reborn

Harry Potter awoke with a dull pain in his head. Looking around, he saw he was in the hospital wing of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He had spent enough time in hospital here when he was a student that he recognized his surroundings immediately and, in fact, felt strangely at home. Looking down the row of beds, he saw Madam Pomfrey standing at the other end of the room speaking with someone hidden from Harry's view by one of the screens used to cordon off the beds. He sat up and the sudden change in position made his head swim. He clutched his forehead and found that it was swathed in bandages. Madam Pomfrey saw Harry swaying and, fearing that he might faint, rushed towards him, followed by a tall slim figure that emerged from behind the screen. He was dressed in dark robes and Harry saw that they were well worn and patched in several places.

"Remus...” Even before he saw the face, Harry recognized the robes as belonging to Remus Lupin, a werewolf and wizard who had been one of his father's best friends and, for a short time, a teacher here at Hogwarts.

"Harry, you mustn't rush about, you've been injured and need rest." Lupin's eyes showed his concern, Harry had been through quite an ordeal over the past month, it had been a pitched battle that covered most of three continents finally ending here at Hogwarts with the deaths of many people, some deservedly and some tragically.

Harry sat at the edge of the bed, his head still swimming. "What happened? How long have I been here?"

"Rest, I said Harry. It's been almost a full week, there's nothing you can do now."

Harry's eyes suddenly lit with a fire that burned through the fog in his brain. "A week? Where is he now? We must find him before he can regroup the Death Eaters." Harry lunged up and tried to walk, but Remus grabbed him and, firmly but gently, returned him to the bed. "It's over Harry," he said. "There's no one to chase anymore."

"Yes, Harry. Voldemort is dead." Lupin said, "Or at least as dead as anyone can make him." Then more quietly he added, "You did it, Harry."

Harry simply couldn't comprehend what Remus had said. "But what about.." Harry tried to think of one person to ask for but he knew so many who had been hurt or were missing that thinking of just one was impossible.

"Many people have died, Harry, both good and evil. Voldemort was crushed when you collapsed the walls of the Great Hall down upon him; Severus was killed then as well. Pettigrew hasn't been found, but even if he is still alive, without Voldemort he's nothing."

"I'm sorry Harry, but Albus is dead also. Voldemort's last attack finished him. He was dead by the time we could get to him."

Harry collapsed back against his pillows, Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard and the kindest man Harry had ever met was dead and it was his fault. "What about Ron and Hermione?"

"Hermione is missing, she was badly hurt before she was portkeyed and no one knows where she went. Ron has gone looking for her. I expect to hear from him any time now."

"You mean after you were knocked unconscious? That was basically the end of it. The walls of the Great Hall were collapsing. Voldemort saw it at the last minute and tried to get out but Snape lunged and grabbed him, throwing both of them into the falling debris. It was brilliant of you to do that, destroy the hall I mean. It was obvious, after so many of us had attacked him magically with no effect, from Dumbledore all the way down to some first years at Beauxbatons, that Voldemort had somehow protected himself from any curses we could throw. But you, Harry, you didn't attack HIM that last time at least not with magic. Instead you struck at the walls; the fallings stones crushed him before he could portkey to anywhere else. Severus made sure of that and gave up his own life to do it."

Harry exhaled greatly, so Dumbledore was right about that too, as much as Harry had hated Professor Snape, he was on their side after all.

Remus continued. "After the Dark Lord was killed the battle was over. Even at Beauxbatons, the Dementors sensed that he was gone and the fight all but left them. Oh, Sirius and the giants continued to attack them of course, and the Dementors still took a good bit of killing - some of them had sucked a hundred souls and so were quite powerful - but in the end they were crushed. Some have escaped but they will be hunted down. The school itself was totally destroyed and is so haunted now by the souls released from the Dementors that no one is trying to rebuild it. Maybe someday, but not for quite some time. Fudge is in Azkaban, along with those Death Eaters who haven't been killed, Lucius Malfoy, MacNair and a few others. It will be tough to guard them now that the Dementors are gone, but a way will be found.

"There was extensive damage here at Hogwarts, and not only to the Great Hall. Two of the towers had collapsed. When word got out of the damage, a hundred alumni showed up to help rebuild. In fact, much of the work is already done and we should be able to start classes again on time, September the first."

