Index

Shannon's Fanfic

The Portkey Solution

Chapter 1 - The Letter from Gringotts

It was shaping up to be another boring day at the Dursleys’. Uncle Vernon had already left for work, glad to escape the house and Harry’s presence in favour of his office at Grunnings. Aunt Petunia was on a cleaning tear, intent on bringing every inch of the downstairs to a shine bright enough to blind. Dudley had received permission to spend the day and night with Piers Polkiss; he spent the night there at least twice a week, since it got him out from under his mother’s watchful eye and Piers’ mother was as yet unaware of Dudley’s diet restrictions. The year had seen Dudley lose a decent amount of weight, but he was still quite heavy. The Smeltings nurse’s best efforts had yet to cure Dudley of his junk food cravings.

At least Aunt Petunia had given up on passing Dudley’s clothes down to Harry. He had sprung up quite a few inches and was now nearly half a head above Dudley in height, too much for even Petunia’s sewing skills to hide without access to matching cloth. She might have ignored the sight of Harry’s forearms and shins sticking out from sleeves and trouser legs, but for a visit from a new neighbour on Privet Drive. Mrs. Angelmere, a sixtyish widow from Glasgow, was even more nosy and interfering than Petunia. The first time she spied Harry mowing the lawn in Dudley’s too-short cast-offs, she had marched right up to the door of Number Four and pounded on it in a high temper.

“How dare ye dress the boy like that? It’s no-never mind that he’s your nephew and not your own boy, but if he’s in your care ye be responsible for his well-being! If I don’t see him in decent clothes before the week is out, I’m reporting ye to Child Welfare!”

Petunia had quaked in front of such a fierce Scottish onslaught and had taken Harry shopping that very day. Not that she wouldn’t have been pleased to see Harry carted off to an orphanage normally, but she and Vernon both shuddered at the possibility of such scrutiny revealing Harry’s wizarding nature. Harry had cooperated, choosing a minimum wardrobe and looking for discounted merchandise. He didn’t much care what he wore as long as it fit, since it would all be hidden under robes at Hogwarts.

With no chores waiting—all the gardening for the week was done and he had finished painting the shutters yesterday—Harry was in his room lying on his bed. He could be doing his summer schoolwork. He could be writing to the Weasley twins, to whom he owed a letter. They were keeping him informed of their plans as they used his prize money from the Tri-Wizard Tournament to start their mail-order joke shop. He could be outside soaking in the hot July sunshine.

Instead, as he so often did these days, Harry lay on his bed and let the morning drift by, replaying the events of the last year repeatedly in his memory. He blamed himself for the things he had missed, the decisions he had made. He had sent Hedwig with a message of condolence to the Diggorys, after Hermione had notified him of a memorial service for Cedric in the Hogsmeade town common. He had used the Dursleys’ anti-magic attitude as a convenient excuse for not attending. He had nightmares at least three times a week, reliving Cedric’s murder and the duel with Voldemort.

The time that wasn’t spent in recriminations was spent worrying. What was Voldemort doing? What were his plans? Who were his targets, besides Harry? The Daily Prophet was no help at all and what little Muggle news Harry had been able to catch gave no indication of any attack by the Death Eaters. It didn't help that the two messages he'd gotten from Sirius had been brief and lacking in details as to what was being done by Dumbledore and his allies.

His thoughts were interrupted by a tapping on the window. Hedwig was there, carrying a parcel. Harry rose and let her in—he had promised Uncle Vernon not to contact anyone in the wizarding world and then simply answered what he received. So far Hedwig had been sensible enough to deliver messages while Vernon was at his office. The parcel was from Hermione again. Of all his friends, she had been in almost constant contact, sending copies of the mostly useless Daily Prophet and letters with a remarkable balance of attempts to cheer him up, sympathy for his feelings, and the occasional dose of snap-out-of-it advice.

This package contained a mix of some of his favourite sweets, Chocolate Frogs and Fizzing Whizbees, ordinary Muggle sourballs and a birthday card. Harry blinked, realizing how badly he had lost track of the time. His fifteenth birthday was indeed approaching, on Monday next as a matter of fact. He set the card up on an empty bookshelf and was about to read the accompanying note. In the distance he heard a car pull up and a door slam.

Uncle Vernon had returned home in the middle of the morning. Harry could hear him railing at Aunt Petunia downstairs, and her voice rise to match his. Then the bellowing became distinct as Vernon shouted up the stairs, “BOY! BOY!”

Harry came to the top of the stairs warily. “Yes, Uncle Vernon?”

His uncle was tomato-red, as furious as Harry could ever remember seeing him. He waved papers in his hand and yelled at the top of his lungs, “GET DOWN HERE AND EXPLAIN THIS AT ONCE!!”

Harry descended and took the paper being thrust at him. It was of high-quality stationery and showed a letterhead claiming to be from Gringotts Muggle Division in Hogsmeade:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley,

As the nearest relatives and guardians of one Harry James Potter, we are writing to inform you that the fee to let bank vault 687 in our Diagon Alley branch is due at the end of August. The usual twenty-year lease may be renewed as before by simply authorizing the withdrawal of 44 Galleons 8 Sickles from the account. Please return the accompanying authorization to the address above or by owl.

The balance as it stands is below, including interest that has been compiled during the fourteen years since the deaths of James and Lily Potter. Thank you for attending to this matter in a timely fashion.

Sincerely,

Philpott, goblin

Head of Muggle Division

The considerable fortune in Harry’s vault was helpfully listed in both Galleons and pounds. Harry felt the blood drain from his face.

“This came to my office by certified post this morning. While I am appalled that we were openly contacted by those…those…it pales compared to this! YOU HAD THIS MONEY ALL THIS TIME? AND YOU NEVER ONCE TOLD US?” Vernon had progressed from tomato red to beet-purple. “AFTER WHAT YOU COST US TO KEEP?”

“I didn’t know…” Harry thought fast. “All I knew was that Ho— my school applied to the bank for my expenses. I didn’t know it was so much.” That last was partly true; all Harry had known was that the large stacks of gold, silver, and bronze in his vault added up to an extremely comfortable sum. He had never made himself familiar with the exchange rates. He still felt in shock, seeing the numbers on the page before him.

Vernon was getting himself under control, but didn’t look like he believed Harry. “You will go upstairs to your room and stay there while your aunt and I discuss what to do about this.” Petunia was developing a gleam in her eye that Harry recognized from past quarter-days when Vernon was expecting a bonus. They were going to try to take his inheritance!

*****

Upstairs, Harry scribbled a frantic note to Hermione, including the letter he had carried upstairs without thinking. He had never heard of Gringotts having a Muggle division and he had most certainly never heard of any wizarding business using the ordinary post to communicate. Hermione would be able to get to the resources needed to verify whether the letter was real. He was writing a second note to Sirius, his true guardian, when he heard Vernon’s heavy tread coming up the stairs.

Harry shoved the note to Hermione into Hedwig’s beak and scooped the owl up. “Go, Hedwig!” he hissed. “Hermione will know to get help!” She was out the window just in time and Harry closed it and turned to face the door.

Vernon opened it. He had regained his normal beefy colour but his hair still stood on end from where he must have pulled at it. He was trying to project a fatherly air and doing a bad job of it, given that greedy gleam in his eye that matched Petunia’s. “Let me have the letter, please. I’ll consult with our solicitor as how to proceed transferring the funds to our bank so we can better invest it for you.”

Harry held out his empty hands after dusting a snow-white feather off on his backside. “I gave you back the letter, Uncle Vernon. It must be downstairs somewhere.”

His uncle frowned, but did not immediately contradict him. He asked, “Where’s that ruddy owl of yours?”

Harry shrugged. “Out. She brought me a birthday present from a friend and took off again this morning.”

Vernon’s eyes narrowed. He stepped across to the window and verified that it was closed and locked. “I want you to stay in here tonight. Your aunt will bring up some lunch and supper. We have a great deal of thinking to do.”

Harry was instantly suspicious, but Vernon had made the request in such a reasonable tone that he couldn’t think of a way to avoid it. “All right, uncle.”

Vernon turned and left, closing the door behind him, and Harry knew he’d made a mistake. A key turned in the lock, the clicking sound echoing in his head as Harry realized that the Dursleys would do anything to get control of his money. He glanced at the door, tempted to violate the rules against Hogwarts students using magic, but drew a breath to calm himself and sat at the table to finish his note to Sirius. When Hedwig returned, he could alert anyone he chose about his situation.

*****

Hedwig found Hermione in Diagon Alley, sitting in front of Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour with one open book propped against the stack from Flourish & Blotts and eating an ice cream sundae of vanilla and peppermint. She landed and dropped the letter on Hermione’s hand, to convey a sense of urgency. Hermione opened the parchment and when the creamy white business letter fell out, read that first with curiosity.

Hermione’s eyes widened as she digested the words, knowing full well that the Muggle Office of Gringotts worked out of a discreet location in the City in London, not Hogsmeade. She read the note from Harry, leapt to her feet, swept her new books into her bag, and took off for the stately marble building at the end of the street.

She made herself pause at the top of the stairs and catch her breath. The goblin on duty looked at her impassively as he did all Gringotts clients. The affairs of humans were not his concern, unless they were there to try and rob the bank.

Hermione entered and went to the desk where she and her parents usually changed Muggle money. The ugly little goblin greeted her politely. “Miss Granger, out of funds so soon? You were only here Tuesday.”

“No, thank you, Locksnatch. My friend Harry Potter sent me this. It was delivered to his Muggle aunt and uncle by their post this morning. As you can see, the address in Hogsmeade is not correct…” she trailed off as the goblin read the letter, long ears twitching angrily as he finished. He beckoned her to follow and trotted toward a desk she knew to be the Head Goblin’s. The goblins put their heads together and spoke rapidly in their own language for a few moments before the Head Goblin turned to Hermione.

“Miss Granger, we thank you for bringing this to our attention. While the paper itself in no way threatens the security of the bank, and is rather optimistically inaccurate as well, it nonetheless is a fraud and we will investigate it thoroughly. We will alert Mr. Potter by owl that no funds will be removed from his account other than the Hogwarts expenditures already in place.” He solemnly reached up and shook her hand. “Thank you again.”

Hermione, equally grave, shook and said, “You’re welcome. I’m relieved that it can be handled so capably by your wonderful institution.” While Hermione did think Gringotts was a well-run bank, she was laying it on a bit thick. Over the years of dealing with the goblins, she’d learned they responded strongly to courtesy and some well-placed flattery. The Head Goblin bowed over her hand and Locksnatch ushered her to the door himself.

Once out, Hermione returned to her table at Fortescue’s, but Hedwig had already taken off again. This worried her, since Hedwig was more punctilious than most owls and usually waited for a reply. She thought for a moment and then went to the post office, fishing in her bag for several parchments, a quill, and a handful of Sickles on the way.

*****

She had been watching the house itself for about a week when Vernon Dursley returned suddenly and in high temper well before lunch on a Thursday. From her perch in the tree, wrapped in her Invisibility Cloak, she turned up the volume on the Muggle-designed sound enhancer and pressed the earphones tightly to her head. Since it gave her access to all the conversation in the house, she was able to hear the Dursleys’ alarming plan as they made it.

“…I tell you, Petunia, once we transfer that money into our account we’ll be able to pay St. Brutus’ or another facility to keep him locked up for the rest of his days! He’s not supposed to do…that…outside of his school anyway, and if we give them the right story, they’ll keep him on sedatives and unable to do…it…at all. We’ll tell that blasted school of his that he was killed in an accident, drowned at the sea or something, and we’ll finally be rid of him and his abnormality!”

Petunia’s voice quavered uncertainly. “Do you think this stuff will work?” The sound of liquid being poured.

“Don’t see why not. Marge uses it and she’s out like that in a few minutes. We’ll keep him in that room and sleeping until it’s all arranged. I’ll put new bars on the window tomorrow to keep that owl from coming back…”

She had heard enough. She turned off the enhancer and put it away, then carefully slid to the tree trunk and climbed down slowly as not to make noise or let the cloak be pulled away from her. Once on the ground she crossed three yards and came out on the street next to Privet Drive. In the shelter of a hedge she removed the cloak to reveal ordinary Muggle clothing of jeans and a loose T-shirt, stuffed the metallic material into a backpack, and walked to a pale green Citroën parked on the street. She got in, pulled out a cell phone, and punched a series of numbers.

“Will, Annie here. They’ve made their move. I’ve got to get Harry out of there as soon as possible; the Dursleys are going off the deep end for the Death Eater ruse. I need you in London ASAP. I’m driving over now and can meet you in about two hours allowing for traffic. Be sure to pack anything that will set off those devastating brown eyes.”

Chapter 2 - The Rescue

Harry awoke to find Aunt Petunia standing over him with a mug in her hand.  His vision, already blurry without his glasses, rocked and made his head swim. The last thing he remembered was eating the soup and bread she had brought him for lunch and feeling the overwhelming need for a nap.

It was dark outside. He’d apparently slept the afternoon away. He fumbled for his glasses, and knocked them to the floor. “Sorry, Aunt Petunia,” he mumbled as he groped for them.

“Don’t worry,” she replied, retrieving his glasses for him and pressing the warm mug into his hand. “You slept through dinner and I thought you might need a cup of tea or something.”

Harry took the mug and set it down. It seemed so hard to get his thoughts together through the cotton wool in his brain, but he managed the word “pyjamas”.

Petunia had looked worried, almost frightened, but her face cleared. “I’ll get them.” She fetched and laid them on the bed. “Do drink the tea…I think you’ll feel better for it.” She backed out of the room, locking the door again.

Harry looked up from trying to unlace his trainers. His aunt was never this nice to him. He felt he ought to think about this some more, but he was losing the struggle with his shoes. He sat back up and took the mug. Some hot tea might refresh him enough to get changed and maybe try and pick the lock the way the Weasley twins had taught him. Then he could look in the kitchen for a bite to eat. He drained the mug and set it on the table. Stupid of him to have left Sirius’ lock-picking pocket-knife in his trunk downstairs. If he just sat still a few minutes and gathered his strength…

Hedwig watched from windowsill, hooting softly and fretfully as Harry fell back on the bed, unconscious again. Then she took off into the night.

*****

Hermione paced her bedroom, in front of a wide-open window. She had sent owls to Dumbledore, Sirius Black, and the Weasleys and was waiting impatiently for any return word. She hoped she had conveyed the misgivings she felt about the Gringotts letter without sounding too much like an overreacting teenager. Sirius, at least, ought to take her seriously, if he wasn’t too far out of reach collecting old allies to Dumbledore’s side.

It was after midnight when she finally spotted the fluttery shape of an owl against the moonlight.  She ran to the window and watched as it flailed this way and that.  The crooked path it took to her window told her it was Errol, the Weasleys’ old and decrepit owl.  She stood back to give Errol a clear landing on her bed and gently removed the parchment from his leg.

Dear Hermione,

Thank you so much for letting us know of Harry’s predicament. We have also sent word to Professor Dumbledore and to Percy, who can inform the appropriate authorities in the Ministry. Arthur is currently away working with Charlie to improve security around the dragons in the protected habitats. We haven’t heard from Sirius in ages, but an owl will surely find him.

If you hear anything more, please keep us informed and we’ll do the same. I’m confident Professor Dumbledore will come up with something.

Take care,

Molly Weasley

While it wasn’t the slew of information or heroic plan that Hermione had hoped for, she felt better for having an adult’s backing with Dumbledore. She picked Errol up and carried him to her bathroom to water him. It wouldn’t do to have the poor pile of feathers collapse in a crisis.

*****

Petunia Dursley was not having a good morning. Vernon had called in sick to work and arranged to have Dudley spend an extra night with the Polkisses. On the phone, they had heard Dudley in the background demanding the syrup for his waffles, which meant he was breaking his diet. Then Vernon had left to meet with a solicitor, in a temper because he still hadn’t found the letter, only the authorization form to deduct the hire of the vault.

Vernon had left her strict instructions to keep Harry sedated with Marge’s sleeping draught. When she had brought the morning dose, Harry had refused it, trying to knock the glass of juice from her hand. She had forced it on him, holding him down and pinching his nose to make him drink, but she had been terrified the whole time that he would do…something, even in his dazed state.

Now she had to deal with the woman coming up the walk. Young, pretty enough, and very properly turned out, she carried a clipboard in one hand. Some poll or other. Petunia sighed and went to answer the door.

*****

When the aunt opened the door at her knock, she felt the tension immediately. What little she’d dared listen to this morning suggested that the aunt might be having second thoughts about the uncle’s scheme to pack Harry away for his money.  She pasted on her best smile and began her spiel, careful to stay in an educated British accent.

“Good morning, I’m from the housing agents of Pryce and Bassington. We’re looking to establish an office in Little Whinging and are asking for assistance of some of the residents to learn the area. May I have a few moments of your time? You look exactly like the kind of woman who knows her neighbours and can tell me something about them.”

The aunt blossomed like a wilting flower given fresh water, and the probable rejection she had been preparing gave way to anticipating a wonderful chance to gossip. She invited the girl in and settled her in the lounge. Over cups of tea they traded titbits both real and exaggerated about some of the neighbours. The aunt seemed especially interested in bad news about a widow, Mrs. Angelmere, and she obliged with a tragic end for Mr. Angelmere and trouble with getting the will settled.  Every few moments she would check her watch carefully, waiting for 10:17.

Her watch turned over to 10:17.  She set down her cup while the aunt prattled happily about a Mrs. Figg down the street and took out her wand.  The aunt saw what was being pointed at her, but before she could scream the visitor intoned, “Petrificus Totalus!”

Petunia was frozen in place instantly. The woman leapt to her feet and ran upstairs.  She found the locked door and opened it with a whispered “Alohamora”.

Harry was on the bed, still sprawled in a drugged sleep. She stepped forward and looked at him, all gangly limbs and unruly dark hair. She knelt down and took the brooch out of her lapel. Quickly pricking her thumb, then his, she pressed them together for the blood to mix. Under her breath she uttered a long incantation and ended with a slightly louder “finit”. The air around them shimmered for a moment. She stood and did a fast Healing Charm to erase any sign of the tiny wounds.

