him. "Merlin's beard!" he yelled as Kreacher's shrieks abruptly stopped.

Harry raced to the stairs as Ron dashed down them, hearing yelling below. Everyone was crowding at the bottom of the stairs over Kreacher's crumpled form. "I didn't mean…" he gasped, horrified, but no one could hear him over the ruckus.

Someone was sobbing. Harry blinked in confusion as he realized it was Mrs. Weasley. The twins were tugging her away, saying, "Mum, Mum, calm down, it was an accident! It was…right?" George looked up at Harry worriedly.

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," Harry babbled, coming down the stairs toward them as Hermione appeared, carrying the quilt she'd made Kreacher the Christmas before. "I didn't mean to hurt…" he trailed off when he saw tears in Hermione's eyes too.

When she draped the quilt over the house elf, something clunked into place in Harry's head. His mouth fell open. What…what…no…no, I couldn't have…I…

As Hermione straightened up, her face unreadable, Ron grabbed her arm. "It was an accident," he said to her, his voice fierce. "Just an accident."

Hermione didn't seem to hear him. She just stared up at Harry, who felt his stomach starting to spin. Oh God…

Now everyone was staring at him. Bill and Charlie pushed past the twins, and Charlie scooped up the quilt-wrapped bundle. "We'll…handle things," said Bill quietly.

Everyone was staring at him! "I…didn't…mean…" Harry choked out, his head swimming. His brain felt as if it had turned to porridge. He couldn't think, couldn't see anything except the body…

Body.

Kreacher was dead. Harry had killed him.

I killed him.

Ron came running up the stairs as Harry sat down on them with a thump, hands over his mouth and fearing he'd be sick. "Calm down, Harry, try to calm down!"

"I didn't mean to…I didn't mean to…"

I killed Kreacher! I killed Kreacher, I killed a house elf, he was old and defenseless even if he was awful and I killed him I killed Kreacher I killedIkilledIkilledI…

Past Ron's shoulders, he could see them all still staring at him.

Murdered…him…murderer…

Harry wrenched away from Ron and staggered to his feet, lurching back up the stairs and breaking into a stumbling run down the hallway. Below, everyone was talking at once. He thought he heard Hermione call after him, but it might have been his imagination. After all, what would she say to him now?

You killed Kreacher.

Murderer…

He had crashed drunkenly through the door of one of the unused bedrooms, and after that he didn't remember much of anything. When his thoughts slowed down to where he could notice his surroundings, he was mildly surprised to find himself in a closet, arms wrapped around his knees so tight that his legs hurt. He was still shaking.

Murderer…

He'd killed Kreacher. He…had…killed. He had killed an old, half-crazy house elf. Completely defenseless…and Harry had killed him. Harry had hated him, but he hadn't meant to…had he!

Horror surged up in Harry so suddenly that he nearly was sick right there. As it was, he had to clap both hands over his mouth. No…no…I couldn't have…even subconsciously, I'd never DELIBERATELY…could I? Would I? Oh no…I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!

Eventually, his mental hysterics wound down, and he hauled himself up and out of the closet. Then he froze: somehow, in his panicked state, he'd wound up in Sirius's bedroom. How he'd managed that, he had no idea; Sirius's room was up another flight of stairs and down two hallways in the labyrinth that was the Blacks' family home.

Of course, Sirius had spent more time in Buckbeak's room than in here, but it was still unsettling. Harry curled up into a ball on top of the bed and closed his eyes. What would Sirius have said if he had seen what Harry just did?

The door opened.

Harry shot into a sitting position with a gasp, and Hermione jumped in response, wide-eyed. He caught his breath, and she stared nervously at him from the doorway. "Harry…can I come in?"

Swallowing thickly, Harry nodded, pulling his knees up to his chest again. She came and sat down on the bed next to him, pulling her knees up in the same way unconsciously. Harry didn't dare look at her, and had no idea whether she looked at him. They sat there, silent, for a long time.

At length, she said softly, "I know you didn't mean to hurt him, Harry."

Harry's head shot up. "Hurt? He's not—" but she winced and shook her head.

"No. Kreacher's dead." Harry groaned and put his forehead on his knees. "But I know you didn't mean it," Hermione said.

He took a shuddering breath. Long moments passed until he trusted his voice. "You must hate me so much."

"I could never hate you," she whispered.

"Why not?" he murmured. "I'm a monster, Hermione. I killed an old house elf."

"It was an accident. Ron saw it; he told us what happened."

Harry looked miserably at her. "But until he did, you weren't sure, were you?" She looked away and didn't answer. He wasn't surprised. "And even so…the accident was my fault. My temper again."

Hermione sniffled and wiped her eyes furiously. "I still don't hate you. And…I don't want you to hate yourself."