"The Board of Governors has asked Professor McGonagall to serve as Headmistress Pro Tem and she has accepted. I think they’ll confirm her permanently before Christmas. There are a number of faculty positions to be filled, however, and Minerva is working half the night sending out owls recruiting new teachers."

"So, it's really over? For good?" Harry couldn’t believe that the horror that had plagued him since he was a baby, and the whole magical world for longer than that, was finally over.

"Yes Harry, I think so. After we examined Voldemort's body - and that was no mean feat, let me tell you, he still had at least 9 portkeys left hidden in his robes. After the third person vanished, we moved the body to The Hog's Head so that whoever got sent to Goodness Knows Where could just apparate back there and not have to trudge all the way back into the school through the debris. Besides, it also meant we could stop for a stiff drink now and again. Anyway, after we were done, Professor McGonagall transfigured the body into sand. We then gave the sand to a glassblower that smelted it down and molded it into seven glass balls. Then we sealed each ball with Unbreakable Charms. Each of the seven balls was finally dropped into the deepest part of each of the seven seas; Sirius has just finished with the last of them."

"Then Sirius is alright?" Harry brightened a bit at this news, Sirius Black was Harry's godfather and, wrongly accused of being a spy for the Dark Lord and a murderer, had spent 12 years in Azkaban Prison with the Dementors, foul creatures who lived by draining all hope and happiness from their victims until even their very souls were consumed. Ever since Black had returned through the veil he had been consumed with destroying the Dementors and had commanded the small army of giants fighting them. He was also the closest thing to family that Harry had. "Is he coming back?"

“No, not permanently, I don't think so. He says that, after Azkaban and being on the other side of the veil, he has had enough of cold and wants to live in the warmth of the sun. He will be returning to Hogwarts often though, to visit."

Professor Lupin smiled, "Minerva has asked me to return to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts again, but things being the way they are, I will need a substitute several days each month."

"During the full of the moon." It was a statement, not a question. With the right potions, Lupin could control the violence of his wolfine periods, but not stop them. So with every full moon he locked himself into his chambers while he was in wolf form.

“How would you like to be my assistant, of course? I know you only graduated a year ago and don’t have the seniority to be a full Professor, but you taught those D.A. classes, so no one can question your experience. You will be teaching when I can’t and assisting me during the remainder of the month.”

Harry thought for a moment. Stopping Voldemort had been all he had thought about for years and now that it was done what else was he to do. “I can’t think of any reason to say no.”

“Good man. Welcome to the faculty. I hope you don’t mind but I assumed that you would agree and so I’ve had your things moved into a room here. Your Aunt and Uncle seemed quite relieved when we came to collect your trunk. Didn’t even blink at the house elves that carried it out.” Harry couldn’t imagine the Dursleys not blinking at a bunch of squealing house elves trooping through their oh-so-proper and oh-so-not-magical-thank-you-very-much house on Privet Drive but he guessed anything was possible.

“You’re probably tired of the Hospital Wing by now, so what do you say we troop over to your new digs. It’s not much but it is homey.”

Harry stood up carefully and, with Remus and Madam Pomfrey on either side in case he fell, walked out the door. As the door closed, there was the softest of sounds, like a small animal scurrying from under one of the bedside tables.

The young woman shakily gained her feet and stumbled from beneath the tree where she lay. She stood on an expanse of lawn that was shaggy and had clearly been untended for quite some time. Ahead of her she could see a large house standing on a hill. There would likely be people there, she thought, and help, but He might be there as well. She couldn’t quite remember who “He” was but she knew He was evil. He was looking for her and trying to kill her. Something sticky had run into her eyes and she raised a hand to wipe it away. She gasped as a bolt of pain shot through her arm and cradled it to her side. She was injured, how badly she didn’t know yet but she needed to find someplace where she could hide and tend to herself. Turning her back to the large house she ducked under the low branches of the tree and went the opposite way.

On the other side of a narrow line of trees, in a low hollow, stood a small hut. It appeared deserted, with the door hanging half open and one hinge snapped. Cautiously, she circled around to the rear of the hut, where there were no windows, and approached. She stopped often to listen but no sound came to her. It seemed empty and she circled around the side. She peered into one of the windows and looked around. It seemed to be a small cottage and she was looking into a bedroom, dirty and disheveled. Circling further she reached the front of the building and the broken door. Listening carefully, she waited. Still no sounds came so she entered and quickly moved into the shadows on one side of the door and waited for her vision to adjust.