She flicked her wand with an “Expergisci!” and sprang forward to catch Harry as he bolted upright. His green eyes cleared from misty to alert instantly and he squinted at her in surprise.

She handed him his glasses. “I’m here to help! Sirius sent me. Quick, where’s your stuff?” She spoke in an American accent.

Harry changed what he was going to say at the mention of Sirius. “My trunk’s in the cupboard under the stairs.  Everything else is in here.” He started for the door but the girl stopped him.

“Appareo trunk!” Harry’s trunk obediently popped into existence on the floor. “Alohamora!” The top flew open and she began tossing his clothes in.

Harry stared at her for a second, impressed by her speed and efficiency, then started shoving the bed aside to get at the floorboard and his spellbooks. “The Ministry—”

“Is distracted from monitoring the house for about eight more minutes, if we’re lucky. Is that everything?” Harry nodded, tossing his pyjamas in and grabbing Hedwig’s cage. She fixed a Weightless Charm on the trunk and began pulling it downstairs.

At the door she passed him the trunk and a set of car keys. “It’s the Citroën in front of Number Six. I need to reset your aunt’s memory.”

Harry didn’t ask questions. He ought to be suspicious of a strange witch barging in to rescue him, but so few people knew about Sirius…and there was something about her that seemed familiar, trustworthy. If he needed to, Harry decided, he could get away from her later and catch the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley. At the moment she was his ticket away from Privet Drive and the Dursleys.

He towed the trunk to the car and unlocked the boot. He put the trunk in the one space that seemed to have been left especially for it among other bags and cases. He climbed in and put Hedwig’s cage in the back seat, next to a leather case that looked to hold a laptop computer. He recognized the purplish bundle underneath it—it looked very similar to his own Invisibility Cloak.

The girl came out of the house and slid into the driver’s seat. She handed him a bag and a clipboard, admonished him to buckle up as she did the same, then started the car and pulled out of Privet Drive. Something trilled. She pulled a mobile phone from her coat pocket and answered it.

“It’s Annie, talk to me…yes, we’re away. Mrs. Dursley will tell her husband she went shopping for more of the sleeping draught and when she came back, Harry was simply gone. I don’t think he’ll take it out on her—I poured the last of the bottle they had down the drain and left the new bottle in a bag in the kitchen with a receipt. …You are a doll and a dear and my hero. You’d better get back before anyone misses you. I’ll drop you an e-mail once we’re there. Bye.” She hung up and dropped the phone in Harry’s lap. This was followed by a bottle of water from the rear floorboard. “Perfectly safe, and you probably need it badly.” As they sped toward the A3, Harry gulped water and looked his rescuer over.

She had brown hair, brown eyes and a slightly olive complexion. She was nattily dressed in a coat and skirt of navy, with her hair pulled back from her face in a comb. A brooch with some kind of family crest was her only jewellery. Now that she was paying attention to the road, the clothes didn’t seem to suit her.  She ought to be in jeans and a sloppy jumper with a university insignia on it.

Harry waited patiently for her to either introduce herself or possibly call Sirius, since she had mentioned being sent by him (though he wasn’t sure Sirius knew how to work any telephone, much less a slim and shiny mobile like this one). When minutes passed and she did neither, he cleared his throat. She passed a lorry, then glanced at him with a mischievous smile. “Wondering who I am and where we’re going, I bet.” She opened the glove box to reveal a selection of biscuits and dried fruit. “Eat something. You’re probably ravenous.”

He nodded. She took a business card from the glove box and handed it to him.  It read “Patterson Transport and Courier. Can deliver anywhere.” The addresses listed were Washington, DC, London, Hong Kong and Buenos Aires, along with strings of letters he recognized as a website and email address.

“I don’t understand.” He looked again as he was about to replace the card and noticed a small arrow fading in on the lower right corner. He turned the card over and blinked in surprise. More letters were coming to the surface of the card, as if they had been buried in snow and the wind was exposing them.

“Anastacia Patterson. United States Agency of International Magic.”

Harry waited to see if more useful revelations were coming, then put the card on the dash. He reached for a pack of peanut butter biscuits. “How is it that you know Sirius?”

“I haven’t for a long time, actually. Albus—Professor Dumbledore—told us where you were staying and explained the situation with Voldemort.” Harry was surprised, but cautiously pleased that someone else was brave enough to say the evil wizard’s name. “I was keeping tabs on you—I know they have protections in place against dark wizards, but I was afraid the Dursleys might be manipulated into doing something foolish. And I was right.”

“Then that letter was a fake!”

Anastacia nodded. “Of course. Gringotts’ only inter-world communication departments are in London, New York, and Sydney. They would have applied to you directly anyway. Once a wizard is past thirteen, Gringotts deals directly with the account holder first.” She paused as she cut between a tour bus and a sedan. Harry realized they were heading south, not north to London.

“I figure some Death Eater with a decent knowledge of ordinary affairs came up with that letter. It worked like a charm, to use a bad pun. Your uncle put a sedative in your meal yesterday and was prepared to keep you drugged until he’d bribed a mental hospital to hide you away for the rest of your life.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. While it was no secret that his aunt and uncle detested him and all he represented, he had no idea that Vernon Dursley would have been capable of such a thing. After a few seconds, he got his voice working again. “I’m not going back there, ever! I don’t care what Dumbledore says, I can protect myself without being there. I never want to see them again!”

Anastacia smiled. “You don’t have to.”

Chapter 3 - Arguments and Answers

Albus Dumbledore sat in the Owlery at Hogwarts, stroking Fawkes who had shown up to keep him company. He waited, scanning the sky occasionally. Other times he would re-read the parchments in front of him: the message from Hermione, the one from the Weasleys, one from the Gringotts Head Goblin alerting him to the fraud and their lack of success in tracing it so far. And the one on a neat sheet of stationery that had arrived from a courier service in the United States, hand-delivered by one of their messengers who had Apparated to Hogsmeade this evening.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a shadow across the moon. It was too large to be an owl, and Dumbledore recognized the hippogriff Buckbeak immediately. He held up his wand and muttered, “Lumos,” giving them a signal as to where he was.

The hippogriff dived in and hovered just long enough for Sirius Black to scramble off his back and through a window, then took off again.

“I sent him to Hagrid’s hut to rest.” Sirius looked in decent health, his trimmed hair and a neat goatee altering his appearance somewhat.

“That will be all he can do. Hagrid is still with his mother’s family, trying to rally more giants to our side.”

Sirius shrugged. “I’ll see that he eats later, then. Now tell me, what happened to Harry?”

Dumbledore handed the parchments to Sirius, but kept the courier letter back. Sirius read through them quickly and looked back up. “I don’t understand. Why would someone tell the Dursleys about Harry’s money?”

“Apparently so the Dursleys would react by harming Harry in some way. If Harry can’t be touched by magic while he is living with them, there is nothing to prevent the Dursleys from acting contrary to Harry’s interests.” Dumbledore stroked the phoenix as it nudged its head under the wizard’s hand.

Sirius glared at Dumbledore. “Some protection, if it can only protect from one kind of attack.”

“I could not have done anything more than I did. It is not in my power to prevent all death and injury by deliberate act or mischance, or I would ensure that many, many beloved people were alive today.”

Sirius opened his mouth, but thoughts of James and Lily stopped him, along with the profound sadness in Dumbledore’s eyes. Instead, he asked, “So, do we take him from the Dursleys? Set up new kinds of protections?”

Dumbledore handed over the letter he had kept back. “It seems that the matter has been taken care of.” He held some kind of novelty pen in a sealed plastic bag.

Sirius read the last message and stared back at Dumbledore in disbelief, who gave a small sarcastic smile and nodded. “I will be leaving now.”

*****

She closed the door gently behind her, leaving Harry settled in bed for the night. It hadn’t taken much of a Restful Sleep Charm to get him to drop off, but at least he ought to be free of nightmares. She was moving toward the computer when she felt the tingle on her skin, alerting her that one of her Portkeys was being used to bring someone directly to her.

Dumbledore popped into view and glanced around the cottage, seeing the open areas and wide doorways of a modern American-inspired house. He turned to her and without a pause stated, “Anastacia, Harry must return to Privet Drive at once. When I contacted your family for support against Voldemort, I had no idea you’d respond by abducting Harry!”

“No, Albus. I’m sorry, but I won’t. You did the best you could with what you knew at the time, but if you’d done as we asked two years ago the Death Eaters wouldn’t have been able to try the Gringotts ruse.”

“Harry and Hermione both acted quickly to call for help. We could have defused the situation without removing him from the protections of his family.”

“He has those protections, Albus. Take a look.”

Dumbledore frowned, squinted at her, and paled suddenly. “What have you done? You can’t—“

“I did. I transferred the protection spell from Petunia Dursley to myself and strengthened it with the blood ritual.  You can’t break it without a bit more blood from both of us, and I don’t plan on giving any up any time soon.”

“That is dangerously close to dark magic! I cannot believe Harry would have let you—“

“He doesn’t know yet. I performed the ritual before I woke him from the sedative. Since he’s still a minor, I didn’t need his permission. And given his reaction when I told him what the Dursleys had planned to do, I think he’ll be positively ecstatic to know he can stay with me and still have the benefit of the wards you set up.”

Dumbledore looked like he might work himself up into the kind of cold rage that Harry had only witnessed once, at the end of his fourth year. She had seen it before and waited, watching impassively as Dumbledore’s face grew red, then faded back to his natural colouring as he regained his temper. “Anastacia, please reconsider. You’re young; you have a career that requires a lot of travel. Caring for a child, even one as self-reliant as Harry, is a monumental commitment.”

They both heard something fall in the next room, then the sound of someone thrashing around. She was across the room like a shot, opening the door to Harry’s room. She looked in, then beckoned to Dumbledore and entered as Harry cried out in his sleep, “No, Cedric! Get away! NOOO! DON’T!” The pain and fear in Harry’s voice startled Dumbledore and he moved to follow Anastacia.

He came in just in time to see her finish reinforcing a Restful Sleep Charm. Harry was in his pyjamas, tangled in sheets and sweating, but relaxing out of what must have been a powerful nightmare. He watched her tidy the bed around him and gently wipe his tear-streaked face with a cloth she summoned and dampened by magic. As Harry appeared to settle down again, she set the small bedside table back up and motioned Dumbledore back to the main room.

“You were saying, Albus? I know exactly what I’m doing. Harry needs the protective wards when he’s away from Hogwarts. My parents don’t need me at the firm constantly and I should be free for the rest of this summer and the next. We can arrange for me to be available on Hogsmeade weekends, Christmases, whatever is needed.

“You saw what happened just now. I’ve been keeping tabs on the Dursley house all summer and Harry’s been having nightmares like that one on a regular basis. What is it doing to him to have to suffer like that, grieve for a death that shouldn’t have happened, live with the reality that Voldemort is back and apparently stronger than before? And not just with no support from those around him, but with their active hatred of him?” She glared at him, her temper rising.

Dumbledore sighed. “I don’t like it, Anastacia.”

“You mean you don’t like that we did this without consulting you first. Unfortunately, I didn’t think there was time to ask your permission,” she snapped, then paused, realizing how she had sounded. “I’m sorry, Albus, but it’s not like this was a surprise. We’ve been asking you for two years.”

“I know.”

“I’ll have him at King’s Cross on September first, just as usual if you want. Or I’ll be happy to take him straight to Hogwarts myself. You’ve got the Portkey, feel free to drop in anytime before then—I’ll alert you if we need to leave here, but I don’t see that happening. Ninety-nine percent of the wizard population wouldn’t have the first clue how to untangle the financial maze to identify this place as Patterson property. And if someone does, they’ll have to get past the wards, my wand and my body to get to Harry.”

Dumbledore sighed again, admitting defeat in the face of her iron stubbornness. “Is there at least something I can tell Sirius, the Weasleys? They’ll be quite worried unless they can see Harry for themselves.”

She thought for a moment, then went to the desk. She rummaged around a minute and thrust something at Dumbledore. “Here.”

Dumbledore looked at the round shiny disc in a plastic sleeve that she had handed him. “What is it?”

“Another Portkey, set to send someone directly into this room once the sleeve is removed. Sirius, the rest of the Weasleys and Miss Granger can use it to come and see Harry, see that he’s all right, and leave again without knowing exactly where we are.”

Dumbledore was entranced for a moment, watching the rainbow of colours play on the disc. “But what is this thing?”

She grinned. “AOL starter software. We keep getting them in the ordinary mail and we use them for coasters or other actually useful things.” At Dumbledore’s confused look, she relented. “Ordinary people use them in computers, usually when they don’t know what they’re doing.”

He didn’t feel completely enlightened, but at least she had given him the means to appease Sirius. “When shall I bring them?”

“Monday, if you can get them to wait that long. It’s about time Harry had a proper birthday party.”

*****

Harry prowled around the house, drinking the last of the milk that had come with breakfast. They had stopped at a restaurant for lunch yesterday, where Staci (as she had asked Harry to call her) had bullied him into eating a full meal, then bought several bottles of water for the rest of the trip. When they had arrived, Harry was feeling ill from the effects of the sedative, nearly a day without proper food, and the sudden re-introduction of it. She had made him go to bed very soon after they had arrived, and he’d slept the night through without any nightmares that he could recall.

They were in a cottage on the beach, somewhere on the southern coast. It was surprisingly isolated—the only house for miles around—but as up-to-date as one could want. The kitchen was loaded with appliances that would have made Aunt Petunia drool. A satellite system brought dozens of TV channels in to a large-screen television. One of the bookcases was filled with compact discs of music, and a smaller one with software for the computer on the desk. Staci had spent some time writing and answering email, showing him just how much more there was to do on a computer besides play Dudley’s games. He had noticed that her longest message was to someone at firstof7@freenet.net.eg. Now she was shutting down the computer.

Harry ran and got two fizzy drinks from the refrigerator and followed her out to the porch. She had promised to answer every single question as truthfully as she could after breakfast, if he’d give her the chance to go through her email and phone messages first.

A strong breeze blew inland and Staci reached to pull all her hair into a comb in what looked like a reflex. The sun shone on the deserted sand and water. They climbed into side-by-side hammock chairs and Harry handed Staci the diet cola.

She looked at the water for a few minutes, as if replenishing some spiritual void, then cracked open her can and looked at him. “Thanks for letting me wade through the business first. I am all set for Twenty Questions. You may fire when ready, Gridley.”

Harry grinned and started with the obvious one. “Who are you, seriously? And not just what was on the card.”

“The stuff on the card’s out of date anyway; I went back to the family business last year. Anyway, my name is really Staci Patterson. Patterson Transport is real—my family has run it for nearly two centuries, ever since great-great-et cetera Granddad came over to New York from the Isles and founded it. The purpose is to aid in deliveries and communication between the wizarding and ordinary worlds. Some people always need to get in touch with those in the other world and we help. We also do a great deal for the U.S. wizarding agencies, of which there are many.  Not like here where it all falls under the Ministry in one department or other.”

Harry digested this, then asked, “What did you mean by you once knew Sirius? And why did you say he’d sent you?”

“I used his name, figuring it would convince you I was on your side more quickly than Albus’ or some Ministry paper-pusher. Sirius’ innocence is still not general knowledge since old Cornball Fudge hasn’t made it a priority to broadcast how badly they screwed up that time.

“I knew Sirius in school briefly. My family spent three years in Hogsmeade when I was small, and my sister attended classes at Hogwarts at that time. I was allowed to visit. And yes, I also knew your parents as well, in that everyone-knows-the-tagalong-little-sister way.”

“What’s with all the nicknames?”

“I tend to go by Staci. Since we were doing some fairly underhanded, if not illegal things in the process of getting you out of Privet Drive, Bill and I used “Will” and “Annie” instead, in case someone was eavesdropping.”

“Bill?”

She grinned. “Bill Weasley, my partner in crime.” She broke into a laugh at Harry’s astonished expression and continued, “He was the one flirting outrageously with the Ministry witch who was on monitor duty for illicit magic at Privet Drive yesterday morning. Supposedly he was there to surprise Percy. Percy had conveniently been called away to a sudden meeting with a representative…”

“…from Patterson Transport & Courier,” Harry finished with her, laughing.

“Very good,” she replied. “My uncle Jacob occupied Percy. Bill Apparated in stages from Cairo to London Thursday evening, and returned after you and I left Little Whinging. He had to do something to be covered at work, given the time zones, but he was supposed to be out in the field anyway. His email last night said he’d managed it fine. He also said he had to send a soothing owl to his mum, who was rapidly emptying the local post office with her messages to everyone about your going missing.”

Harry chuckled at the mental image of Mrs. Weasley in full temper, railing at some poor postal worker to find more owls. He felt good about what she’d told him so far, and the way she’d told him. He felt more comfortable with her than with any other adult he’d spent this much time with, even the Weasleys or Sirius. Time to try the questions that were really nagging him. “Why did you go to all this trouble for me? And why did you say I don’t have to go back to the Dursleys?”

“The protections Albus set up for you after your parents’ murders hinged on your being in the care of a blood relative. He used the Dursleys, thinking that they were your only living relatives. But a few years ago my dad got on this genealogy kick and started researching the Pattersons back beyond the point where we emigrated.

“Turns out that many-times great Granddad Patterson left England because of a massive disgrace of some sort. Bad enough that he even changed his name once he came to the States.

“Our original name was Potter. You’ve got scads of distant cousins over in America.”

Chapter 4 - A Little Personal History

Harry jumped up to get something to clean his spilled drink, cursing and trying to keep it down so Staci wouldn’t hear such language. She laughed.

“Leave it, Harry. We can magic it up later if it stains. Want another?”

“No, I want you to tell me that again.”

She leaned forward to look him full in the face. He noticed she was wearing glasses this morning, round like his but with a thin silver frame. His father had been the one to wear glasses, Harry remembered from his album of photos and the Mirror of Erised.