"Why not!" Harry cried. "Look what I've done! I'm…I'm turning into something, Hermione, I don't know what it is, except that it's not good. I'm blasting things with wandless magic, burning you in Potions, killing…"

"It's not YOU!" Hermione burst out, tears streaming down her face as she grabbed his arms and made him look at her. Gulping back sobs, she said, "It's the war, Harry. It's changing everyone. Everything. You're scared…and hurt…and angry…more and more, and you have every right to be. It's…pushing people. Pushing them to do things they'd never do normally. Cornelius Fudge wants you arrested or even dead, and Percy Obliviated him, and Remus was ready to kill him that day when—I could never hate you!" she sobbed, and began punching the pillows. "I just hate…this…bloody….war!"

Harry sat still when she threw her arms around him, and let her cry into his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said, over and over. "I'm so weak. I can't even control myself. I'm sorry I can't stop it."

"You're just sixteen. It should never be up to someone like you to stop it!" she snapped, sitting up and wiping her face on her sleeve. "I've been thinking so much lately…wondering what the world would be like—what it should be like, if we were normal students, normal wizards, that is." She flopped backward onto the piled pillows. "None of this should be happening. Bloody prophecy. Bloody Voldemort."

Harry slowly said, "Hermione…can someone do wandless magic, because they want to do something…subconsciously?"

Hermione sighed and shook her head. "No, not like that. If that's what you're wondering, magic like what happened at the stairs, that wasn't anything deliberate. Ron said…your eyes were unfocused. It was just your magic responding to your emotions—what'd Kreacher do?"

Taking a deep breath, Harry admitted, "He started…talking about Sirius…and Remus too. He said Voldemort would get all of you, and I'd end up alone."

Hermione cringed and put a hand on his shoulder. "We checked with Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall says it's still too soon to know what's happening. They'll let us know as soon as there's news."

Harry buried his face in his hands. "Hermione…what am I going to do? What'll I do if…"

He heard her sniffle again. "Harry…no matter what happens…you won't be alone! We won't let that happen. We'll be with you, and we'll get you through this, no matter what."

"Until Voldemort murders you too!" Harry said roughly.

She squeezed his arm hard. "He can't get to all of us. And he can't kill our friendship. Don't you see? He can't kill love, Harry."

"I don't want you to die," Harry whispered. "Memories aren't enough, I know that because of Sirius. Everyone talks about how love never really leaves, but it just hurts! I need you. All of you. I need Remus. Alive!"

"I wish I could make it better," Hermione said, resting her head on his shoulder.

Just then, Ron came in. "You okay, mate?"

Harry ruefully beckoned him in. "Come sit down and blubber with us." Hermione chuckled weakly and moved over to make room for Ron, wiping her face. Quietly, Harry asked, "What…what happened with…Kreacher?"

Ron shrugged, avoiding his eyes. "Bill and Charlie took the body away, and that's all. And…nobody's…everybody knows it was an accident."

Harry sighed wearily. "It's lucky I didn't hurt you. I saw you at the top of the stairs."

"You didn't see your face, mate, you were completely out of it. I don't think you even really saw Kreacher once that wind picked up."

"Still…" Harry closed his eyes. "It means I was out of control again."

Hermione rubbed his back. "That you can fix. We know you can. It's hard because of everything that's happening, but…you can. And we'll help."

Harry opened his eyes and smiled wearily at his friends. "Thanks." He chuckled weakly. "For putting up with me."

Both of them swatted him. The knot in his stomach loosened quite a bit. "Want to come downstairs? Mum's fretting that you haven't had dinner," said Ron.

"Honestly, I'm really not hungry," said Harry.

"We didn't think you'd be, but if you change your mind later, eat," Hermione ordered. "Do you want to come down to the library? Now that it's cleaned up, there's lots and lots of interesting-looking books."

"Hermione's dream come true," said Ron, and Harry had to grin. But then Ron said, "If you really want it, though, we'll leave you alone."

Harry said slowly, "I think maybe…I'll just go back to my room and lie down. If that's okay."

Ron and Hermione nodded gravely. "Come on, then."

They piled off the bed, and Harry glanced around the room once as he reached the doorway. It didn't look as if anyone had been in here in the past months since…he sighed. Memories aren't enough. She's right, none of this should be happening. I should still have him. Was it too much for me to even have a godfather?

"Harry?"

Shaking his head, he turned and followed them down the hall. And now they may have taken Remus too.

Now the werewolf is gone too, and soon he shall be alone, all alone…

PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!

There were some people…some kinds of people…who just couldn't be replaced by friends or teachers. Ron and Hermione were so lucky to have parents…Sirius and Remus…they were all Harry had left of his.