The building was obviously abandoned. There was dirt and dust on everything. Teenage vandals had covered the walls with graffiti and the floor with cigarette butts. Moving into the bedroom she saw the bed had been stripped of linen and the thin mattress slit in several places, exposing the ticking. Old newspapers and snack food bags littered the floor. Although no secret, the place was out of the way enough that it might provide some security for her. Beside the bed was a dry sink, with the pitcher gone and the mirror above smashed. The woman looked at her crazed reflection. She was young, probably no more than twenty, with shoulder length bushy brown hair that was matted with dirt and leaves. There was a cut on her head, above the hairline that had now stopped bleeding and bruises were around her cheeks. She was covered with dirt, as if she hadn’t bathed in weeks and her clothes were tattered. Her clothes… She wore a dark garment that seemed to have been some sort of cape or poncho made of heavy linen, underneath she had on a cotton shift and knickers. Inside the cape she found a label. It read “Granger”. She didn’t think it was the manufacturer's mark so could this be her name? On her feet was a ragged pair of sneakers and what might have at one time been socks. The cape was beyond repair but discarding it and walking about in her underclothes was out of the question. She would need to find some new clothes. And a bath.

Over her shoulder she had a canvas carryall. She dumped the contents on the mattress and emptied her pockets. She was carrying several large maps showing areas of Europe, Asia, and Africa. The maps were scrawled with circles and lines that meant nothing to her. She also had a compass and a few pencils. In the pockets of her cape she found some coins, three of gold, five of silver, and a handful of bronze, she assumed this was some kind of money but what kind she had no idea. There was also a Boy Scout pocketknife and a strange stick of wood. It was a rod about a foot long with an obvious grip at one end. It looked to her to be a pointer of some sort, but what it was supposed to point at she had no idea so she set it aside. There was no food and no matches.

Stopping to think for a moment she figured her first priority was to see how badly hurt she was, her right arm was very sore and she could barely move it, her scalp was cut and she was severely bruised. Scrounging in the other room she uncovered a saucepan and, taking it outside to an old-fashioned hand pump, rinsed it out and filled it with clean water. Going back into the bedroom, for more privacy, she carefully took off her clothes and began to wash her wounds.

She didn’t think the arm was broken, just badly sprained, but only an x-ray would tell for sure and she had no intention of going to a hospital where they might ask questions that she didn’t want to answer, or couldn’t. The bruises would be sore but didn’t seem serious. The cut on her head, although no longer bleeding, was deep and might become infected. She washed it as best she could then threw away the water and refilled the pan.

This time she washed herself. It took three pots of water to get the dirt out of her hair and she used her fingers to comb it as best she could. Three more trips to the well got her as clean as she could get without soap and a bathtub. Finally, she tried to wash some of the grime from her clothing. Although far from clean, she didn’t think she would attract too much attention if she had to go out in public. There was nothing to eat so she lay down on the filthy mattress and tried to rest.

After what seemed to Harry like hours of climbing staircases, his head beginning to pound with every step he took, the trio came to the end of a short passageway. The stonework here was obviously new, with three large pictures on the wall, one to the left, one ahead of them, and the third to their right. This last one was a large painting of a Quidditch pitch and on it players were soaring about, tossing a red ball about the size of a soccer ball between them. Remus Lupin stopped, faced the painting and said, “Gryffindor scores.” The painting then rolled up of its own accord like a window shade, exposing yet another spiral staircase going up.

“The rolling was Professor Flitwick’s idea, it saves a good deal of space compared to having the whole frame swing out into the corridor and the players actually seem to enjoy the ride.” said Remus.

After climbing to the top of the stairs and passing through a door, they came to a small landing leading to two rooms. They turned to the left and entered a small sitting room, semicircular in shape. There was a settee and two armchairs with a table between. A short bookcase stood against the outside wall and atop it stood a strange sort of wooden sculpture, modernesque in design; it resembled nothing so much as a large letter “Z”. It was made of rough wood still covered with bark, almost as if it had been taken from an extremely gnarled tree.

“Yes,” said Remus, even before Harry could ask, “it’s from the Whomping Willow. Professor Sprout had to do quite a bit of trimming to try to save it and I thought this would make an amusing perch for Hedwig.”

Professor Sprout taught Herbology at Hogwarts and trimming the Whomping Willow, an animated tree that seemed to like nothing better than to beat to death anything that came within reach of its branches, must have been quite a task. Almost as if on cue, a large Snowy Owl flew in through an open window and circled the room before landing on the limb.