“Your father had family he never knew in the United States. My dad discovered the connection two years ago. We knew your story—our family stays much more informed of international events than the average US citizen. Dad traced our Potter roots back down to your father and you, just to be sure. He and Mom started asking around and eventually sussed out Albus as being in charge of your welfare, and we’ve been pestering him ever since to allow us to take you in. He kept insisting that it had to be the Dursleys, that his protections couldn’t be altered. He’s known our family for ages, but he wouldn’t change what he had set up no matter how wretched it was for you living with those wastes of good organs.

“When we heard the news about Voldemort returning, Grandpa kicked our information department into high gear. We scoured libraries everywhere for information on protective wards. We deciphered the protections that Dumbledore used and learned the spells in order to transfer them to another relative. When school let out for the summer and Albus gave no sign of changing his mind, I volunteered to be the watcher on the scene. At first I just monitored from a distance: drive-bys and such. I started watching physically most of every day after my dad alerted me that what little Death Eater activity there was had gone quiet, as if they were planning something.

“Then someone sent that fake letter and all hell was going to break loose, so I got you out of there and worked the spell to transfer the protections. They will work just as well—better, even—if you’re staying with us. Well, me, specifically. There was an extra level to the spell and I took it. I had to use a touch of our blood to do it—“

“Blood?” Harry paled and jumped to his feet, remembering the last time he had bled for a spell.

Staci stood up and took him by the shoulders. “Yes, but not like that. Not like what Voldemort did. Pinpricks on our thumbs. If there had been any other way to shift the spell off the Dursleys and know it would stick, I would have taken it, Harry.”

He felt he had a number of things he wanted to say in reply to that, but all he could get out around the tightness in his throat was, “Why?”

“Why did we act?” Staci frowned, unsure of his meaning.

“No. Why did Dumbledore leave me there?”

Harry turned and looked at the sea, watching the waves come in and crest, one after the other, in an endless cycle. It reminded him of his dealings with Voldemort, who kept returning with no end in sight. The wind blew his hair off his face, revealing the thin scar zigzagging down above one eye. But instead of calming him as he had hoped, the waves seemed to increase the growing anger inside him, as the years with the Dursleys had grown worse and worse, especially after Harry had been told of his magical heritage. He slammed a fist down on the railing and was dimly aware of pain lancing his hand.

“Why did he leave me with them? They hated me! They lied about what happened to my parents and refused to tell me anything about them!” Harry could sense Staci moving behind him and wondered if she were going to try and hug it away, the way Mrs. Weasley might react.

“I lived there like a slave, expected to cook and clean and garden without so much as a thank you! I was expected to be grateful for Dudley’s old clothes and a cupboard to sleep in and tape to repair my glasses when Dudley broke them! And no matter how often I tried to tell them I didn’t know why odd things happened around me, they never believed me! Never! And they knew about me the entire time!” He could feel tears stinging his eyes, but was too angry to let them out. “And when I came back for summers, the only way I could make it there was to trick them, threaten them, or run away! Why did I have to live like that? Why?”

Dimly, in the back of his mind, the rational part of him was aghast at this display of temper. What was he doing, raging like this at the person who had gotten him out of his prison? She would send him back, realizing what a nuisance he was, not worth keeping, not worth helping.

Staci waited until his words stopped spilling out in a torrent, hoping he would take the next step on his own. Instead he turned back to watch the ocean again, trying to regain that calm exterior that had undoubtedly been his defence for so long. Before that could happen, she turned him around and pulled his chin up so he would meet her eyes.

“Why did Albus leave you there? At the time, they were the only family he knew of and he needed a blood relative to set the protections that he did. Why didn’t he agree to let us have you when we discovered the connection? I truly don’t know. I’ve known Albus all my life; he is one of the greatest wizards ever. But he also has this streak in him—he won’t change a plan until he’s forced to. My guess is that it started when your parents died—when he failed to convince your dad to make him their Secret-Keeper and they were killed.

“Why were the Dursleys so hateful? In their twisted, bigoted way, they thought they were doing the right thing by trying to prevent your becoming a wizard. They were grossly unfair in their methods and certainly made just about every mistake there is…oh, Harry, there’s no use dancing around it. They abused you. They deserve your hate. But if you bottle up that hate, or the guilt you must still feel over the Diggory boy’s murder—“

Harry jumped as if she’d brushed him with a live wire, and scrubbed at his eyes violently under his glasses. “How do you know what I feel?”

“I was eavesdropping on the house, remember? The protections were designed to trigger at the use of active spells, so I used an Invisibility Cloak, which is passive magic, and ordinary tools like a sound enhancer and binoculars. I heard how the Dursleys treated you this summer. And I heard you when you were having nightmares. You had one last night, as a matter of fact, before I cast a strong enough Restful Sleep Charm to help you banish it.

“Harry, holding all that in is not healthy for your mind or your emotions. I swear to you now, anything you don’t want me to repeat, I won’t. If you’d rather share it with your friends, that’s fine. If you want to try writing in a journal, I can show you how to lock it away magically in a computer drive or simply spell-lock a notebook. But get it out of your head before it builds up to a point that your next explosion levels the house. You’re still a young wizard; losing control is all too easy.”

Now she hugged him, a simple squeezing embrace that didn’t last long. Not a mother’s embrace—Harry felt a much different kind of caring from her. Mrs. Weasley had wanted to take the pain away for him. Staci wanted to help him learn how to take it away himself. He was reminded strongly of the Weasley boys and Ginny and, oddly enough, of Colin Creevey and his little brother Dennis. It took him a moment to put the seemingly unconnected thoughts together: Staci was acting like a big sister.

He managed a weak grin and voiced that thought. “So, how many kid brothers and sisters do you have, to be such an expert?”

Her face lost all expression for a second, so briefly that Harry almost thought he imagined it, then recovered. She answered in a controlled tone, “I don’t have any.”

As he had so many times before, in magic, in Quidditch, he followed an instinct. “But you did.” She swallowed hard, but nodded. “What did you just tell me? To let it out?”

Staci gave a small chuckle. “Touché, mon ami.” She put an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s go down to the water and share, shall we?”

*****

“What do you mean, he’s no longer there?” The Dark Lord hissed furiously at the gaping circle of nervous faces around him. Macnair, one of his braver, if stupider minions dared to repeat the obvious.

“He’s no longer there, Master. Wormtail saw the Muggle woman let some witch in, and after a few minutes he came out with his things and drove off with the witch. He had no way to follow a Muggle car in his rat form, so we don’t know where the boy is.”

Voldemort spun and, lacking Wormtail’s presence, threw the Cruciatus Curse at Macnair instead, who stayed on his feet for several seconds before collapsing in agony. “I don’t need you to repeat the obvious! I need you to find the boy!” He spun around and leaned over another minion, smarter but with too much ambition. “Malfoy, it seems that your little idea has had the opposite effect from your intentions. Instead of a Harry Potter cast out of his protection, he is now currently somewhere completely unknown to us!” Another Cruciatus Curse and Malfoy immediately joined Macnair in writhing on the ground. Voldemort’s gaze swept through the rest of his still-incomplete circle—far, far too incomplete—and rested on the one who had come back late to the fold.

“Snape, I charge you. You have spent the last four years in close proximity to Harry Potter. You still have the fool Dumbledore’s confidence. Use it. Discover the whereabouts of Harry Potter before he returns to Hogwarts and I will reward you greatly.”

The sallow, greasy-haired Potions Master of Hogwarts bowed low. “Master, I will not rest until I can provide you with accurate information.”

“See that you do, Snape. You were late in rejoining us. You must prove your loyalty to me many times over before I consider you a true Death Eater again.”

*****

They sat on the sand, digging bare toes into its silky warmth. Staci pulled out her comb, regathered her hair in it, and began talking.

“You’re rather scarily perceptive sometimes, you know that?” She paused, looking out over the water the way she had earlier. “Yes, I had a little brother. He would have been twenty-one on his last birthday. It always felt like just the two of us, with our sister Lise being eleven years older than me and never very sisterly.”

Harry waited as she paused again, this time in remembering. “We were down in North Carolina, visiting relatives in the area and giving me an opportunity to check out Appalachian State University.” At Harry’s surprised look, she nodded. “Yeah, the Patterson family tradition is a wizard boarding school and a regular college. Anyway, Mom and Dad were visiting with the aunts & uncles that live in that area and the cousins were all hanging out on campus. I wanted to stay longer, talk to some of the students, but I had driven there. I had gotten my Apparating license not a month before, so I handed the car keys to my cousin Spencer so he could drive the rest home.

“It was a drunk driver. Who the hell gets drunk at four-thirty in the afternoon? But he had an alcohol level of over 0.2, according to his autopsy. Went right through the intersection against the light and ploughed into the driver’s side.

“Spence was killed instantly. My brother Ben died at the scene. The four other cousins in the car survived.”

Staci buried her face in her hands a minute. “I had no idea until I Apparated to Uncle Max’s house that anything was wrong. My mom attacked me like it was my fault—”

“But it wasn’t!” Harry interrupted fiercely. “It wasn’t your fault at all! No one can prevent an accident like that!”

Staci smiled thinly. “That’s true. But it took a very long time for me to accept that. I spent months in a depression and years still convinced that if I’d been driving I could have avoided the crash. Or I could have magicked the oncoming car to stop or I could have used magic to keep Ben alive until the ambulance got there—the other cousins were all younger, hadn’t had the training Spence and I had.

“Mom and I eventually forgave each other, and I chose to attend college in New York instead, distancing myself from my parents and that branch of the family for a while. And I took classes to qualify myself as an emergency medical technician alongside my mediwizard training.”

“And I finally mourned my brother. It took a long time for me to really heal from his loss, just as it will take you a long time to truly mourn the Diggory boy’s—”

“Cedric,” Harry corrected absently, looking out at the grey-green water.

“Cedric’s death. But the first step you have to take is to realize that it was not your fault.”

Harry snapped his head back to look at her. “But I told him to take the cup with me!”

“Would you have done so if you’d known it was a trap?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Then the person to blame in this situation is Voldemort. He set the trap. He chose to kill Cedric rather than injure or release him.” She reached out and took his hands, encouraging him to keep looking at her. “You were only doing what felt right to you. Cedric was refusing to take the win for himself, and he would probably have been killed anyway if he did. Did you ever realize that? If Cedric or either of the other champions had made it to the cup first despite Crouch’s efforts, Voldemort would surely have killed them anyway. But because he was stupid enough to follow his need for vengeance, you lived and were able to escape. It is not your fault that Cedric died anymore than it was my fault that a drunk driver ploughed into the car carrying my brother and cousins.”

Harry felt the anguish building in him and screwed his face up in order not to cry. Staci put an am around him and pulled him close, not bothering to hide the tears that were forming in her eyes. “Let it out, Harry. I know it hurts, but keeping it in will only hurt more.”

She said no more, but continued to hold him, stroking his hair and looking at the water as if she had all the time in the world. He struggled with himself for a few minutes, but was finally able to let himself cry with her.

*****

After his tears had run their course for the moment, Staci got up and pulled him to his feet. She raised her glasses and scrubbed her eyes with one hand. “Let’s go clean up a bit. I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hungry.”

Harry nodded and followed her back up the path. He felt somewhat better, as if a huge burden on him had been shifted and was a little easier to carry. He missed something Staci said and tried to listen harder in the strong breeze.

“—need to inventory the kitchen and go shopping. You’ll have to tell me some of the things you like to eat. And of course we need supplies for Monday.”

“What’s Monday?” Harry asked without thinking.

“Besides your birthday?” At Harry’s surprised look she grinned. “Albus will be bringing a few guests for a birthday party.”

“A party?” Harry lit up with delight at the thought and jumped the last few steps to the deck. A real birthday party at last!

He was almost to the sliding glass door when the pain seared across his scar.

Chapter 5 - Connections Made

Harry fell to his knees, both hands pressed to his forehead in a futile attempt to block the agony. Staci dropped down beside him and pulled his hands aside.

“Let me see,” she insisted, pushing his hair back.

Harry blinked in surprise. The second she had touched him, the pain had stopped. She was studying his scar, murmuring to herself, “…glowing…hot…” Her voice sounded very far off.

Harry realized he was not seeing her or the beach cottage. Instead he seemed to be somewhere dark, like a cave or cellar with just a few torches lit. Figures surrounded him in a quite familiar broken circle.

Staci dropped her hand, about to get up and like that his scar was on fire again. He lost the vision and frantically grabbed her and clapped her hand to his head again.

Staci was puzzled, then recognized the distance in his eyes. “What do you see, Harry?”

“I think…it’s Voldemort’s hideout. It’s not clear…”

“Turn slowly, see if it gets any clearer in one direction.”

Harry got up and did as she asked, but before he could get more than halfway around the vision began to fade. Knowing somehow that it was over, he let Staci’s hand go.

“It’s gone.”

Staci strode inside and fetched paper and a pen from her desk. “Write it down, now, before you forget. Or dictate it to me.”

He started describing what he’d seen, the dim room, the people surrounding him in the same ragged circle he’d seen the Death Eaters form before. Malfoy and Macnair had been hit with the Cruciatus Curse. The walls had been smooth, so a cellar was more likely than a cave. And finally, just as his vision had faded, Harry had seen Snape bowing low.

Once he’d recited everything, Staci copied her notes into something more legible and added her observations to his.

“I don’t suppose anyone has noticed before, if it happened before, but your scar was glowing very faintly, the same glow that the Death Curse produces. It was also hot to the touch.” She glanced up at him thoughtfully. “Am I right in guessing that me touching you seemed to block the pain?”

Harry nodded. “Completely. That’s never happened before. And I’ve never been able to see Voldemort’s location when I wasn’t dreaming.”

She frowned. “I wonder if it has to do with the blood-bond on the protection spell, or if it would have happened at the Dursleys’.” She wrote down a few more sentences, then folded the paper and went over to the fireplace. She thumbed a switch and gas jets obligingly spit out dancing flames. She took a pinch of some powder, lighter in colour than Floo powder, from a large shell on the mantle and tossed it into the fire, stating “Dumbledore’s office.” A hole appeared in the flames, showing the headmaster’s office just as Harry remembered it. He wasn’t in the room, but Staci scribbled his name on the paper, murmured an incantation under her breath that made it shimmer, and tossed it onto his desk. She turned off the gas and both fire and hole disappeared with a pop.

Harry was thinking about what he’d seen. Snape had apparently managed to infiltrate the Death Eaters again at Dumbledore’s request. He wondered whether Voldemort trusted him—he’d been quick enough to accept the likes of Malfoy and the others who had presumed him dead and gone on with their lives.

Although there had been some satisfaction at seeing Lucius Malfoy being tortured…

Suddenly Harry remembered Neville, his year-mate at Hogwarts, and the gut-wrenchingly sad story of his parents that Dumbledore had told him. Neville’s parents were still alive, but hopelessly insane as a result of being tortured with the Cruciatus Curse. And with a start, Harry realized something that made his stomach twist with nausea: last year when “Mad-Eye” Moody had comforted Neville after his reaction to seeing the curse performed in a Defence Against Dark Arts class, it had actually been young Barty Crouch doing the comforting, one of the four Death Eaters who had tortured the Longbottoms. Harry wondered if Neville realized that; he didn’t know how well Dumbledore had kept Crouch’s impersonation a secret from the other students.

“Staci!” Harry burst out. She looked up at him from the kitchen, where she had started pulling out sandwich makings.

“Do you know who’s planning to come to…Monday?” He couldn’t quite bring himself to say “my party”. It felt too precious and new to be said out loud yet.

“The Weasleys, Hermione Granger, Albus and Sirius, as far as I know. Maybe Remus Lupin if they can track him down.”

“Can we add someone else?”

Staci raised one eyebrow but nodded. “Sure, who did you have in mind?”

“Neville Longbottom. He’s in my year at school. Can I send him an owl…oh, wait. I don’t know where Hedwig is.”

Staci glanced up at a sound on the deck, and smiled. “But she knows where you are.”

Harry turned to look out the sliding glass door and saw his owl, sitting on the rail and preening proudly, a letter tied to one leg.

*****

Hermione popped through the fireplace at the Burrow, dusting soot and Floo powder from her carryall. Ron pounced on her immediately.

“Can you tell me what’s going on? Where’s Harry? All my parents will tell me is that we’re going to see him Monday!”

Hermione held up her hands, backing away from the verbal onslaught. “Stop, Ron. I don’t know anything more than you do. Practically as soon as Harry sent me that phoney letter from Gringotts he disappeared—”

“Letter from Gringotts?” Ron yelled, then lowered his voice to a hiss, pulling Hermione upstairs to his room by an elbow. “What letter from Gringotts?”

Up in Ron’s violently orange room, surrounded by the Chudley Cannon posters, Hermione filled him in on the letter and how Harry had apparently gone from the Dursleys’ the very next day, with no word to Dumbledore or anyone he knew. Ron complained bitterly of first his mother’s frantic blitz at the local post office, then the letter from Dumbledore and her calm refusal to tell him anything more than they’d see Harry in two days.

“…and then there’s Bill, sending Mum an owl with some garbage of how Harry’s bound to be just fine, not to worry…how can he know anything about anything, all the way down in Egypt?”

Hermione leaned over and took his face in her hands. “Ron, calm down. We’ve got to trust the adults right now. They said we’re going to see Harry on Monday and we will!”

Ron shook his head. “That’s not good enough! Anything could happen by then! I’ll try and nab some of the Floo powder from the kitchen, if you’ll distract Mum. Otherwise it’ll be broomsticks—you can borrow Fred or George’s. Ginny’s still too enthralled with the broom they gave her to let it out of her sight.” Ignoring Hermione’s attempts to interrupt him, he started pacing. “If we can get to Hogsmeade, we can walk up to Hogwarts and demand to see Dumbledore, or maybe McGonagall if he’s not there. At the very least we can talk to Hagrid!”

“RON!” Hermione bellowed and he jumped in surprise. “Calm down. We can’t go running off on our own, especially now that You-Know—blast it!—Voldemort is active again! What if he gets the idea to come after Harry through us, the people Harry cares about?”

“Then stop saying the name if you’re so worried about him being back!”