Please don't let me lose them both!

When he got to the room he shared with Ron, he found that someone had put a bottle of Dreamless Sleep Potion by his bed. "We'll be downstairs, Harry," said Hermione from the doorway.

"'kay," Harry replied, and they left him alone. Not caring that the sun hadn't even set yet, he tossed his glasses onto the nightstand, gulped down the Potion, and fell asleep fully clothed.

There was no light from the window when he woke. At first he wasn't sure what had awakened him, but once his ears connected to his brain, he heard a definite commotion downstairs. What on earth is going on? he wondered drowsily, and started to turn over and go back to sleep.

They'll let us know as soon as they have news.

Harry gasped out loud and sat bolt upright, fumbling for his glasses and scrambling off the bed.

There was definitely something going on downstairs. He heard Tonks and Moody on the landing below, heading down the hall in a hurry. "If Beta Team is back, that must mean somebody got the wards down again!"

"Perhaps if we can catch them on the run from behind, we have a chance of finding out about the rest—"

Their voices faded through a doorway as Harry rushed down the stairs. There were many voices in the parlor, all talking at once.

"I can't bloody believe this!" It was either Fred or George.

"I need—"

"Calm down, everyone—" Mr. Weasley was trying to say.

"I cannot bloody believe this!" said the unidentified Weasley twin again.

"We have to explain some things first—" Mrs. Weasley began.

"Molly, please, where is—" That voice was also familiar.

"Wait a minute, I have to warn you of—" Mrs. Weasley tried.

"Where is he! Molly, will you please get out of my way?" repeated the other voice.

"QUIET! Go on, Mum." That was Ginny.

"You can see Harry in just a moment, but we have to warn you—" Harry could see Mrs. Weasley through the door, apparently blocking someone's path to it. She glanced at the doorway and saw him coming. "HARRY! Oh! Oh, wait a minute, dear, wait, I don't want you to—"

By now, Harry was simply running. Ignoring Mrs. Weasley's protests, he ran past her, straight into the drawing room, about to demand what news they had received and hoping to see some sign…

Harry skidded to a halt.

The thin, bedraggled figure facing Mrs. Weasley looked up as Harry entered, shaking his long, matted black hair from his gaunt, white face. It was like the fleeting memory of a first impression, only…not.

Dark gray eyes in a wasted, once-handsome face betrayed a flicker of apprehension and doubt at the sight of Harry. The man hesitated, then broke into a broad, mischievous smile and said, "Hello there, Harry. Miss me?"

There was the muffled sound of a stifled protest from Mrs. Weasley, but Harry was completely unaware of anyone else in the crowded room. His feet were rooted to the carpet. His mouth opened slowly, and it took every shred of concentration he could pull together from his reeling mind for one whispered word, one plea, one tiny glimmer of hope…

"Sirius?"

Sirius…here…Sirius…here…alive…SIRIUS HERE!

That's it. I've lost it. I really am going mad.

The edges of Harry's vision were closing in. Strange, the hallucination looked so real; he could still see Sirius Black alive, standing in front of him. The phantom of his godfather—how very odd, he doesn't look like he did last time I saw him—stopped grinning and began to frown at Harry's reaction. "Yes, it really is me. Harry, it's all right…Harry?"

Sirius…alive…no, no, it CAN'T be. I've lost my mind…or maybe a trick…

His head was swimming with confused thoughts, but one thing was certain: this couldn't be real.

Sirius's face was growing alarmed, and he stepped hesitantly forward, raising a hand.

But Harry took a reflexive step back.

"Harry?" Someone else was saying something. "Harry, really, it's Sirius—"

All Harry could see as the world began to tilt was the hallucination moving towards him. Then Sirius was running, as someone began shrilly yelling in the background, "Oh, Sirius Black, you STILL do not have a shred of sense!" but the words made no sense to Harry.

The next thing he knew, his knees landed on the carpet, but Sirius had wrapped his arms around him. "Harry! Are you all right?"

Weird…he feels real… Harry thought vaguely. It wasn't such a bad hallucination after all, not that it meant he wasn't nutters.

"Of course, he's not all right—"

"Harry!" Sirius was easing him down, his stricken face inches from Harry's as he shifted Harry's sagging body. "Harry, can you hear me?"

Harry felt his head coming to rest against Sirius's shoulder. Strange, it all seemed so very real, so very nice. His robes smelled clean, though there was another smell that reminded Harry vaguely of a place he didn't like, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. The world was getting dark, though, which annoyed him somewhat because he didn't want to stop seeing Sirius. Still…it wasn't so bad, he mused, as sight and sound faded away, because touch had stayed.

And here, wrapped in his godfather's arms...Harry didn't really care that much whether he ever woke up.