“Hello, Hedwig, it’s good to see you're doing well.” In response to Harry’s comment the owl clicked its beak several times and ruffled its feathers, settling into a comfortable position.

“I hope you don’t mind the ceiling,” said a voice from behind them, “but the ceiling in the Great Hall has been a trademark here for centuries and we are striving to recreate it. I thought I should have a bit of practice on a smaller scale before tackling that task.”

Harry looked up and, instead of seeing a ceiling above him, he was watching as a patch of soft summer clouds blew over the sun and cast the room into shadow. Harry knew that a real ceiling was there, but it had been bewitched into transparency to show the sky above.

“I think it’s lovely,” Harry said as he turned to the new voice, it belonged to Professor, now Headmistress, McGonagall. She stood as straight as a candle in deep red robes and had her hair in its usual tight bun.

“Well, how are you feeling, Mr. Potter?” She spoke in her usual stern tone but Harry knew she was concerned.

She moved forward and embraced him hard, “Indeed, you have earned it if anyone has, come into the bedroom, dear boy, so you can lie down.”

They passed back through the landing and into a bedroom on the other side, slightly smaller than the sitting room opposite. It completed the circular top of one of the towers. Against the straight length of common wall stood a large four-poster bed, hung with curtains of rich scarlet.

“I though you might like some familiar things about, so I had them bring up your old bed from the Gryffindor dormitories.” She led Harry over and sat him on the bed, its softness felt wonderfully comforting to him.

“Now, Poppy, do you think these bandages might come off?” McGonagall touched the casing of white cloth that bound Harry’s head softly.

“Yes, I think his head is as healed as it's going to get.” Poppy replied with a smile, she had mended enough of Harry’s injuries, including re-growing all of the bones in his right arm in a single night, to have absolute confidence in her abilities. She stepped forward and began to unwrap the coverings.

Finally, when all of the bandages were laying in a tangle on Harry’s lap, the three, Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, and Remus Lupin, leaned in to take a look.

“Now, I am not one to put much faith in Omens, but if I were I would say that this is a very good one.” said the Headmistress.

“What are you talking about?” said Harry rather sharply. He hated being gawked at like some sort of specimen in a jar.

Madam Pomfrey responded, “You see Harry one of the falling stones struck you on the head, and although it, fortunately, didn’t fracture the skull, it caused considerable damage, including a severe concussion.”

“Harry,” said Remus stepping in, “one of the stones hit you on the head and, even though it didn’t crack that thick skull of yours, it did tear off most of your scalp.”

“The healing went perfectly.” injected Madam Pomfrey, as if someone had dared to question her abilities. “There’s not a hint of scarring.”

At the word “scar” Harry stood and pushed through the group to a mirror standing against the curving wall. The reflection looking back at him was no longer the skinny boy who had first come to Hogwarts eight years ago, with mended glasses and ill fitting hand-me-down clothes. He stood slightly taller than average, though still quite thin. Most of his unruly black hair was gone, close stubble showed where it was regrowing and shaped his high forehead. His forehead! It took a moment to sink in. The lightning bolt shaped scar, caused by a death curse thrown at him by Voldemort when he was only a year old, was gone. His forehead stood smooth and unmarked, there wasn’t even a wrinkle. His whole life people at looked at that scar. Stared at it while trying not to look like they were staring. Strangers on the street stopped to gape at it, sometimes to shake his hand. He was the boy with the scar. The one who lived. Protected by the magic of a mother who had sacrificed her life to save his, he had single-handedly and completely unknowingly brought He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named down the first time, causing him to go into hiding, barely alive, for thirteen years. Surviving with nothing but the lightning bolt scar to show that anything at all had happened, Harry had become famous. That scar was more famous than he was, and now it was gone.

“Wow” was all he could say. Harry sat back down on the bed. That scar had connected him to Voldemort; it had acted as a claxon, warning him when the Dark Lord was near. Now it was gone. Perhaps, that meant that Voldemort was truly gone too. “Wow.”

The sun was high when the young woman finally awoke. She got up and decided to go out and look at her surroundings. Trying to stay hidden from view, she held to the shadows going around the large house then down the drive to the street. She moved slowly and carefully towards the small town beyond. She was hoping to find some wash hanging out to dry, so that she could get some more decent clothes but no one seemed to be doing laundry, or at least no one was air drying it.