“No, I’m not going to give Voldemort the satisfaction of being too scared to say his name! I will break that habit, and you should, too!”

Ron simply shook his head at her foolhardiness. “Hermione, he’s our best friend. After the way I treated him last year, I just can’t sit and wait for the grownups to tell us he’s all right without knowing for myself. Please, can we at least try for the Floo powder? That would take us straight to Hogwarts and back; There’d be hardly any chance for You-Know-Who to do anything.”

Hermione looked frustrated, but nodded, wondering if she dared deliberately flub at distracting Mrs. Weasley. They had gotten downstairs and were passing a parlour when arms shot out and pulled each of them in by the shoulder.

Ron had his mouth wide open to yell and Hermione’s hand was in her pocket for her wand when they realized it was Bill. “Boggarts on toast, Bill! Why’d you want to scare us like that?” Ron cried, catching his breath.

Bill looked down at them grimly. “It would appear that you need scaring. Just where did you think you were going?”

Hermione thought about covering for Ron and decided against it. Better to leave it between the brothers.

Ron turned a bright pink. “Just down to the kitchen for something to eat.”

Bill shook his head at his brother. “Ron, if you’re serious about pursuing the Auror idea, learn to lie well. You’ve got some crazy idea of trying to find Harry, don’t you?”

Ron flushed deeper. “And so what if I am? Everything I’ve heard says the adults aren’t doing anything at all!”

“That’s because they don’t have to. I know where Harry is, I know who he’s with, and I can assure you on the honour of Gryffindor that he’s just fine.”

“Just fine? And we’re supposed to believe you like that? How would you know anyway? You’ve been at your job all this time—and what are you doing here and not there?”

Bill sighed. “Ron, if you’re not going to calm down, I’m not going to say another word.”

Ron inhaled for yet another rant and Hermione stepped in and covered his mouth with a hand. “Stop it, Ron! You’re going to start foaming at the mouth in a minute.” She turned to Bill, keeping her hand firmly in place as Ron tried to twist away. “Please, go on.”

“Thank you, Hermione. I am here because I’ve taken a leave of absence from Gringotts for at least the next month to help in dealing with the threat of You-Know-Who—” Bill paused “—Voldemort, it’s Voldemort, Voldemort.” Hermione nodded in understanding.  “I know Harry’s safe because I’m in touch with who he’s staying with and she says he’s doing splendidly. He’s happy to be away from the Dursleys and he’s looking forward to seeing you all at his birthday party.”

“Birthday party?” Ron had dodged and succeeded in getting away from Hermione.

“That’s right,” she said. “Harry’s birthday is Monday. I sent a card and some sweets, and I was going to do something else as well, but I need to go to Diagon Alley…”

Bill smiled. “I’ll be glad to escort you both, if you like.”

Ron looked dejected. “What can I do? I don’t have a Knut to my name right now.”

Hermione punched him in the shoulder. “Get over it, Ron. You can help me finish my idea and it’ll be from both of us. Can we go now?”

“As soon as we tell Mum where we’re going.”

They filed down the last staircase to the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was poking at some dough with her wand, encouraging it to rise. Ginny was snapping beans at the table.

“Mum, I’m going to take Ron and Hermione to Diagon Alley for a little shopping. Harry’s birthday, you know.”

Ginny looked up, knocked the bowl of beans and caught it before it could spill. “Can I go too?”

“Sure,” Bill and Hermione replied together before Ron could say “no”.

She jumped up and pulled off the apron she had been wearing. Mrs. Weasley nodded her assent and visibly bit her lip against whatever warnings and admonishments she longed to deliver. She settled for fixing a stern eye on her eldest, who smiled in return. “If we’re not back by five o’clock, send out the Ministry, Mum.”

He ducked just in time as a wooden spoon sailed over his head and hit the wall.

*****

The letter was from Sirius. Harry took it and patted Hedwig affectionately. Staci brought out a dish of water and Hedwig hooted in appreciation. Harry took the letter over to the hammock chairs and curled up into one to read it.

Dear Harry (and Anastacia, if you’re reading over his shoulder stop it now),

Dumbledore has informed me of Staci’s taking you in, but neither of us knows exactly where you are. Please send a reply as soon as you read this and tell me what’s going on. As your legal guardian, according to your parents’ wishes, I do have a right to know more than I’ve been told so far.

A Gringotts owl came to Dumbledore, unable to find you within the time limit the goblins gave it. They haven’t traced the letter yet, but they’ll keep trying.

Harry, please be on your guard. Dumbledore wouldn’t tell me much about this Anastacia Patterson, and I don’t remember her very well—her sister Annalise kept to the Ravenclaws—but until I can get there Monday, watch your back. Hedwig can find me easily, even though I’m travelling a lot.

Write me back now.

Sirius

Harry smiled at the final directive and carried Hedwig inside. Staci glanced at him from the kitchen counter and waved at the sandwich makings she had spread out. “Tell me what you want.”

Harry looked at the selection and said, “Turkey, cheese and mustard on toast, and parchment and a quill.”

“Those last two aren’t good for your digestion, so I hear,” she quipped, nodding her head toward her desk. “Help yourself.”

She brought him a sandwich and grape juice as he worked on letters, not only composing a reply to Sirius, but also notes to Ron, Hermione, and Neville. As he labelled each one so Hedwig could take the lot, he looked around Staci’s desk, marvelling at its glorious jumble of Muggle and magical items. Biros and quills rested together in a large mug. The computer drive had a list of spells taped to its side, apparently to unlock certain enhanced functions. A non-moving action figure of a rabbit dressed as a samurai shared the top of the monitor with a wizard figure of a Quidditch player in unfamiliar blue robes with red and white trim. He paced back and forth, moving his broom as if to block the goals.

“What player is this?” Harry asked as Staci brought her own meal to the dining table nearby.

“That’s Michael Doherty, Keeper for the US team back in the late 1980s. He was Ben’s favourite player. Ben was a Keeper for his school team.”

“Do you play?” Harry asked curiously.

“No, I don’t fly well. And I just wasn’t as interested in sports as a kid. I was the type to shut myself in my room with a stack of books.”

Ah, Harry thought, she’ll like Hermione, then. He ruffled Hedwig’s head once more and thanked her as she nipped at his fingers and took off through the open sliding-glass door. He sat back down to finish his lunch and asked, “Now what?”

“Well, I’ve got a list for the grocery store started—here, if you have any favourites jot them down. After that, it’s pretty much do whatever we want: laze around, study or do work, swim…”

“I don’t swim very well.”

Staci grinned. “Then lessons might be a good place to start.”

*****

Dumbledore looked around at the group he had called to his office: all of Harry’s professors were there, except for three. Professor Binns, being a ghost, wasn’t very concerned about the fight against Voldemort until it was over and in the annals of history. Professor Trelawney had refused to leave her tower, claiming that the future was just too dreadful to bear. And Hagrid was still out recruiting more giants to their side.

Also attending were Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. They sat a little apart from the others as Dumbledore cleared his throat and began. “I called you all here because we need to start thinking of what safeguards we can provide for Harry Potter this year. As you all know, the circumstances changed dramatically at the end of last term with Voldemort’s resurrection. And while Harry is slowly getting better at coming to the adults around him for help, we will still need to keep a very close eye on him and his friends. Any sign at all that his scar is causing him pain should be reported—it seems that with his return, not only does Harry react to Voldemort’s feelings of anger or hate, Harry can actually see what Voldemort sees, possibly even track him.” If Dumbledore noticed Snape starting at that bit of information, he did not show it. “Harry is no longer with the Dursley family, but is being well cared for. I have seen him and where he is staying, though I do not know the location itself. He will be well-protected until he gets to Hogwarts, at which point we must take up the load.”

Professor McGonagall replied, “Albus, how are things with Cornelius Fudge? I know we have taken steps to prepare for You-Know-Who’s return—“Dumbledore mouthed Voldemort at her and she pointedly ignored it”—but has he?”

“Alas, not yet. He is keeping everything as hushed as he can, which has been remarkably easy since Rita Skeeter seems to have stopped writing for the time being. He has not removed the dementors from Azkaban yet, nor has he tried to contact the giants officially. While we do have a great deal of support within the Ministry, and the Aurors are being retrained by Alastor Moody, I doubt we can count on anything official at this point.”

Dumbledore closed the meeting and watched the others file out. As he expected, Snape remained behind for a moment. When they were alone, Snape tossed his greasy hair out of his eyes and asked, “Do you have anything more for me?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “No, at this point there is no harm in telling Voldemort the exact truth. I do not know where Harry is. There is only one person who does. They may surface in Diagon Alley before taking the train. If it can be arranged, that would be our best chance of ending this now.”

Snape nodded and prepared to leave. As he exited, Dumbledore called after him, “Be careful, Severus.”

Chapter 6 - A Long-Overdue Party

Harry curled up in one of the hammock chairs to watch the sun set. He was holding a plain Muggle notebook in his hands, along with a biro from Staci’s desk. He had added the notebook to the pile of groceries from the market and she had paid for it along with everything else without a word.

Now she was inside, chopping vegetables and steaming rice for a Chinese stir-fry meal. Staci enjoyed cooking without magic and claimed to be especially good at Mexican food. Harry was looking forward to trying it all—Aunt Petunia had stuck to roasts as if experimentation of any kind would be punished and even the Hogwarts house elves didn’t get too crazy with their offerings unless asked.

He opened the notebook and uncapped the biro, then hesitated. “Dear diary” or “Dear” anything felt absolutely wrong. Finally he simply wrote the date and began.

We had a terrific afternoon when we got back from the shopping. We got into bathing things, Staci Transfigured part of the deck into a pool and by the time we were through I was doing a pretty good crawl and a really good breaststroke. No gillyweed in sight!  She grew up on a lake and doesn’t even remember learning to swim.

I like her. I really like her. She treats me as an equal…well, all right, not quite an equal, but she treats me like I’ve got a brain and some wits to offer. Sirius is being awfully parental since the tournament, not telling me anything about the plans to fight Voldemort. Dumbledore might tell me if I asked, but it feels like I’d be pestering him if I sent an owl asking for the latest news. And of course the Weasleys are going to see me as a child, since they’re Ron’s parents. But Bill’s another possibility (I still don’t know why he started helping Staci, ought to ask).

Turns out she and Bill met during his training program for Gringotts—she called it an internship. She was at the Patterson site in Cairo for a summer during her university years. She also spent two years as a “support agent” in the United States department on that card, but when her sister had twins and decided to stop working at Patterson, Staci joined the family business.

It’s odd—Staci has got this amazing balance between being a witch and being a Muggle. She knows magic and really knows how to use it, but she doesn’t unless she needs to. It sounds like her whole family is like that. They work all over the world—Staci’s visited four continents so far. They all learn two or three languages the hard way, so they don’t have to use magic in front of Muggles to communicate. Well, not exactly the hard way—Staci learned Spanish from her mom as a baby. Her mom is part Hopi and apparently does things a LOT differently than what we learn in class, like using incense the way Snape uses potions. Animagi are a lot more common in that culture as well.

Staci has promised that I’ll get to meet the rest of the family, though she’s not sure how it will happen yet. She said something about Christmas in the States—that would be brilliant!

*****

Sunday morning, Harry woke to a rhythmic thumping sound coming from another room. He got up quietly and plucked his wand from the open trunk. The sound was coming from one of the extra bedrooms across the cottage from his. Harry looked for Staci, but she was nowhere in sight.

He edged to the open door, still hearing that sound, and peeked in.

It was Staci. She was dressed in loose sports clothes and was tumbling from side to side, her hair flying behind her in a ponytail. He heard her counting under her breath, and when she got to twenty she changed from going forward to back rolls without missing a beat. He watched as she repeated the move to twenty again, then rolled to her feet and began twisting her wrists in odd positions as she caught her breath. She noticed him in the door and smiled.

He stepped into the room carefully; the floor was covered with padded mats, vacant of the furniture it had held yesterday. “Er…what are you doing?”

“Practicing. I do aikido; it’s a martial art from Japan.” She moved from her wrists to her shoulders, stretching out the joints.

“Where did you learn that?”

“I started my freshman year in college. A good friend of mine was attacked on campus and decided to learn self-defence. She wanted company and I thought it might be useful since I was already thinking about joining one of the wizarding agencies as a career.” Staci stopped stretching and shook out her arms and neck. “Oddly enough, she stopped when she got to blue belt. I guess she felt she knew enough for her needs. I’m a first kyu brown belt. That’s one level below black belt. If I could stay put near a dojo long enough, I could probably make black belt inside a year.”

Harry watched as she began exercising again, a move where she spun on the balls of her feet while bringing her hands up, ready for an attack. “Is it hard to learn?”

“I don’t think so, not if you apply yourself. I’ve seen students come in who were totally clumsy and awkward at first, but they picked it up with dedicated practice. And it’s a perfect style for people who aren’t muscle-bound jocks; it’s all about taking the force the attack gives you and redirecting it. Want to learn a few moves? It’s much easier to practice with a partner.”

Harry grinned a bit, imagining tossing Crabbe or Goyle around when they didn’t expect it. “All right.”

They spent a pleasant morning. Staci started by showing him how to take falls without hurting himself, then did a few careful demonstrations with a wooden knife, showing some ways to physically disarm an attacking wizard, even one much bigger than himself. By lunchtime, Harry was hooked.

*****

He had written more in his journal, getting dozens of things he hated about the Dursleys and his life with them on paper. He didn’t feel ready to write about Cedric, but covering the pages with justified complaints he’d never voiced before had felt wonderful. Staci taught him a new spell, Compactus licet signum, that he could use at Hogwarts to lock the journal with a password. Harry chose Jarvey, an animal he’d picked at random from his Care of Magical Creatures texts.

He could barely contain himself when he went to bed, he was so eager for it to be Monday and his birthday. He remembered seeing the clock sometime after midnight and getting a thrill at realizing he was fifteen years old, but finally fell asleep soon after. He woke blissfully to the smell of bacon frying and waffles baking.

They spent the morning tidying the place and preparing for a large influx of guests. Staci magicked up extra chairs. She took a batter she’d prepared the night before and proceeded to bake an interesting-looking red layer cake and ice it with a white frosting. Once done, she and Harry went to the room lined with floor mats and practiced three specific disarming moves until he could do them reliably, each time winding up with her “wand” in his hand.

“The thing is, Harry, that most wizards get to rely on magic too much. It takes just as much energy to perform a moderately hard spell as it does to run a lap around this house, even with a wand to focus one’s power. Yet time after time, they reach for the wand rather than do something without it. Take away the wand, and you paralyze most wizards long enough to get away or disable them.”

At last it was two in the afternoon. Staci put fifteen gold candles on the cake and hung a rainbow-coloured banner that spelled out “Happy Birthday”. Harry fidgeted, teasing the Quidditch figure on the computer by throwing Bernie Botts Every Flavour Beans at it. Finally he felt a shiver down his skin, like when a storm was coming. Staci grinned at him.

“Their Portkey is set to this room, so we feel it when it’s being activated.” Just as she finished, the room was suddenly full of people, in a circle so that everyone could lay a finger on the Portkey in the centre.

With a yell of delight, Harry caught Ron in a flying tackle and sent them both to the floor. Fred and George whooped and dove in, creating a hugging, pummelling and tickling fray that caught Ginny by surprise. She fell over a twin’s outstretched leg and took Neville with her, grabbing frantically for his arm as she lost her balance.

Harry noticed Hermione edging away with the adults and managed to snag her ankle. Ron helped pull her in. The ruckus might have gone on for some time, but Staci cried “Enough! Or I’ll create another swimming pool under you all!”

Laughing, they slowly untangled themselves, still tripping over one another. Harry got his feet caught and grabbed onto whoever was next to him. As he mastered his balance once more, someone cleared a throat and Harry realized he’d draped himself over Hermione…

And that his hand was squarely on her breast. A breast that was much more developed than he remembered from seeing her in her Hogwarts robes.

He pulled away, feeling his face burn deep red and turned to try and hide it. Blessedly at that point, Staci had turned out the lights and was lighting candles on the cake. While she took votes whether to sing “Happy Birthday”, he collected himself. When he dared look at Hermione again, as the song ended with the twins’ hideous attempt at harmony, she seemed perfectly calm. And of all people, Remus Lupin was watching him. He gave Harry a wink and suddenly Harry felt much better.

Harry managed to blow out his candles and start cutting the cake. Staci called it a “red velvet” cake and it was delicious: hints of chocolate and other flavours topped by a tangy frosting. She shared the recipe with Mrs. Weasley while the youngsters wolfed it down and rushed out to the pool.

*****

Staci looked around at the adults that remained behind. “I suppose now is as good a time as any for a conference.” She got Dumbledore, Sirius, Remus, and the Weasley parents arranged around the dining table, with herself, Bill and Charlie on stools from the bar. She nodded at Dumbledore in a silent cue for him to take charge of the discussion.

“I will admit I did not approve when Anastacia took matters into her own hands and removed Harry from his aunt and uncle. However, I can see that he is indeed happy here and better cared for by his cousin, while still under the protections I created. And this turn of events may provide us with an opportunity to trap or even destroy Voldemort before he can expand his power base beyond the Death Eaters.”

Staci raised her eyebrows at the last part while admiring Dumbledore’s ability to answer probable questions before they were asked.

He continued, “My sources tell me that Voldemort is extremely frustrated with the fact that no one seems to know Harry’s location since he left the Dursleys’. I have arranged to pass enough information to Voldemort to lead him to a place of our choosing: Diagon Alley. Harry will need to go there and purchase his books and supplies for Hogwarts as usual. If we can lure Voldemort into attacking him there, we can be in a position to counter and possibly capture him.

“Unfortunately the only way such a plan will work is for Harry himself to be there. Voldemort is easily powerful enough to identify and remove any illusions or magical disguises we might create. Now, I intend to protect Harry should we do this. Every witch and wizard that supports us and can be there will be on hand. And Harry will carry at least one Portkey to Hogwarts or here or other places of safety.”

The faces around him were all solemn or worried, but in agreement. Staci leaned forward.