Closer towards town she caught the smell of fish and chips. It was a small street-side shop where a passer-by could order from a sidewalk window and then continue on his way eating his dinner as he went. The smell awakened the hunger within her. She didn’t know when she ate last but she guessed it must have been quite some time ago. Looking up and down the street she saw a few people but none of them seemed the least bit interested in her, so she decided to take a chance. As casually as she could she walked up to the window and ordered “one, please, to go” and placed one of the silver coins on the counter.

“Here now. Wha’s this supposed t’ be?” The proprietor was large, greasy and quite unpleasant. “If’s ya’s wan’ food, ya’ll have to pay fer it. And with Pounds, not this trash.”

He picked up the silver coin and held it to the light. “Wha’s this anyway? Where’s it from?”

Not knowing what else to do, she ran, leaving the vexed man standing in the window of the shop still holding the coin. She ran as far as she could but given her state of fatigue and injuries that wasn’t far. Cradling her injured arm to her body she stopped in the shadows of an alleyway. Her breath coming in heaves. Getting food was obviously going to be more difficult than she had hoped. This was not going well. She looked about her as she desperately tried to think.

She was in an alley with rubbish bins on both sides. Evidently there was a restaurant on the left because the bin was full of tossed scraps. She didn’t like the idea of eating garbage but was seriously considering it when she noticed a bag sitting at the back of the bin. She carefully reached over the garbage, not wanting to get any filthier than she already was, and picked it up. It was a doggie bag filled with leftovers. Eating someone else’s leftovers was slightly more appealing than eating garbage and the rumbles of her stomach overcame any further objection. Taking the bag she moved out of the alley and down the street. At the corner was a bus stop with a bench and here she sat down to eat. Inside the bag was an aluminum dish with a small amount of ravioli and two pieces of garlic bread. It must have been a fairly good restaurant because even cold the ravioli was excellent and she sat watching traffic while she ate.

The stop was located at an intersection. Across the street was a Laundromat called "The Laundry Corner" and there were several people, all women, inside doing their wash. While she ate and temporarily solved one of her problems, she saw a chance to solve the other, clean clothes. She watched the women carefully, three were about her size. She waited to see if she would get a chance. One woman finished folding her wash and left. One down and two to go, she thought. The second woman settled into one of the plastic chairs and began to read a tabloid magazine. Two down. The third woman stood leaning against a row of washers watching her loads go round and round in the dryers. Finishing one cigarette she patted her pockets looking for another. The woman on the bench leaned forward. Nothing in her pockets, number three reached for her bag and started rummaging around.

"Don't be there. Don't be there." She was leaning forward, almost falling off the bench, concentrating with all her might. Willing the bag to be empty.

The woman finally gave up, there were no more cigarettes there and tossed her bag on top of a washer. She looked about the shop for a vending machine but found none. Finally, with a glance at her watch and another at the dryers, she picked up her bag again and walked towards the door. At the same time, the woman left her seat at the bus stop and started to make her way across the street. Waiting for a sedan to pass, she reached the door seconds after the other woman turned to walk down the street. She would only have a few minutes at most so she had to work quickly. Woman number two was still buried behind her magazine as she reached the dryers and opened one. Reaching into the still wet clothes, she searched for something suitable. There, a T-shirt, that would do fine. Now if she could only find a pair of shorts or something. No luck. Turning to the second machine she resumed her search. Finally, she found a pair of jeans that she hoped would fit. Rolling her finds into a tight bundle she turned to the door. A few more steps and she would be outside. She turned for one last check on number two...

Spinning back she saw that her way to the door was blocked. Another woman, whom she hadn't even noticed, was standing between her and her escape.

The uniform darkness surrounding him changed, Harry realized he was flying, flying through thick black smoke. He nudged the Firebolt upward, trying to climb out and gain some vision. He broke from the smoke and saw below him the expanse of countryside. There were rolling hills with a ring of forest surrounding a huge estate. At the center, amid a cluster of formal gardens and buildings stood a castle, not the turreted and moated castle that was Hogwarts but one less martial, more of a palace than a castle. It stood four stories tall, with short square towers at the corners. It was Beauxbatons, like Hogwarts a school of magic, and it was now under attack.

To his left Harry saw a great sea of black seething along the ground towards the ruins of a building. Cornelius Fudge had said that there were no more than a hundred Dementors around the world, but that had just been another of his lies; there were thousands of them below, an army of soul-sucking monsters ready to do the Dark Lord's bidding. Facing them were less than a hundred giants led by Sirius Black. Black stood alone atop the ruined building, directing the giants and using his wand to throw stones torn from the broken walls around him at the incoming tide of Dementors. Harry watched as several hundred Dementors emerged from the woods behind Sirius. Gliding up unseen from behind, they would soon overwhelm the place where Sirius stood. Harry had to do something. Removing his wand from beneath his robe, he touched it to his throat and whispered, “Sonorus”. Then he pointed the wand at this new wave of Dementors and his now magically amplified voice rang “Expecto Patronum!” Silver magic erupted from the tip of his wand and flowed towards the Dementors like a tsunami. It took on the form of a stag, but amplified it was the size of a bull elephant as it tore into the black army, using its huge antlers to throw a dozen of them at a time into the air. The sudden appearance of the Patronus broke the attack but four of the monsters managed to close in on their target. Harry was madly trying to think of what to do next when a dusky blur descended and attacked the four Dementors. It was a hippogriff, a magical creature half horse and half eagle, and rearing on its hind legs like a stallion it tore at the Dementors with its talons. Its name was Buckbeak, also wrongly condemned by the corrupted Ministry of Magic, he had escaped with Sirius and they had become inseparable. Sirius turned and in an instant saw what was happening. With a leap, he mounted the still fighting hippogriff and joined the fray. The hippogriff's long talons tore one Dementor in two while Sirius threw a boulder the size of a small car to crush three more.

As each Dementor was destroyed, no one could use the word kill because no one was sure if Dementors were truly alive, clouds of mist escaped it. Dementors sucked out the living souls from their victims to be held captive, deriving strength from tormenting them. With the destruction of the Dementor these souls were released again and the air was rife with their tortured screams. Harry took a pair of omnioculars from a pocket of his robes and trained them on the scene. Harry zoomed in on Sirius, his long black hair tossed about, his gaunt face lit by a maniacal fury. Looking at him, Harry knew that there would be no retreat this day, or mercy. The setting of the sun would see the death of Sirius Black or the final destruction of the Dementors.

Tearing his eyes away from this scene Harry looked to his right. There was Voldemort, surrounded by a protective ring of Death Eaters. They were backing their way up a short hill. Voldemort had trained his minions well. They formed a tight phalanx around him, the front row crouched and maintained a steady flow of defensive spells and counter curses while the inner ring stood and fired their attacks over them. Voldemort laughed as he added his power to the curses. Facing them, and making slow progress, were about two dozen wizards and witches, led by Albus Dumbledore. Gone was his demeanor of a kind and aging headmaster, Dumbledore stood there as what he truly was, the most powerful wizard in the world, his silver hair and beard shone about him like an aura. To his right was Remus Lupin, on his left stood Arthur Weasley, his head of bright red hair shining in the sunlight. Looking along the line of fighters Harry saw other heads of the same red hair that told him at least three other Weasleys were in this fight as well. Voldemort and his men had gained the top of the hill and were successfully repelling the onslaught. The attack had stalled and with a flash from one of the Death Eaters’ wands Harry saw a Weasley fall. Harry turned in midair and, like a hawk, stooped to the attack. He wondered if the Wronski Feint had ever been used during battle before as he urged the broomstick to its fastest speed. The circles of Death Eaters formed the perfect target, with the Dark Lord in the center. The wind whipped his hair and the ground grew alarmingly close. At full speed and the last possible second, Harry wrenched the stick up, the toes of one shoe actually brushing the grass, and skidded around in a tight circle. Startled by his sudden appearance, the Death Eaters stumbled, falling over each other as Harry sideswiped three of them. Harry spun the broomstick to face Voldemort and kicked off. Falling backward to avoid being struck, Voldemort screamed as he rolled on the ground.

Harry jinked the stick around to his right then back to his left. As always, the Firebolt responded as if it were a part of him. The searing red bolts of hexes flew past on either side as Harry dodged as quickly as he could. Gaining altitude, Harry turned his head and saw a beam of rose colored light shoot up towards him from Dumbledore’s wand. Harry immediately spun and dove straight towards it. It blossomed into a glowing bubble and Harry shot through the outer skin just an instant ahead of a dozen curses. Dumbledore's spell destroyed the curses and changed their energy into a deluge of bubbles that clung to Harry until the wind swept them away. Harry brought the broomstick down just behind the line of wizards and drew his own wand again to join the fight.