“It sounds like a promising plan, but I would like to do one more thing in carrying it out. I want Harry to have one more option for escape even if all of us should be killed and if he loses the Portkeys in a melee. I want to teach him to Apparate.”

Arthur Weasley protested automatically, “He’s too young for an Apparating license!”

“Who said anything about a license, Dad?” Bill stepped in. “Staci said it would be a last resort. And I trust Harry not to fool around with Apparating. I know I’d feel a lot better about him being the bait to trap Voldemort if he were able to get himself away at any point, no matter what.”

“Exactly,” Staci continued. “No matter how you look at it, if we go with this plan we are putting Harry at extreme risk. Not that he hasn’t faced other risks just as grave, but he’s never been the bait of a deliberate trap before. We can count on most of the Death Eaters being there and a lot of innocent bystanders to protect. If Harry can Apparate as well as use a Portkey, then we can at least reduce the proposal from Out of the Question to Really Dangerous But the Best We Can Do.”

Remus looked at Molly Weasley. “And we have to take into account that your children and Hermione will almost certainly hear about this plan from Harry, and will want to be involved. And I must admit having some of them there will be a convincing detail to lull any suspicion Voldemort might have. But we need to decide now how to handle it.”

Molly paled considerably but Dumbledore reached over and patted her hand.

“I agree with both of you. If asked, I think Harry would keep this plan a secret from them, but we should let the parents think about what they want to do. Arthur, I will be happy to take responsibility if the Ministry chooses to charge Harry for Apparating to escape Voldemort. Now, we need a day when we can all be in Diagon Alley. Sirius and Remus, we need the rest of the group: Kingsley, Mundungus, whoever can come. I will contact Alastor Moody and see if he will arrange to be training his most advanced Aurors in an on-site lesson. Arthur, Molly, what about Percy?”

Bill shook his head, a tiny gold coin flashing from his earring, while the other Weasleys traded looks. “My instinct is to leave him out of this. Ever since the Ministry learned the truth about the Crouches, Percy has been playing lapdog for Fudge. He wants Crouch’s job so badly he can taste it, never mind that he’s the youngest in the department. Anything we tell Percy will go straight to Fudge, and I for one don’t trust Fudge to handle this situation at all well. He’s still not completely convinced that Voldemort’s back, even with the new attacks on Muggle-borns this summer.”

Arthur nodded reluctantly. “You do notice that Percy didn’t want to lose a day at the office by coming to Harry’s party. I’m afraid I have to agree. Much as I hate to admit it, it was a relief when Percy moved into his own flat last month—all we would hear from him when we discussed the Vo-Voldemort problem was that the Ministry needed our help in controlling baseless rumours.” Bill, Charlie and Staci let out identical snorts of disbelief.

“Very well,” Dumbledore said. “I will try to get in touch with Hagrid, maybe a few others. And of course whichever professors that can be there. Staci, is there a day in particular you would choose?”

She glanced at a wall calendar littered with notes. “August 23. An ordinary weekday, but far enough away from now for planning and soon enough before school to allow the kids to recover before leaving for Hogwarts…” she absently knocked on the wooden desk. “And arithmantically it’s a five, which is Harry’s character number. Can’t hurt.”

The others started reaching for pocket calendars and magical Sched-Lights.

*****

Thanks to Harry’s notes, everyone had known to wear or bring bathing outfits and soon they were splashing about. All the Weasleys were comfortable in the water, but neither Neville nor Hermione could swim. Lessons commenced, and Harry took the opportunity to lead Hermione through the steps Staci had used with him while the others worked with Neville and kept him from the deep end.

“Hermione, I’m sorry about…back there…” He felt his face warming again and splashed water on his cheeks. Even without his glasses, he couldn’t look her in the eyes and was desperate not to look below her neck, though she was in a practical not-very-revealing costume. He settled for concentrating on the fuzzy outline of her chin.

It moved and dimpled as she smiled. “It was an accident, Harry. It’s not like you were deliberately groping me or anything. And if it helps you remember that I am a girl and prevents that mess over the Yule Ball last year from happening again, it was worth it.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, the same way she had when they were leaving King’s Cross for the summer. “Friends first and always. Promise me?”

Harry smiled, took a deep breath and returned the kiss. “Friends first and always. Now, try putting the arms and legs together on the crawl…”

*****

The afternoon wound down pleasantly. Hermione had mastered the crawl in the same efficient way she learned most things, and Neville could be trusted to tread water and dog-paddle even when pushed in, as George demonstrated. The adults drifted out after a while, and Staci, Bill, Sirius and Charlie joined them in the water. Despite their encouragement, Remus only hiked up his robes, rolled up his trouser legs, and dangled his feet in the water. Harry noticed that he was looking shabbier and more peaked than when he had been at Hogwarts.

For the evening, Staci had planned to prepare steaks and vegetables on the grill. While they cooked, everyone brought out gaily wrapped parcels and piled them up in front of Harry, who simply stared at them for several minutes. He snapped out of his reverie and reached for the first one when Dumbledore playfully conjured paper birthday hats for everyone.

It was a miniature version of an old cathedral-style radio from Neville. He explained, “It’s made to pick up the Wizarding Wireless Network. I remember you saying you’d never heard of some of the popular bands, so now you’ll know.”

Harry continued unwrapping, sometimes stopping to listen to the explanation, always thanking the giver. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley varied their habit slightly and gave Harry a matching scarf and gloves set that Mrs. Weasley had knitted in green. Sirius gave him a wizard watch to replace his old Muggle one; its hands would spin around to indicate that Harry should be at his next class or at dinner or in bed. Remus had scrounged around and found more photographs of his parents, neatly mounted in a second album. Harry paused, but reminded himself that he would have plenty of time later to look through them.

Hermione and Ron had gone in together and created a survival kit: it included things like a flashlight and compass, a first aid kit and matches, all enchanted to work every time, as well as some magical aids. It was all packed in a moke-skin bag that would shrink to fit in his pocket so he could carry it everywhere. Dumbledore gave him a silver ring with a Celtic design engraved in it and explained that it was a type of tracker; should Harry disappear from Hogwarts suddenly, Dumbledore could use the ring to locate him quickly.

Fred and George lightened the atmosphere considerably, after these gifts designed to help Harry stay safe: they had created an assortment of every Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes item invented so far. Harry’s eyes widened at the selection of sweets, fake wands and quills, and other yet-to-be discovered jokes. The twins had been busy over the summer. Mrs. Weasley looked the other way, her mouth set in a disapproving line, but made no comment.

Staci’s gift pleased him enormously: a cell phone that was apparently standard equipment for all the Pattersons involved in the transport company and an email address: seeker@pat-tran.com. Bill and Charlie had gone in together and gotten Harry a Chudley Cannons jumper, black with orange lettering.

Ginny’s happened to be last, and as Harry began unwrapping it she got steadily pinker around the nose. He pulled the paper away to reveal some kind of stuffed animal, somewhat like a cat but with oversized ears. He bit his tongue while Ron and the twins howled laughter and Ginny turned nearly as red as her hair. Something familiar teased the very back of Harry’s mind…

Neville looked at it with interest. “It’s a stuffed Kneazle. What made you think of that, Ginny?”

She took a deep breath and replied, “Back in my first year, when I…when I searched your room…” Harry nodded encouragingly. “Well, I found your photo album. The first one. There was a picture of you and your mum and you were holding a stuffed Kneazle like that one. I know we’re all getting too old for dolls and such, but I still have the rabbit Mum gave me when I was a baby. Anyway…I thought you might like it…” she looked down, swallowing tears of embarrassment.

Harry looked at the toy again, which purred at him. He remembered the picture Ginny was talking about—his wizard image as a baby usually dangled the poor thing by the tail and chewed on the tuft of fur at the end of it. He set this one on top of the rest of the presents and leaned over and deliberately kissed Ginny on the cheek. “Thank you, Ginny. It’s a great gift.” With the laughter silenced, he looked at Staci. “So, are you going to feed us anytime soon?”

*****

After the meal it was dark and they lit a fire on the beach. Staci handed out marshmallows on sticks, then showed everyone how to create a gooey dessert called S’mores. She also surreptitiously passed a large bag of Filibusters’ Fireworks to the twins, who gleefully set them off in a dazzling display.

Harry got Neville off to one side while Ron pestered the twins to give him a turn. They sat on the beach, watching the waves shine in the moonlight. Neville smiled shyly at Harry. “I do hope you like the radio. Gran helped me think of it.”

“I do like it, Neville. Thanks again.” Harry drew lines in the sand with a stick. “How have you been this summer?”

Neville looked down, almost embarrassed to be asked. “I’ve been potting about in the gardens at our house. Professor Sprout sent home this letter to Gran telling her how great I am at Herbology and she’s let me try all sorts of things. I’m even using some of the plants to make potions and some of them work!”

“Of course they do, Neville. You can make any old potion you want when Snape’s not breathing down your neck.”

“I’ve been working on this memory potion for...some people. I hope I can try it before we go back to school…” Harry started suddenly, realizing what Neville must be hoping to do. Neville looked at him. “Harry?”

“Dumbledore told me about your parents, Neville. He was explaining something I’d seen. I’m really very sorry that it happened. In a way you have it worse than me or anyone else whose parents were killed outright by Voldemort and his gang.”

Neville looked up at the starry sky. “I just wish they’d come back for a few minutes. Just long enough to see me and smile.”

Harry put an arm around Neville’s shoulder. “If you don’t get it working before, bring it to school. I’ll help you. So would Hermione and Ron, if you asked them.”

Neville gripped his hand for a moment, then managed in a husky voice, “Thanks, Harry. I think I will.”

Chapter 7 - The Waiting Game

August 1

I had a real birthday yesterday. I had a cake and presents and my friends around me. I blew out candles and made a wish. I’m listening to music on the WWN on my new radio. Ginny’s Kneazle is curled up around the survival kit—I think it likes the moke-skin. I’m wearing my new watch, which says it’s time for breakfast. I can smell sticky buns in the oven, so I reckon it’s accurate.

Harry looked across the room at the futon that had been pulled out for Ron. He was still asleep, his arm over his face. Sirius was in one guest bedroom; they had invited Hermione to stay in the other (the one where the mats Transfigured into a bed and dresser) but when she phoned her parents on Harry’s new mobile phone, they asked her to come home and plan on an overnight visit later in the week. Bill had stayed late, talking to Staci after Sirius had gone to sleep and the boys had retired to Harry’s room to play a game of chess.

Harry remembered dreaming the night before, where the nightmare with Cedric in the graveyard had melted into another Death Eater council. Harry had felt pain his scar, but had been able to hear some of the conversation going on as Voldemort wasn’t flinging Unforgivables about. Voldemort was conducting a furious search for Harry, wanting to find him before he was at Hogwarts again. In the back of his notebook, Harry jotted down everything he could remember before the dream faded. He shoved the journal under his pillow and headed for the bathroom that connected his and Sirius’ rooms.

In the bathroom he realized he could hear voices on the other side of the door. Staci and Sirius seemed to be arguing. Harry put his ear next to the door, but he heard one final sharp burst from Staci and then silence. He finished up quickly and padded to the kitchen in his pyjamas and bare feet to see Staci coating cinnamon-covered buns with icing.

*****

It had been weeks since Sirius had slept so well. The guest bed was luxuriously large. The scent of the sea floated in through the window he had dared to leave ajar. The room was neat as a pin; he had been staying with Remus, and while Remus kept his cottage clean, books and instruments cluttered every flat surface. He lay in the bed and listened to the surf for a few minutes, then got up and pulled on the simple blue robes he found hanging behind the door.

Someone tapped on the door, and Sirius called, “Come in.”

Staci came in with a folded pile of Muggle clothes. “These are my dad’s. They should fit you well enough, if you want to borrow them long enough for us to wash yours.”

Sirius shook his head, fastening the clasp of the robes. “These will do well enough for that. Thanks.”

“OK, whatever. I’ve got cinnamon rolls in the oven for all of us. What do you like to drink in the morning? Coffee? Tea? A shot of single malt?”

Sirius looked at her. “You can stop playing hostess. I’m going to talk to Harry about coming with me for the rest of the summer.”

She put the clothes in her hands down on a bureau. Hands on her hips, looking him dead in the eye, she asked, “Where were you when the Dursleys were preparing to lock Harry up in a mental institution?”

“That’s not fair. Dumbledore got in touch with me as soon as possible.”

“As soon as possible for wizards. It still took at least a day for an owl to reach you, from what I understand. You can’t be Harry’s guardian and Dumbledore’s scout at the same time.”

“James and Lily were very specific in their will!”

Instead of quailing at the mention of Harry’s parents, respecting the wishes of the dead as Sirius expected, she shifted in the doorway, and lifted her chin. Suddenly Sirius had a flash of memory, seeing a small girl of four or five standing just that way in the hallway in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, furious because “Flourish and Blotts” wouldn’t open the Gryffindor entrance the way it did Ravenclaw’s. He had let her in with him, where she had proceeded to collect sweets from every Gryffindor in the common room.

“Sirius, don’t even think about trying that with me! Yes, you’re his legal guardian. And I’m family. We want the same things for Harry and we should be working together instead of bickering about this. If you can honestly say Harry will be better off with you, travelling from shack to cave to forest while you search out allies, then by all means let’s ask him. But here we both know he’s safe, his whereabouts are unknown to Voldemort, and he’s being given a chance to rest and finally heal from what happened at the end of the tournament.”

“I have a house!”

“That you don’t dare approach because those ministry buffoons have yet to even believe in your innocence, much less publicly announce it! If you showed up in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade you know someone would raise the alarm to have you arrested again!”

Sirius was about to respond but a bell rang in the kitchen and Staci flounced off angrily to attend to it. Without her presence to prod him, he sank down on the bed again and gave in to the despair for a moment. She was right. He would very likely be arrested if he were recognized away from Hogwarts. He was able to ignore that fact normally, travelling as a dog and communicating with those who trusted Dumbledore’s opinion of him. But eventually he would have to try and clear his name or he would never be able to provide a home for Harry. He wanted that desperately, to atone for failing James and Lily, and he knew Harry had wanted the same thing once.

He heard voices in the kitchen. He scrubbed his hands through his hair and down his face, then stood and entered the main room.

*****

Staci seemed to be calm, but already Harry could read her well enough to see the vigorous jabs of the knife in the icing, the set to her jaw. “Everything all right?”

“It will be,” she replied, putting the kettle on and pulling out a teapot. In contrast to Harry’s vague preconception of coffee-swilling Americans, Staci was quite familiar with the proper way of preparing tea and would have a pot of an Irish blend or an herbal peppermint tea each morning. “Sirius wants you to stay with him the rest of the summer.”

Harry blinked. “But he’s travelling all over the place now for Dumbledore.” Staci nodded but kept silent. “And the protections---they’re linked to you, a blood relative.” Harry sat for a moment, lost in thought. He had wanted to go with Sirius last year, before Sirius had had to run for his life. But admittedly it was just as much about getting away from the Dursleys as it was about living with his father’s best friend. And now he did have family, Staci and her parents and this brood of uncles and aunts and cousins many-times removed. He wanted to get to know them, too.

Staci picked up her wand and prodded the kettle on the stove impatiently. “Calefacto!” she snapped, and it obediently began to whistle. She began brewing the tea and carefully didn’t look when Sirius came into the room.

Harry took the initiative. “Sirius, as much as I would love to stay with you, shouldn’t it wait until Christmas or next summer when it might be safer and you don’t have to travel so much?”

Sirius looked at him, resigned. “Intellectually, yes, it’s the best decision. Emotionally, I’m having trouble convincing myself.”

Staci softened a bit and handed him a cup of tea. “How about a compromise? Make this your home base. That way you can spend more time with Harry in between your trips until school starts.”

He brightened considerably, seeing Harry look excited. “Will that work?”

“We’ve got the room. We may not be central to the country, but it’s easy enough to Apparate anywhere within Britain.”

“Then, yes, I will. And thank you—” whatever else he was going to say got lost as Harry jumped up and pounded him on the back in an enthusiastic embrace.

Staci began setting places at the bar. “Harry, you’d better get Ron before breakfast gets cold.”

Harry ran to do as she asked, grinning from ear to ear.

*****

Harry and Ron spent the day indulging in their freedom. They swam in the pool and then in the ocean. They gorged on leftover birthday cake. They took turns racing over the waves on Harry’s Firebolt until Staci caught them at it and made them stop. They came inside during the hottest part of the day and played chess.

Staci sent Ron home after sundown with a handful of recipes on index cards and a huge carton of food for Mrs. Weasley, having sensed the family’s ever-present money shortage. Sirius had been out looking for a few people on Dumbledore’s list and returned soon after. They were eating the promised Mexican dinner, a dish called mole that included a dark and spicy sauce over chicken, when Harry realized that both Sirius and Staci were trying to find a way to introduce a subject they didn’t want to approach. Harry thought about it and came up with the most logical possibility.

“Is there any news of Voldemort?”

Sirius looked more sombre than before. Staci sighed in resignation. “Yeah, there is.”

“He’s getting desperate about finding me, isn’t he?”

Sirius looked astonished. Staci raised an eyebrow and asked, “More dreams?”

Harry nodded and ran for his journal. He whispered the unlocking password and handed it to Staci, opened to the back where he had been recording the dreams he’d had.

His vision of Voldemort’s hideout had grown clearer with repeat viewings. It was definitely the cellar of a large house, with wine racks lining some walls and a crest on a barrel of beer that he couldn’t quite read. Old-fashioned torches in sconces lit the room, which convinced Harry that the cellar belonged to some pure-blood Death Eater wizard who was above using Muggle conveniences like electricity. He was trying very hard not to assume it was Lucius Malfoy and not succeeding very well.

Staci scanned the pages and passed the book to Sirius, who read with growing concern. “What’s this about dreams?”

Harry and Staci took turns describing the first instance of the visions. After they finished, Sirius looked even graver.

“We—that is, us, Dumbledore and the Weasleys—have come up with a possible plan, but the only way we can be sure it will work is with you, Harry. We are prepared to lure Voldemort into watching Diagon Alley for you to come do your shopping for Hogwarts. Once he appears, we’ll have an army of wizards and witches ready to capture him. You will have Portkeys in your pockets so you can return here immediately, and we’re also going to teach you how to Apparate, in case of an emergency.”

Staci took up the thread. “We could try all kinds of illusions or disguises, or even Polyjuice to put someone in your place, except I’m willing to bet Voldemort will be able to sense whether it’s you through the blood he used in that spell to regain a body. Just like you would almost certainly be able to sense him by your scar. So we’re stuck with the worst option…irresistibly tasty live bait.”

She watched as Harry turned this information over in his mind, then set his jaw in a fierce determination. Sirius blinked, struck by the sudden resemblance to Staci...and to James. Apparently righteous anger ran in the Potter family.

“I’m in. And I don’t want to hear anything about how dangerous it is. I want to bring him down, forever.”

Sirius and Staci looked at each other, then Sirius nodded. “I’ll go to Dumbledore and tell him we’re set.”

*****

The next few weeks flew by for Harry. He received a document from the Ministry, signed by Mafalda Hopkirk, which gave him permission to work magic under supervision or in case of an emergency. Sirius and Staci worked together to teach him to Apparate, which came to him relatively easily compared to Charms or Transfiguration. Staci theorized that this was because Apparating was an instinctive type of magic, like flying a broomstick, rather than ritualized. They practiced with short distances up and down the beach and once to a room in the Leaky Cauldron, booked for the purpose.

Harry also practiced basic aikido daily. Sirius was intrigued by the idea and joined in when he was there. The first time Harry successfully threw Sirius over his own wrist and took his “wand” was a special thrill. Staci showed them both a routine to practice every day, to improve their flexibility and rehearse certain moves.

She also gave Harry some instruction in other areas when Sirius wasn’t around. She taught him to open and hotwire the Citroën with and without magic, and how to drive, on the theory that if he were caught in Muggle territory he had an emergency non-magic option, albeit an illegal one, for escape. She showed him some illusions and some things he could do without magic to alter his appearance or even his walk and possibly go unrecognized by the Death Eaters. She found a Muggle makeup among her things that would cover his scar. She taught him a charm that would temporarily correct his vision so he could go without his glasses as well as one that would change the colour and length of his hair.

The next set of lessons covered Portkeys. Staci explained the difference between the transportation methods: “Apparating takes your own energy as a wizard. How far one can Apparate varies with the individual wizard, and most don’t test their limits often. It’s possible to Apparate from here to Hawaii, but you’d keel over and be unconscious for days when you got there, if you didn’t splinch yourself in the process. The advantage is Apparating is nearly impossible to trace and completely open as to destination.

“Portkeys are different; they’re enchanted objects. So there’s really no limit as to how far a Portkey can take someone, and they’re used for long-distance travel. Also, Portkeys can be very flexible despite their fixed destinations: they can be created to activate at a certain time or anytime they’re touched. They can be single-use or multi-use. They can be one-way or round-trip. They can even be specially created so only certain people can use them. A lot of the company Portkeys are set to work for a Patterson-by-blood only. The effort is in producing them—it takes a decently complicated set of spells to set them up beyond a simple ‘take-me-there’. And unless you take steps, Portkeys can usually be tracked.”

She worked with Harry to turn yet another of the ubiquitous software-coasters into a Portkey to the Weasley house. The first time they used it they surprised Mrs. Weasley; she screamed and dropped a chicken that was just coming from the oven. Staci helped repair the damage and they stayed for dinner.

They sent Harry’s second Portkey to Hermione with Hedwig. She used it to visit three times. The first time Harry shared an idea with her that had come to him when listening to Staci talk about Portkeys. The second time she brought a stack of books and the astrolabe her parents had given her as a gift upon receiving the news that she had been named a prefect. The third time Harry summoned Hermione with his mobile phone when Staci was called to meet with Dumbledore for a few hours, and they performed the necessary spells. They sealed the final result in a plastic bag and hid it in a pocket of Harry’s cloak.

Ron visited once more, bringing George and Fred with him, and the four of them worked on more jokes for the twins’ inventory. When Staci caught wind of the twins’ career plans, she booted the computer and showed them how a few enterprising young wizards in California had taken the Muggle idea of the World Wide Web and adapted it for the wizarding world. By the end of the afternoon, Fred and George had a list of contacts to help them create wwww.weasleywheezes.com and learn how to use a magic-enhanced computer.

All of this activity should have kept Harry from obsessing about the coming confrontation, but he couldn’t force it out of his mind. He was feeling the kind of jitters that he usually experienced before Quidditch matches. He went over scenarios in his mind, wondering if he could possibly manage to carry out his nebulous plan. It didn’t help that Staci was also growing more and more tense. At times he would catch her muttering to herself, racking her brain for any more useful spells or defensive manoeuvres to teach him. He had to work to prevent her from interrupting one lesson for another as the days passed and the stress level ratcheted higher.

*****

The tension came to a head one afternoon, as the two of them worked on a series of escape manoeuvres for being grabbed from behind. The timing was essential to make the ushiro kotegaeshi work, and Harry kept moving too soon or too late, but never at the right second. After the seventh or eighth time that Staci landed awkwardly in a poor throw, she snapped at him, “Think, for God’s sake, Harry! Wait for me to actually make contact but don’t give me the chance to get a grip. Don’t try to force it through.”

Harry glared at her, but swallowed the retort he longed to make. He turned around and waited for her to come at him again. This time, he moved far too soon, stepped in the wrong direction, and caught her across the face with his elbow as he turned. She stumbled and fell back, her hands cupping her mouth, and Harry started forward, aghast to see blood trickling through her fingers.

She waved him away angrily and stormed into the bathroom. He heard water running, and she returned a moment later with a washcloth pressed to one side of her mouth, where he’d split her lip. She spoke around the cloth in a cold voice. “So, why was that a damn-fool move?”

He flushed, then asked in frustration, “Why was it such a bad move? I injured you, didn’t I? You wouldn’t have been able to attack again before I could get away.”

She removed the cloth, and he saw how her lip had swollen and darkened. “If I were on the chase, pumped full of adrenaline, I might have ignored this. It’s not such a blow. And it only worked because I’m a little shorter than you. If you’d been working with Sirius, all you would have done would be to whack him in the chest or shoulder and he wouldn’t have noticed at all. You don’t have the body weight to guarantee a stunning hit without perfect aim. That’s why we’re working with aikido, which is good for evening the odds against bigger, stronger opponents.”

She probed her mouth to see if the bleeding had stopped, tossed the cloth back into the bathroom and came forward. “Again.”

Harry had listened with growing anger at her lecture, irked by how much she sounded like Professor McGonagall and by her dismissal of his response. He had felt this growing for days as she crammed spells and knowledge and options into his head. Now it came to a peak of frustration and fury: the nerves, the worry, the sense of time running out. He let it boil over in a shout, “Why? Why should I bother when Voldemort is going to wave his wand at me and try to Avada Kedavra me?”

“We have to prepare for as many possibilities as we can! What if the confrontation spills out into London, in front of ordinary folk? What if someone manages to disarm Voldemort? What if his intent is to have two of his Death Eaters wrestle you to the ground to prevent your dodging spells or firing back?” She was as mad as he was now, almost tripping over her words as they poured out.

“What if, what if…you’re so worried about covering all the possibilities! You can’t cover them all!”

“I know that!" she shouted at him. “But I have to try!” Her voice broke and wavered.

Harry was about to yell back, but he saw the stricken look on her face and the words died in his throat. She whirled and escaped through the bathroom, into her own room, and he heard doors slam shut. He stomped out to the deck and flung himself into one of the basket chairs, staring down at the shore and the waves coming in. The sun was significantly lower in the sky when he was finally calm enough to think about what had been said and what hadn’t.

And he remembered the conversation between them. Practically the first day he’d been here, they’d gone down to the sand and told each other something of their lives. She had blamed herself for her brother’s death, and probably still did—look at how she had thrown herself into medical training after the fact. Now she had Harry to look after, and he only had the most feared wizard in recent history after his blood.

He knew he owed her an apology. He sighed and got up to go back into the house…

…and found Staci at the door, her eyes red from crying. They spoke at the same time: “I’m sorry—”

They both stopped and grinned. Hesitantly, Staci came forward and put her arms around him and he returned the hug. Carefully, not wanting to sour the mood again, he said, “I know this is hard for you.”

"And I know it's hard for you, too. But we’ll get through this together. That's what families do."

*****

Finally, the last evening arrived. Staci and Harry were eating grilled fish and vegetables when she told him, “We ought to go to bed early. We’re supposed to meet Sirius at nine at Gringotts.”

Harry swallowed hard, then nodded. “I’ll be ready.”

After dinner, Harry went to his room and pulled out the journal. He flipped through the pages he’d filled already, mostly about the Dursleys, but here and there he’d begun to explore his feelings about Cedric and Voldemort. What was on paper said he didn’t want to be the one on whom everyone’s hopes were pinned. He didn’t feel like hero material. A real hero would have found a way to save Cedric. A real hero would have defeated Voldemort, not fought him to a draw. And yet…Staci’s voice echoed in his thoughts, reminding him that Cedric had died at Voldemort’s hands, not his. Harry picked up a pen.

Chapter 8 - The Battle in Diagon Alley

Staci woke early on the morning of the 23^rd feeling draggy. She had gotten little sleep, plagued by dreams in which everything that could go wrong today did; in her dreams Voldemort alternately killed Harry or her brother Ben, over and over. She entered the living area of the cottage and stopped short when she saw Harry, sitting on the deck in one of the hammock chairs, staring out at the dawn’s light making diamonds of the surf. He was in jeans and his new Chudley Cannon sweatshirt. He was holding his journal, but not writing in it.

Staci’s stomach clenched in sudden fear—all the worry she had been suppressing flooded in and she trembled from head to foot for a moment before she could pull herself together. She rubbed her hands over her face and under her glasses, then moved to the stove to heat some water. Caffeine was very much in order.

She let Harry be while she got dressed and made a pot of tea. She carried it out with two cups and the sugar bowl—both of them preferred plenty of sugar but no milk. He nodded when she held up the tray and she poured for both of them.

Harry looked up from the journal, where he had jotted down the latest dream-vision from last night. “Voldemort got the message, by the way. He’s had Wormtail stationed in Diagon Alley for days waiting for me to show up.”

“Well, that’s what we wanted.”

“Have Ron and Hermione’s parents decided what to do?”

“Arthur and Molly are bringing Ron, and Bill and Charlie will be on hand as well. The twins and Ginny are supposed to stay at the Burrow, with the story that the three of them are grounded for flying too noticeably around the village.”

Harry pondered the information a moment, then nodded. “I wish we could make them stay home, but Wormtail knows too much about our habits. One way or another, we tend to meet up in Diagon Alley.”

“Ron has strict instructions to stay with his parents. Hermione is coming alone but has a Portkey to get her safely home the minute things start happening. The same goes for you: the minute Voldemort or his Death Eaters spot you, get out of there and back here. After that, it’s up to the wizards Dumbledore has assembled.”

Harry nodded but said nothing. His stomach felt like he’d eaten a dozen Peppermint Toads, but he made himself drink his tea slowly. He had spent much of the last few days trying to convince himself that it didn’t matter who got Voldemort, as long as he was dead or captured by the end of the day. Fear of another confrontation warred with the need to be the one to avenge his parents’ deaths. He had started writing the names of people he knew or had heard of who had suffered because of Voldemort, and surprised himself with how many of his schoolmates were on the list: Cedric, Neville, Susan Bones, the McKinnon brothers in Ravenclaw… It helped convince him that stopping Voldemort was bigger than his revenge; it was a necessity to preserve the wizarding world he had grown to love.

*****

Harry and Staci appeared at a corner of the snowy white building that housed Gringotts. Diagon Alley seemed a little less crowded than usual to Harry, but perhaps it was his imagination. He scanned the area and saw no sign of any unusual activity as Staci put away the Portkey they’d used. He spotted Sirius in his dog form, sniffing idly around a nearby grate; he looked up, saw them, and wagged his tail before moving on to the next grate. Staci nudged him gently on the shoulder, and he led her into Gringotts. The goblins recognized him and one rushed to bring him to the Head Goblin’s attention.

“Mr. Potter, we must apologize for the fraudulent letter that was sent to you. We have been unable to trace it, but rest assured that we will continue our efforts. We cannot allow our institution to be used in such a manner…”

Harry held up a hand when it looked as if the Head Goblin would go on for hours. “It’s all right. No harm was done, in the end. But I think I would like for you to send quarterly reports or something to me from now on, just so I have a better idea of how much is in there.”

“Not a problem, Mr. Potter, not a problem.”

“And if you can, include the amounts in pounds. I’m not very good with the exchange rates.”

With some bowing and trading of courtesies, the Head Goblin finally turned things over to Griphook, who led them through the nausea-inducing cart ride to vault 687 and opened the door for Harry to gather Galleons and Sickles. He took a bit more than usual, thinking in the back of his mind about Hogsmeade shopping trips and wondering when Cho Chang’s birthday might be.

For the next few hours, Harry’s nerves grew steadily tighter as they shopped without incident. He had his school and dress robes lengthened at Madam Malkin’s. He replenished his potion stores, adding a few new things that Staci pointed out as useful. He got the year’s books at Flourish & Blotts, picking up Numerology and Grammatica, the basic Arithmancy text as well. Hermione was so enthusiastic about the subject, and he was dreading another year of Divination.

They ran into Hermione and the Weasleys at the same time, outside of the bookshop. Hermione and Ron were also loaded down with purchases and they decided to leave everything in the room Hermione had taken at the Leaky Cauldron and have lunch there. In Hermione’s room, he took a moment and loaded a backpack he’d found at the cottage with his Invisibility Cloak, some Filibuster’s Fireworks, and a few of Fred & George’s tricks. He took his broom out of Hermione’s trunk and laid it on the bed, opening the window to make the Summoning Charm easier should he need it. He moved the plastic bag from his cloak into a pocket of his jeans and made his way downstairs.

*****

The entire group voted to go to Fortescue’s for ice cream to extend the excursion. They pulled two of the small umbrella tables together for ease of conversation. Harry noticed Padfoot, who flopped down on the warm sidewalk close to the tables. He was just about to sit down when he heard his name being yelled.

He whirled around, his wand half-drawn, and spotted Neville jogging up to him. “Hi, Harry. Hi, everyone.” He puffed a moment, catching his breath, and Harry noticed a flash of reflected sunlight, then a tiny dark shape move out of his line of vision around a corner. He looked over to Staci, holding his gaze on her until she noticed and nodded his head in the direction of the maybe-rat. She turned her chair that way casually, as if to get more sun. She reached out and gently nudged Padfoot with her toe, and he rolled over so he could get a better view.

“I’ve got some great news. I saw Professor Sprout in Grasswort’s Gardening Shop. I was telling her about my experiments over the summer and asking her advice about which importers have a better grade of Purple Rieshi from China, and she told me that Snape is going to do something completely different for Potions this year! Fourth years and up are going to do an independent study!”

Hermione perked up instantly. “Really? What kind of study?”

“We have to create a completely new potion! We have to research it and test it and everything! We’re supposed to work in groups of four, and we’ll only meet as a class once a month!”

Harry and Ron traded identical grins of glee and Ron crowed, “No Potions for a month at a time!”

Neville practically hopped in place, trying to get their attention back. “We have to use the time to do our research and brew our potions. We also have to present what we want to try to him before we do it.” He looked around at them, Ron still exulting, Hermione pondering possible projects, and Harry suddenly understanding. “I…I want the three of you to help me with my memory restorative.”

Harry nodded immediately. “I’m in.”

Ron looked at Harry and shrugged agreeably, still giddy over the news. “Sure, Neville.”

Hermione hesitated for a moment, as if reluctantly shelving a dozen other ideas for later, and nodded. “All right. Me, too.”

Neville broke into a relieved, thrilled smile, and drew breath to say thanks, but suddenly several things happened at once. Harry heard the pops and cracks of a dozen wizards Apparating around them. Staci leapt to her feet and whipped out her wand, hissing “Testudinis maximus!” as she waved it over her head in a circle. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley scrambled to their feet, whipping out wands. Harry spun around, wand in hand, seeing the circle of Death Eaters surrounding them.

A barrage of spells flew at them; Harry could hear shouts of “Stupefy” and “Crucio”, but every single spell bounced off a shield that seemed to surround them all like an igloo. Staci kept her wand raised and pulled something out of a pocket with the other hand…a push-button air horn. Harry and Hermione covered their ears, and the Weasleys and Neville followed their example hurriedly as Staci blew a long blast on the horn. Padfoot backed under the tables, whimpering loudly at the noise.

The Death Eaters had ducked, fearing some strange attack from the horn, then broken ranks as they dodged the backlash of rebounding spells. Harry was scanning them furiously, looking for a short figure with a tell-tale silver hand and a tall, bony one. All he could see were the hooded and masked minions of Voldemort and the bystanders scattering in panic. Then other wizards and witches started Apparating in behind the Death Eaters, surrounding them as they had tried to surround Harry and the others. Harry had to turn his face away in the face of warring magics, unable to see much for the brilliant flashes of light that quickly filled the plaza.

Staci kept the shield up until every last Death Eater was engaged by Dumbledore’s forces. Before she dropped it, she hooked an elbow around Neville’s arm and glared at Harry and Hermione. “You two, Portkeys now. I’ll get Neville away.” Arthur and Molly already had firm grips on Ron from either side, and Harry obediently reached a hand into his pocket.

When Staci dropped the shield, they all vanished instantly except for Padfoot, who took off after a random Death Eater and sank his teeth into a leg.

*****

Harry popped back into existence in Hermione’s room, having Apparated instead of using the Portkey in his pocket. Through the open window, he could hear the noise and shouts of the battle as it continued. He could also feel a twinge in his scar. He went to the window and concentrated all his awareness on that twinge. It grew faintly stronger as he turned to the right, and he focused on a rooftop some yards away. He snatched up the backpack and Apparated there.