“Crucio!” shouted Dumbledore and three of the Death Eaters fell, contorting in agony.

The phalanx was broken. All around him, Voldemort saw his protection failing. Spinning in a circle, his hand flew beneath his robe searching for something; a hidden portkey. Knowing what was about to happen, two of the remaining Death Eaters flung out their hands and grasped the Black One’s robes before he disappeared. Their leader gone, the remaining Death Eaters were quickly overwhelmed as they dropped their wands and begged for mercy.

“Blast, gone again!” shouted Lupin, “How many of those things has he got!”

Hermione Granger, covered with dirt and with leaves tangled in her bushy brown hair, quickly dropped to the ground and began to unroll a large map.

“Harry, go back aloft and see if you can tell which direction he went in.” said Dumbledore quietly. The rest of them were panting from their exertion but Dumbledore stood calmly, only the debris on his robes told the tale of his efforts. Harry immediately kicked off from the ground and rose slowly to a height of about a hundred feet. Slowly, he circled, searching with his scar. It was burning, as it always did when Voldemort was nearby or feeling particularly murderous. Harry circled again, trying to feel the direction of the pain. He shut his eyes and tried to shut off his mind. He had spent years studying Occlumency, to learn to block out Voldemort, but now he wanted nothing more than to let him in. Reaching out for Voldemort's mind with his own thoughts, he tried again. He could just feel something, a slight increase in the pain as he faced a certain direction. Careful not to open his eyes, so as to shut out any distraction, he went back and forth, narrowing down his motion until he was certain which direction caused the most pain. That was where the Dark One lay waiting for him and that was where he would go. Harry opened his eyes and looked in the direction the pain in his scar came from. Taking sight of a distant object to keep his bearings, he lowered himself down to the ground. As his feet hit the ground, Hermione rushed up to him.

“That way,” pointing with his fingers, “Towards that tall tree poking over the steeple there.”

Hermione looked in the direction Harry was pointing then raised a muggle compass to her line of sight. As adept as most wizards were at magic, simple non-magical devices, such as this compass, confounded them. Hermione was Muggle-born and here, as on many other occasions, it came to great use. She took a sighting on the distant tree then read the bearing from the compass. Then setting the compass on the map she drew a line from their current position in the direction Harry had indicated. She sat looking at the map, trying to find some location along the line that would be Voldemort’s destination. It struck her like a blow. Hermione stood, her face ashen.

Harry awoke with a shudder, out of instinct his hand went to his forehead but there was nothing there, no pain and no scar. He sat up in bed and looked out the window as the rose colored fingers of dawn stretched their way across the clouds. Another nightmare, only they weren’t nightmares, they were memories. In his dreams he had relived them all. All the scenes of that last, weeks long, battle with the Dark Lord. From England, to Romania. From Romania to Mongolia, then to Egypt, then Durmstrang, then Beauxbatons. Now the only thing left was the final meeting, here at Hogwarts where Voldemort was finally finished. And Dumbledore. Harry dreaded seeing that again. He hoped he wouldn’t have to but deep inside he knew he couldn’t avoid it. Seeing Dumbledore die, as his parents had died, saving him. It was his fault.

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Chapter 2 - Reparations and Preparations

Abigail Cross stood looking at the young woman. Obviously, she was a runaway, like so many of the other young girls who would sneak into the shop to steal clothes. She was filthy and had obviously been sleeping without a proper bed for quite a while. There was dirt in every crease of her skin and her hair was as knotty as a bird’s nest. Abbey noted that there were bruises on her cheeks as well. Maybe, she thought, this was something more than just a teenager who spent more energy looking for drugs than taking care of herself.

“Why don’t you just put those back where they belong, dearie.” She said sternly and on her guard. She watched carefully, looking for the darting eyes or sharp movements that indicated the girl would either flee or try to attack. Neither came, instead the girl seemed resigned. She turned back to the dryers and, placing the bundle of damp clothes down first, opened the dryer with her left hand.

Thinking that this scene might be more exciting than her tabloid, or at least more immediate, Woman #2 had put down her magazine and stood to watch.

“You want me to call the Constable? You keep your eye on her now; I know what that lot can do.”