From this vantage point, he could see everything: Dumbledore and McGonagall bearing down on a figure that could be either Crabbe or Goyle, judging them by their sons’ bullishness; Mad-Eye Moody directing several of his trainees in concert against a pair of Death Eaters who were back to back; the bright red heads of Bill kneeling over Charlie, who seemed to have been hurt. Harry studied the scene, then saw his target. Voldemort was down a side alley, watching the battle and wringing his wand in frustration.

Harry pulled out the Invisibility Cloak and donned it, not taking his eyes off Voldemort for a second. He Apparated to the roof above Voldemort, then took out a hearty string of fireworks and lit the fuse with a quick “Incendio”. He dropped the string over the parapet, behind Voldemort and farther up the alley. He Apparated to a spot behind the fireworks, in front of a potion shop with a large outdoor display of ingredients. He pointed his wand at his throat and whispered “Inflectere George Weasley” and slid behind a large dustbin close to the end of the alley.

The fireworks went off, whizzing and banging loudly. Voldemort jumped and whirled, nearly dropping his wand. “Who’s there?”

“Hey, Voldy! Scared of a few firecrackers?” George’s voice trumpeted out of Harry’s mouth. Voldemort clenched his wand and took a few hesitant steps up the alley.

Harry spotted a flash of brown hair, green cloak and a surprised look at the mouth of the alley, then focused as Staci back-pedalled behind the corner out of Voldemort’s sight. He renewed his catcalling. “What’s the matter, Voldy? Aren’t you worth anything without your little group of Death Nibblers? Get bent! You’re a has-been, a blip in history, nothing!” Voldemort began throwing curses towards the sound of the voice and Harry responded by using Banishing Charms to send boxes, jars and a display table to absorb them, continuing his taunts from under the cloak.

Staci began working her way up the alley, occasionally having to duck a piece of Harry’s ammo. She had ditched her cloak for the more practical jeans and jumper she wore underneath. She looked as grim as Dumbledore at his angriest.

“Finite Incantatum!” Voldemort shouted, and Harry felt the mild twist in his throat that said the voice-disguising spell had been cancelled, along with a flash of pain in his scar. He clamped his lips shut and drew the folds of the Invisibility Cloak more closely to him, considering which of the twins’ props to try, then froze.

Harry watched as Staci moved carefully around a barrel of dried toads’ livers and realized she was manoeuvring for a physical attack. But he could see something she couldn’t—Wormtail in his rat form scurrying away from her and towards Voldemort. Once Wormtail warned him, Voldemort would have a clear shot at her.

Harry slipped off the Invisibility Cloak and his school cloak, shoving them into his open backpack, readied his wand, and shifted into a crouch. He took careful aim and suddenly rolled out from behind the dustbin in a controlled tumble to let fly with another spell.

“Stupefy!” Wormtail was caught and sent flying against the wall. Voldemort jumped and Harry stood up. Behind him, Staci made a grimace of resigned irritation at Harry but continued working her way toward Voldemort. In the distance they could hear shouts as the other wizards tried to regroup from the battle with the Death Eaters.

Voldemort’s lipless mouth curled, his eyes dancing in glee. “So, Harry Potter. We meet again. And this time I am prepared for you.”

“Are you? You don’t look it. In fact, I’d say you’re in desperate need of a good hols in Majorca.” Harry strove to make his voice as flippant as possible and held his wand rock-steady on Voldemort.

“Brave as always, my dear boy. Trying to distract me from the young woman who is even now slipping behind me—” Voldemort finished with a roar as he spun to face Staci. “IMPERIO!”

Harry’s scar flared in agony. He shouted, “NO!” and started forward as the Imperius Curse hit Staci.

She froze as Voldemort told her, “Kill the boy!”

She shook her head as if trying to clear it. His eyes were watering in pain, but Harry was almost close enough and as Voldemort raised his wand again…

“Imperio! I order you to kill Harry Potter!”

She raised her own wand and pointed it at Voldemort instead. Harry dodged to one side. “Obrigescere aeris!” The air shimmered around Voldemort and Harry realized the dark wizard was shouting but not making any noise. Then he began pounding on some invisible barrier, looking like the world’s ugliest mime. Harry ran forward to Staci.

“Dammit, Harry, what are you still doing here? I thought you’d Portkeyed away!”

“I Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron. That way I had a chance to sneak up on Voldemort when he wasn’t expecting me.” Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Voldemort blasting his transparent prison and getting the ricochet in his teeth. His forehead throbbed to a raging pulse.

The crowd noise grew louder and they could see Dumbledore, leading the others as he turned a corner. But down the street Harry saw Lucius Malfoy, his Death Eater hood torn, taking aim.

“Duck!” Harry yelled, dropping to the cobblestones and pulling Staci with him. Malfoy’s spell went over their heads and crashed against the invisible wall. They could hear Voldemort again, screaming orders in a frenzy, and Staci swore furiously under her breath.

Harry saw Voldemort raising his fists for another bout of pounding and grabbed his chance. He pulled out the object, the one he had created with Hermione’s help, and tossed it out of its wrapping and onto the ground in front of the dark wizard. Sure enough, Voldemort fell forward, having swung his full weight against a barrier that was no longer there, and landed flat on his face.

Chapter 9 - Unexpected Trips

Staci stared at the spot where Voldemort had been. Harry could hear Malfoy shouting at the other Death Eaters to retreat, having seen their Dark Lord disappear for reasons unknown. He searched for Wormtail, who was still lying unconscious in his rat form at the base of one wall, the right front paw shining brilliantly.

Harry remembered how Hermione had dealt with an Animagus and looked around hurriedly. He chose a large jar of spider legs from the ravaged potions stand, dumping the contents on the ground. He used his wand to open a few holes in the lid and scooped the rat inside. He noticed several redheads coming up the alley where Malfoy had Disapparated.

Staci shook her head once more, still looking slightly dazed. “What did you do?”

“Got him to touch a Portkey. Do you know any Unbreakable Charms?”

Staci saw Wormtail in the jar and complied. With Pettigrew imprisoned and able to clear Sirius’ name by his very existence, Harry relaxed minutely and explained further. “Hermione and I worked together to create a special Portkey. If it worked, we may be rid of Voldemort forever. It was designed to send him to the moon.”

Staci choked between laughter and astonishment. “To the moon? Oh, that’s brilliant!” As the others hurried up to them, she sobered. “But if he thinks to use a Bubble Charm or something to keep his air, he’ll just use it to return.”

“Well, he can’t use ours. We made it a one-way Portkey.” Harry led her back to the dustbin to snag his backpack.

“And you set it for the moon. How on earth did you pull together those calculations?” Her expression wavered between respect for Harry’s idea and his ability to carry it out against anger over his disobeying orders.

Harry shrugged and started to reply, but they were surrounded by the Weasleys and others. Charlie had blood running down the side of his face, but seemed all right. Many of them had seen Voldemort disappear and were shouting their questions or relief. Harry spotted Dumbledore hanging back slightly and fought his way over to him, dragging Staci with him and clutching the jar.

“Professor, we have to go to the Ministry of Magic right away.” He held out the jar. “This is Peter Pettigrew!”

Rather than waste words, Dumbledore simply put a hand on each of them and they disappeared.

*****

The Ministry was a shambles of frantic witches and wizards. Some tried to control the flood of owls intent on delivering panicked messages about the fighting in Diagon Alley. Harry could see Percy in front of a fireplace, attempting to keep order over the half-dozen heads trying to command his attention through the flames.

It looked as if they might be swarmed over when Dumbledore, Harry and Staci appeared in their midst, but Dumbledore held up a hand and started through the crowd. Harry and Staci trailed behind him to a large door with an ornate plaque on it: Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic.

Dumbledore knocked and opened it, revealing Fudge behind his desk giving haphazard orders to a witch as he tried to sort through yet more messages spilling over his desk. They entered and Fudge glanced at them distractedly. His hair stood in wild licks, as if he’d spent the morning clutching it in a frenzy. “Dumbledore, I need your help! There’s all sorts of unfounded rumours erupting about Death Eaters in Diagon Alley and You-Know-Who attacking a group of Hogwarts students—“his gaze fastened on Harry with a rat in a jar and he began to sputter. “Dumbledore! What is he doing here? Where has he been the last month? How did—”

Dumbledore interrupted Fudge before he could climb to hysteria and took the jar from Harry. “Cornelius, this is Peter Pettigrew. He’s an unregistered Animagus. I will return him to his proper form and you can arrest him for falsifying his own death, framing Sirius Black for his supposed murder, betraying Lily and James Potter to Lord Voldemort, and activities as a Death Eater, including aiding Voldemort in his return.”

Fudge’s mouth worked wordlessly for a moment as he tried to adjust to the shock. Harry glared at him, silently daring him to deny any of it. Staci fell into a chair near the door and began scrubbing her eyes under her glasses.

Dumbledore put the jar on Fudge’s desk. The rat inside cowered, trying to keep its silver paw hidden. Dumbledore raised his wand and looked to Staci. “If you would remove your charm, Anastacia?”

Staci looked up, pulled her wand out of a clever pocket along the outer seam of her jeans and flicked it absently toward the jar. At a glance from Dumbledore, Harry opened it and dumped the cringing rat onto the floor. Dumbledore waved his wand. With a flare of blue light, Pettigrew appeared.

Dumbledore held his wand on the little man, who continued to cringe. Fudge backed away, open anguish on his face. The witch who had been taking notes gasped, “Peter Pettigrew!”

Pettigrew nearly doubled over, burying his right hand deep in the sleeve of his robe. Harry strode forward and grabbed his right elbow in a particularly vicious nerve pinch Staci has taught him and forced the silver hand out again. “Be careful, Professor. I saw that hand crush wood to dust!” He kept the pressure on the nerve and Pettigrew sank to his knees, whimpering. Dumbledore searched his robe and pulled out a wand, which he handed to Fudge. He then pulled the left sleeve up, revealing the Dark Mark on Pettigrew’s arm, a deep red against his pale skin.

“Here is the proof you refused to see before, Cornelius. These marks darken as Lord Voldemort’s strength grows. I believe Severus Snape showed you his and told you the same thing. Now, if you are ready to listen, we need to act quickly.”

*****

A long and frustrating hour later, Pettigrew was imprisoned in an Apparation-proof cell in the Ministry, bound with magical chains and drugged with a sleeping draught until the Aurors could determine how the silver hand had been created and how to stop Pettigrew from using it. Harry and Staci were still sitting in Fudge’s office, watching Dumbledore try yet again to convince Fudge to take his advice. Harry was doing his best to sit on his anger rather than give the minister the opportunity to try and discredit him again. He could feel that Staci was coiled tight as a spring beside him, but was as startled as the rest of the room when she shot to her feet, her fury boiling over as Fudge tried to explain yet again why he couldn’t remove the Dementors from Azkaban.

“God damn you, Fudge! Stop being a politician and start being a leader! Voldemort is at the very least out of commission for several days, maybe weeks, or he may be dead for good this time. Either way, there’s still the problem of the Death Eaters and the Dementors to deal with, and you are wasting time!” She finished the tirade by bringing both fists down on Fudge’s desk and leaning over to look into his open-mouthed face. “If I have to, I will bring in the U.S. Department of International Magical Relations in on this. We are not giving Voldemort a second chance to get a toehold here, whether you help us or not.”

At the mention of international attention, Fudge had gotten to his feet, ready to respond in kind, but Dumbledore stepped in, taking Fudge’s arm, while Harry tugged Staci back from the desk. “Anastacia may be expressing herself in an overly forceful manner, but she is right, Cornelius. We absolutely must work together to prevent Voldemort from regaining even a fraction of the power he once had.

“First, announce the pardon of Sirius Black. As you have seen for yourself, he is innocent of the murder for which he was imprisoned. Then go public with Alastor Moody’s Auror program; recruit as many witches and wizards as possible so that we may have some of the best to help us. Third, remove the Dementors from Azkaban—”

“I cannot do that, Dumbledore! The public would hang me if I left those criminals unguarded!”

“So don’t leave them unguarded,” Harry snapped scornfully. “Hagrid and Madam Maxime have spent the entire summer working to contact the giants in Europe. There’s your new Azkaban guards!” He could feel Dumbledore’s gaze on him, amused and proud.

Fudge looked at Dumbledore, who nodded. “Indeed, Harry has guessed correctly. I sent Hagrid to try and contact his mother and he and Madam Maxime have gathered some fifty giants willing to aid us in return for a magically shielded area in Britain in which to live without interference.”

Fudge gaped for a moment, then his face darkened as the blood rose in it. “You had no right to do that, Dumbledore! Your authority ends at Hogwarts!”

“Yes, it does, Cornelius. Which is why I sent my staff member to make the contact and have promised the giants that they will have a section of the Forbidden Forest, on the ground of Hogwarts, unless the Ministry of Magic wishes to choose an alternate site.”

Harry smiled slowly, taking great pleasure in seeing Fudge trapped so neatly. He managed to shift his expression to a serious one before the Minister saw him, but Fudge simply stared at Harry a moment before his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Fetch Miss Ivey, please, Harry. I have a pardon to draft.”

*****

Harry sped out of Fudge’s office and through the mass of Ministry people still trying to deal with the continued flood of messages. He was looking for an exit when someone grabbed his elbow. Harry seized the hand, whirled and had the other person tilted backwards and about to fall when he realized it was Percy. Harry reversed his turn in order to pull him back up. Percy made an irritated show of straightening his clothes and glasses.

“Hullo, Percy. You’ve heard the good news, right?”

Percy glared at him. “Since you have been the one holed up with Mr. Fudge for hours and not me, I can safely say I have no idea what’s been going on to make half of Diagon Alley think that You-Know-Who attacked someone there.”

Harry stared at him. Percy had, quite honestly, been his least favourite Weasley even when they were both at Hogwarts. Since graduating, however, Percy’s ambition seemed to be the only part of his personality that he fed. He snapped back, “What happened is that Voldemort and the Death Eaters did attack. They were after me and didn’t seem to care if they hurt or killed Ron and your parents to get me.”

Percy paled slightly and grabbed Harry’s arm again. “Ron? Mum and Dad? Are they all right?”

“Yes, and so are Bill and Charlie. If you had been paying attention instead of spending all your time in here hiding from the real world, you might have been beside them helping. Then you could have seen the Death Eaters for yourself.” Seeing Staci wave to him near a fireplace, Harry shook himself free. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go find Sirius and tell him he’s been pardoned.” He ignored Percy’s new barrage of questions at that bit of news and strode over to her.

*****

The Floo Network dumped them into the main dining room of the Leaky Cauldron. Before Harry could race to the alleyway to get into Diagon Alley, Staci seized his arm and dragged him into an empty parlour.

“What?”

She thrust him into a chair and sat down opposite him. She pinned him there with a look that would have done McGonagall proud.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me you’d come up with an idea to get rid of Voldemort?”

“You wouldn’t have let me try, would you?”

“Why not? It was an amazing idea! We could have had a dozen Portkeys scattered among our side, ready to use when an opportunity struck! We could have set them to any secure place and used them for all the Death Eaters, not just Voldemort! But you didn’t give us a chance, Harry.”

He opened his mouth, ready to protest hotly, and then her words sank in. Staci thought he’d had a great idea. She would have worked with him on it. Why hadn’t he come to her first?

Slowly, reluctantly, he answered, “I haven’t had much luck getting adults to listen to me when I have ideas.” He paused, and Staci simply looked at him encouragingly. “Dumbledore and Sirius are probably the only other adults I can think of who would have taken me seriously, and even then they wouldn’t have permitted me to try the idea myself.”

“I admit, I’m not sure I would have, either, but I certainly would have made sure you had one of those Portkeys, just in case.” She leaned forward and took his hands in hers. “We try to protect you because we care about you, just like you try to protect your friends. But keeping secrets like this doesn’t help.”

Harry nodded, only half-listening as he realized he might have been able to talk to the Weasleys, or Remus, or possibly even Professor McGonagall, if he’d bothered to try. Once he stopped to think about it, that is. He hadn’t stopped to think.

“Harry.” He looked back up at Staci. “Promise me, before you do something like this again, you’ll talk to me first? And I promise to hear you out and work with you on whatever it is.” She smiled hesitantly.

He smiled back and squeezed her hands. “All right. I promise.”

“Good.” She hauled him to his feet. “Now where were you rushing off to?”

"To find Sirius and tell him he’s a free man!”

Staci’s smile widened. “Race you!”

*****

Hedwig arrived as they set the table for lunch, a letter from Ron and a copy of the Daily Prophet in her beak. The headline blazed across the page: SIRIUS BLACK PROVEN INNOCENT, PARDONED. The picture showed Sirius trying not to grin too much as Fudge reluctantly shook his hand.

“You’re going to have to be doubly careful around Hogwarts now that Portkeys are firmly in the arsenal,” Staci said.

Harry looked at her distractedly, still triumphantly engrossed in the story. “What? Why?”

“Portkeys work at Hogwarts, remember? What happens the first time one of the children of the Death Eaters switches your fork, or your textbook?”

“If I make a habit of having someone else grab things for me, that’ll prevent them from trying it.”

Staci raised an eyebrow. “And what happens on the Quidditch field, Seeker-boy?”

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it again. While he searched for an answer, he read Ron’s letter, demanding every detail of what had happened after his parents had whisked him home. He’d gotten only scattered bits from Bill and Charlie, and apparently was still smarting over being left out of the plan. Harry had already sent Hedwig with one letter of apology, but it looked like it was going to take more than that.

The phone rang, and Staci went to answer it. Her “hello” dissolved into a beaming smile as she exclaimed, “Dad! Hi!” She listened for a moment, then turned to look at Harry while she listened some more. “I don’t know, but I can ask.” She covered the mouthpiece and asked, “My parents are inviting us to come over to the States this weekend for a short visit. They want to meet you and show off Washington, DC to you. Interested?”

Harry’s eyes widened and he felt his heart leap in excitement. “Could I invite Ron?”

Staci spoke into the phone again. “Any problem with him bringing his best friend?” She shot Harry a thumbs-up. “OK, let’s plan for us arriving Friday night and leaving Saturday night. If we stay any longer Harry will never finish his summer homework before school starts.”

Harry paused in mid-sentence of the giddy note he had been scribbling to Ron and groaned mentally. Homework! He’d completely forgotten about finishing his assignments!

*****

Dumbledore spent the next few days after the events in Diagon Alley shuttling between the Ministry and his office at Hogwarts, working to solidify the pact for the giants. It was Saturday evening and he was taking a well-deserved nap in his favourite chair when someone knocked at the door. Still half-asleep, Dumbledore answered automatically, “Come!” He expected it to be Hagrid and sat up in startled wakefulness when Snape came in.

Chapter 10 - A Family Reunion

Ron pounded down the several flights of stairs in the Burrow, his bag in his hand. He skidded to a stop in front of the dining table, where his mother and father were in their pyjamas and robes, finishing cups of tea by candlelight. He looked expectantly at his father, who traded an amused look with Mrs. Weasley and leaned back in his chair.

“Dad, it’s time to go. Why did you put on your pyjamas?”

Mr. Weasley took a scone with elaborate laziness. “Plenty of time, son.”

Ron threw his bag on the floor. “Come on, Dad. Harry and Staci are going to be waiting on me. We’re supposed to Portkey over in an hour!”

Mrs. Weasley poured out more tea in their cups. “Be patient, dear. Your father has been working himself to the bone all week trying to keep You-Know-Who’s supporters from introducing more cursed objects into Muggle hands, not to mention lending a hand with bringing the Giants in to Azkaban. He’s tuckered.”

Ron fumed and was about to let his temper fly when Bill appeared in the kitchen with a small “pop”. He had a rucksack slung over one shoulder and was dressed in Muggle jeans and a polo shirt. “Ready to go, Ron?”

Ron narrowed his eyes. “Go?”

“Yeah, didn’t Mum and Dad say? I’m going with you.”

“No! Mum! Dad! This is my trip with Harry!”

Mr. Weasley sat up and looked at Ron sternly. “That’s enough. Bill is going in order to spend some time with Staci—” Mrs. Weasley gave Bill a fond, hopeful glance “—and knowing he’s nearby will make us feel more comfortable about this trip. Either he goes with you or you don’t go at all.”

Ron glared at Bill, who smiled back. “Don’t worry, Ron. I won’t be in your way. From what Staci’s told me about her family, you and Harry will have plenty of tour guides to choose from.”

“Well…okay, but you’d better not act like some kind of sitter. I’m fifteen after all.” Ron accepted the inevitable grudgingly.

Bill pulled out a leather pouch that held his Portkey to the cottage. As he opened it to reveal a carved and polished tiger’s-eye stone, he observed, “It could have been worse. You could have Percy going with you.”

The double hit of nausea from the Portkey and the thought roiled Ron’s stomach as they appeared in Staci’s kitchen.

*****

After what seemed an eternity of being yanked by the invisible hook to the stomach, Harry landed with the others in a room. His first impression was of airy light, mainly from the pink sunshine streaming in through floor-to-ceiling windows. His second impression was of the three people sitting in leather slouch chairs. The women were working busily at something but laid their work aside to stand with the man.

Staci went over to the man and the younger of the women and hugged them. “Hi, Dad, Mom.” She then went over and pecked cheeks with the other woman. “Evening, tía Leonora.”

She motioned the others forward, and Bill went to shake hands with Staci’s father while her mother swept down on Harry and gave him a tight embrace. “Welcome, Harry! Welcome to the States and welcome home!”

She barely came up to Harry’s chin. He felt bowled over by her enthusiasm but returned the embrace. He then turned to make introductions. “This is my friend, Ron Weasley. Thank you for letting him come as well, Mrs. Patterson.”

“Tía Ramona, if you please! We’re all family here. And hello, Ron. Welcome!” She shook Ron’s hand, clasping his in both of hers. He grinned back.

Staci tugged gently at Harry’s elbow. Her dad held out a hand. Harry took it, feeling the remaining nervousness drain away. Staci’s dad had the same flyaway hair (brown like Staci’s) as he did and also wore glasses, but there any family resemblance ended. Instead of the thin, often intense face Harry remembered from pictures of his dad, this man had a roundness of face and body and an open smile that made him resemble a big friendly dog. Harry fully expected him to start panting when he opened his mouth…

“Neil Patterson, Harry. Glad to meet you at last.”

“Thank you, sir—”

“Uncle Neil.”

“Uncle Neil. This is my friend Ron Weasley.”

Neil shook Ron’s hand as well. “Nice to meet you as well, Ron. Heard a bit about you from Bill, all of it very much what a big brother would say.” His eyes twinkled as Ron tried to work out whether he should feel complimented or afraid.

Staci turned to the other woman in the room. “And this is tía Leonora, Mom’s sister.”

Unlike Ramona, Leonora had an autocratic air that reminded Harry of Professor McGonagall. Instead of shaking hands, Harry jerked his head in a slight bow, Ron imitating him. “Pleased to meet you.”

She didn’t smile, but looked pleased and sat back down to her work. Staci picked up her bag and gestured to the others. “Second floor guest rooms, right, Dad?” At his nod, she led Harry, Ron and Bill to the stairs. Harry was startled to see that they had come in on the top floor; Staci led them down a narrow staircase and hall, showing them rooms on opposite sides.

Harry and Ron were sharing a room that was as large as the hallway was cramped. There were small windows that showed the wall of a neighbouring house and very strong lighting to compensate for the resulting dimness. There was a double bed on each wall with a bureau for clothes and a sofa and chairs in the centre around a low table. Several framed posters of Broadway shows decorated the walls.

“Wicked!” Ron promptly dug into his bag for his chess set and dropped it on the table. Harry went to the bed on the left and laid his bag on it.

Staci poked her head in the open door. “Dad’s taking us out for dinner. Non-wizarding clothes.”

Harry looked in his bag and pulled out a set of trousers and dress shirt. Ron copied him, choosing a sports shirt so as not to be too alike. They changed and came into the hall to see Bill also in less casual clothes and Staci in a blue dress he hadn’t seen before. She led them once again as they went down to the ground floor, where Neil and Ramona were waiting.

Neil rubbed his hands together with glee. “I am so glad you all got here in time. We’ll go to the Paper Moon and be out before their weekend dancing starts.”

“Italian food,” Staci said to them. “And quite a lot of it.”

Harry’s stomach growled at the thought, and Neil led them out the door.

*****

The Pattersons’ Washington home was a townhouse in Georgetown. It had an extra floor compared to most others, which let the room they’d Portkeyed into have that great view and light. Pale green windows and shutters stood out against the red brick, and bushy flowering plants created lavender splashes on either side of the steps to the front door.

Staci glanced at the plants. “Mom, you have to convince Leonora to stop encouraging the azaleas. We’re months from their flowering period.”

“Relax, darling. She put an eye-teaser on them so no one but wizards can see them.”

Staci shook her head but let it go. They walked a few blocks in the fading sunlight until the homes melted gently into shops and businesses. In a few minutes they came to a yellow building with a red awning that read “Paper Moon”. There were a number of small wrought-iron tables scattered in front of it, but Neil led them inside where he was greeted with warmth by the host and they were quickly seated at a long table near the window, covered in a white cloth.

Neil took a quick poll from Harry, Ron and Bill on what they didn’t like, and ordered a variety of appetizers. Warm garlic bread appeared along with their drinks, and soon Harry was munching on olives and trying to work up the courage to try a piece of calamari. Ramona quizzed him and Ron about their lives while Staci and Bill had a more serious conversation with Neil at the other end of the table. When Harry finally tried the calamari, he was sorry; it was chewy and incredibly salty on top of a fishy taste he didn’t like.

Staci had not been joking about the food. Their plates were over a foot across and full of pastas. There was a steady trading of samples throughout the meal. As they shoved near-empty plates away, Neil looked around the table. “Dessert?”

Over the groans around the table, Ramona scolded, “Neil Patterson, I have a banana pudding at the house waiting for us!” Neil winked and paid the check.

*****

After the pudding, a delicious creation of bananas, vanilla cookies and custard, Harry and Ron were feeling the time difference and ready to go to bed. Bill diverted Ron with one more chess game, and Neil got Harry aside for a moment. He had a large manila folder in his hand.

“Harry, this is the research I did that proves the Potter-Patterson connection. At the end is a current Patterson family tree. Take a look. Let me know if you have questions.”

Harry took the folder down to his room and sprawled on the bed to look through it. Uncle Neil seemed quite organized. His findings were dated and labelled with where he had found the information. Quite a lot of it had come from computer records. Harry traced back the generations of Pattersons, like the Weasleys in their rate of children, and read through the research of his own direct family line. He frowned as he got farther down the lists. Up until about forty-odd years before, the Potters had been just as prolific as their American cousins, with families of three to eight kids in each generation. Then suddenly a pattern emerged: kids died young or mothers miscarried, accidents happened, and the older generations began dying off rapidly, until there was only Harry’s grandfather Angus Potter, who died in 1970, and his grandmother Winifred Mockridge Potter, who died in 1974, leaving Harry’s father James orphaned midway through his studies at Hogwarts. Harry kept returning to those names and dates, wondering what was eluding him.

Harry wasn’t aware that he’d fallen asleep until Ron was shaking him, advising him to change into pyjamas.

*****

August 26

We’ll be leaving for home soon. It’s been an amazing day and if I don’t get some of it down, I’ll forget things I want to remember.

We took the Muggle bus to the Washington Mall. I’ve seen some of the monuments here and there on the telly, but they just don’t show how big the park is. We went around looking at some of the statues and buildings, then on to some museums. I thought the art museum was fun—I could recognize so many pictures I’ve heard of or seen in books. Ron was bored to tears, though. He kept waiting for the pictures to move, the silly git.

Then we went to the Air & Space Museum. That was brilliant! They had mock-ups and actual pieces of the ships that have gone into space, showing just how small the cockpits were that these astronauts had to use. I don’t know if I could survive travelling like that, even if it did mean being able to look down on the Earth from above.

I have to admit, the best part of touring there was Ron’s reaction. He had NO idea that Muggles had done as much as they have with space exploration. I’m not even sure he knew that we’d been to the moon. He’s made me feel like a country cousin so often in the past when I didn’t know something about the wizarding world. It did feel good to see him constantly picking his jaw up as we moved on to yet another exhibit.

*****

They took the Metro up to the Cleveland Park stop, where they ate lunch at a dingy café called Ivy’s Place. Like the restaurant the previous night, Neil was apparently a regular customer, and a small dark man named Leo came out from the kitchen to greet them. Neil asked him to bring out anything he felt like cooking, and then beamed at the boys. “You are about to have one of the best meals of your lives, gentlemen.”

And he was right. They were presented with half-a-dozen examples of Indonesian and Thai cooking, with beef and chicken, shrimp and vegetables, rice and noodles in rich sauces. Harry and Ron gorged on everything, barely having room for a dessert of spiced mangoes and sticky sweet rice.

They began walking south, and Harry presumed they would walk some of the meal off and go home, but Neil and Ramona suddenly turned left and Ron poked Harry. “It’s a zoo.”

Harry smiled, remembering the last time he’d been at a zoo. He reminded himself not to go talking to any snakes this time.

The Pattersons led them through a large portion of the National Zoo, stopping at their favourite exhibits. They saw the giant panda Hsing-Hsing sleeping in the shade of a tree. They watched otters play in a moulded pool, sliding gleefully down the slopes and splashing. They did go through the reptile house, but many of the snakes were asleep and the few that weren’t seemed satisfied with a nod in response to their greetings.

They emerged, blinking, in the muggy August sunshine when Neil stiffened and quickly whispered, “Play along!” Ramona looked around and let out a hiss of disgust as they were approached by a man who looked ready to greet an old friend.

“Neil Patterson! What are you doing out of the office? And Mona! So nice to see you!” He looked expectantly at Harry and Ron, and Harry had to suppress a shudder. The man appeared ordinary enough, sleekly handsome with grey hair and dark eyes, but the expression in those eyes seemed dead, like Lucius Malfoy, or Voldemort. Harry brushed at his hair, as if to move it out of his eyes, and tried to cover his scar more thoroughly.

“These are a couple of cousins in the family, Hugo. The redhead is Toby Hughes and the other is Quin Douglas. They’re visiting from Ireland. Boys, this is Hugo Victor.”

The man smiled even wider, yet the look in his eyes didn’t change. Harry had to fight to act relaxed as the man shook his hand in a firm, intimidating grip, then moved on to Ron. “Now let’s see…given the Patterson penchant for nicknames, I’m willing to bet that this one is actually Tobias and the other…hmm…Irish…Quinlan?”

Neil forced a smile. “Both right, Hugo. Now, if you don’t mind, we’re late meeting the girls—”

”Ah, yes. Please tell them I said hello. And that we’re still upset with Staci for abandoning us the way she did. The office isn’t the same without her.” That deadness in Victor’s eyes erased all semblance of the jest.

“We’ll tell her. Come on, boys.” Neil practically pushed them past and they walked quickly up a hill path that took them out of sight in a short minute.

“Uncle Neil, who was that?” Harry asked quietly, pushing his hair over his scar more firmly.

“Hubert Vicks. He changed his name years ago because he liked the play on words—Victor Hugo is a famous author—and because it sounded better. He works in one of the agencies, in research and development of new magics. Where Staci used to work. And he is most definitely not to be trusted.”

“I got that much,” Harry replied. “I felt like I was looking at a Death Eater.”

Ramona nodded, her dark eyes still snapping sparks. “You’ve got good instincts, Harry. It wasn’t proven, but a lot of people suspected that Voldemort tried to contact a few people here in the States to lay groundwork for his coming here after he’d conquered Europe. Vicks was at the top of the list.”

Neil brightened suddenly. “There are Staci and Bill, right on time!” Ron gave a gasp and Harry looked up quickly, then had to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing. Staci and Bill were deep in an embrace, not quite hidden by the corner of the Small Mammal House. Ron had turned very red at seeing his brother snogging, and even Ramona looked a little disconcerted.

Neil touched Harry’s shoulder and pointed slightly. He immediately spotted Hugo Victor, who must have gone around another path, looking at Staci and Bill with narrowed eyes. Neil led them back down and around a curve, and once out of sight pulled out his mobile phone and dialled it.

“Staci, it’s Dad. Vicks is nearby, watching you two pretty closely—ah, I see. Smart girl. Let’s meet down below at the office instead, in an hour.” Neil closed the phone and grinned at Ramona. “She spotted Vicks before we did. They were kissing so he couldn’t get a look at Bill’s face.”

Ron let out a deep sigh and Harry clapped him on the shoulder. “All right there, Ron?”

“The only thing worse than seeing Bill snog would have to be seeing Percy snog,” he declared with feeling.

“Oh? How about your parents?”

Ron actually turned green in an effort not to be sick.

*****

August 26, continued

Wizarding Washington is a series of tunnels below Georgetown. Neil explained that the majority of the wizarding population of the area lives in the neighbourhood, and that they help maintain a series of powerful spells that keep the Metro out. You can get there by a tram from a platform in the Metro’s Farragut West stop. You have to walk under one of the escalators and slip through the wall to get to the platform, kind of like at Kings Cross.

It’s like Diagon Alley, but it’s not. Instead of enchanting the roof like in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, they have a system of lights that brighten or dim with the hours of the day. Some of the people were in robes, but even more were in ordinary clothing: business suits, jeans, even a bunch of Goth girls. They have shops like Zonko’s and Quality Quidditch Supplies, but there are also other shops: one does custom wands, where you choose the core, and another was full of magical devices. Patterson Transport and Courier is next to the Gringotts branch. 

It was interesting to see how the offices work. They have wizards and Muggles working side by side, seeing to all kinds of shipments. There was this one nervous witch trying to send something, and tentacles popped out. The clerk didn’t even blink…he just shoved the thing back in and weighed it.

Staci and Bill took us shopping so we could buy souvenirs. Ron and I went in together on a book of American wizarding history for Hermione’s birthday at a shop called Tom’s Tomes. I got myself a jumper for the Washington Wyverns. And in this neat curio shop, I found a pendant, silver with a pretty blue stone. Staci called it iolite. I think Cho might like it. Ron started quizzing Staci about all the stones in the jewellery and bought another pendant with a pink-and-green stone.

We headed back to Patterson’s to go home. Turns out that the building has an elevator that goes up to the surface, connecting to a Muggle office for Patterson’s on Wisconsin Avenue.

I think I like Washington very much, especially its wizarding district. There’s an acceptance of Muggles and nonhumans that I don’t see with a lot of wizards at home. Ron was about to jump out of his skin when he saw a couple of full-blood Giants working with a shopkeeper leaning out of an upper-story window, but no one else seemed to care. I could hear conversations about magic, but also about Muggle stuff: there’s elections coming up in a couple of months, some Muggle who blew up a building and killed a lot of people is going to trial.

We came back and were ambushed. Just about every Patterson on the East Coast travelled in this evening for a big reunion party. After the first twenty or so cousins they all started running together. I do remember meeting Lise, Staci’s sister, and her little boys. She’s kind of like Leonora to Staci’s Ramona…colder, more snobbish. I ate and came back up here to the room to get away from the crowd. It was too much, to go from having a single aunt for a blood relative to the dozens here tonight.

But they are my family. I have a family now.

*****

Dumbledore motioned Snape to sit down. The Potions Master looked ready to fall over from exhaustion.

“He is back. I don’t think he ever arrived at the destination Potter set the Portkey to. I think he used a very powerful spell to break the journey, which drew him to his father’s grave. The family connection and all. It drained him and he apparently had just enough strength to send up the Dark Mark. Avery found him and carried him to Malfoy's manor before anyone else arrived, to prevent sharing the credit for rescuing him."

"And preventing an easy end to the matter," Dumbledore mused.

Snape ignored the interruption. "He’s in a deep coma, completely unresponsive. I've been with the others, trying all sorts of charms and potions since Wednesday, but nothing has worked. I think it’s a matter of letting him heal over time.”

“Do you know how much time, Severus?”