“No thank you. I’ve dealt with her type before. I know what I’m doing.” Abbey hoped the woman would decide to leave but knew that the prospect of a bit of excitement would keep her watching. Turning back to the young woman, Abbey saw that she had re-closed the dryer door and even started it running again. At least she had some courtesy. “Now, why don’t you just go on back into the storeroom and we’ll see if we can’t handle this situation right here.”

She pointed towards a door in the back of the shop. The young woman turned and started to go. Wheeling suddenly about, the girl started to push past towards the door, but Abbey was expecting this and grabbed at the girls wrist. At the sharp yelp of pain from the young woman, Abbey recoiled and released her grasp. The young woman cradled her arm to her and, although she remained silent, tears were running down her cheeks.

“That’s the ticket. A good beating is what she needs. If you ask me, it’s all the parents fault. Spare the rod and spoil the child! It was good enough for my parents when I was a youngster, it ought to work today. But noooo, people today think they know better. They think they should just coddle their kids and let them run amok and do just as they please. I tell you, I never let MY children behave like that. Let me tell you...”

Abbey cut in while she could, “Listen, the inspectors will be here in a few minutes. I’m sure they will be wanting a statement from you. Why don’t I just nip into the back and get you a pen and some paper so that you can start it now?”

These words had the desired effect; the woman not only shut up but also sat back down and began to look about her as if expecting the police to burst through the door at any moment. Abbey turned and pointed again to the rear of the shop.

“Let’s just step into the back now, shall we?”

The young woman, still cradling her injured arm, turned and walked slowly in the direction Abbey had pointed. Using her uninjured hand, she turned the knob and entered the backroom. It was a small but tidy space. There were shelves along the right wall stacked with laundry supplies. A small table served as a desk along the left. There were no windows but there were two other doors, the one in the rear wall was metal, barred and obviously the rear entrance to the shop, the second was next to the table on the left wall. There was one plastic chair by the table and Abbey indicated that the young woman should sit in it.

“He hurt you, didn’t he? And that’s why you ran away.” The girl nodded her assent but didn’t speak.

“You know, this will go a lot faster if you just talk to me.”

The girl just looked at her in silence for a moment with her mouth tightly shut, but when she opened her mouth, the words came in a torrent. “Please don’t call the police, please. If you do, he’ll find me and then I don’t know what will happen. Please, I’m sorry, I didn’t take anything. Please, just let me go and you’ll never see me again. I can’t let him catch me; you don’t know what he’s like.”

“Shush dearie, I’m not going to call the police. I just wanted to shut that woman up, and unless I’m horribly mistaken, which I rarely am, she is no longer on the premises. Her kind loves to watch other people’s troubles then gossip about them all day, but ask her get involved and she turns tail and runs. No, she’s gone and the police aren’t coming.” At this the girl relaxed a little but was still on her guard. “She will be back though, but probably not for a couple of hours.”

“How do you know that?”

“She left her washing, of course. So let’s try to get finished here before she does. Now, what’s your name, dear?”

The young woman looked at her, not sure if she could trust her she was reluctant to say anything, but she did need help and there was no one else. “Granger”, she said at last.

“Granger, that’s an unusual name, but it does seem to suit you. Now, Granger, who was it that hurt you, your boyfriend? Husband? Father?”

“I…I can’t tell you his name. I don’t want to get you into trouble. Please, I just need to get away.”

“Then where are you going to go? And how are you going to get there? Do you have any friends or family who can help you?”

The young woman just hung her head and Abbey knew the answer was no, she was alone.

“Do you have any money? Any at all?”

“Yes, but the man wouldn’t take it. He said it was strange and I got scared and ran.”

She reached into a pocket of her tattered poncho and drew out some odd looking coins. They glittered as she dumped them on the tabletop. Abbey picked one up and examined it. It was silver and eight-sided. She looked at the words and images on the coin but couldn’t recognize any of it.

“It’s obviously money, but not English. I can’t make out where it’s from. Well, if it is money then the bank will know it and be able to change it into pounds for you. I don’t know how much this is but anything’s a help.”

The girl fidgeted in her seat, but only to get more comfortable, not to try to run again. Abbey saw this and relaxed a little as well. “So, you can’t tell me who he is, but can you tell why he hurt you?”

“He just likes to hurt people. It gives him pleasure to have power.”

“Typical. Many weak men seek pleasure from hurting those who are even weaker.” Abbey observed.

“But he’s not weak. He is very powerful; he just likes to hurt people.”

“Well, he’s certainly hurt you. Perhaps we should get you to a hospital?”

“NO! I can’t go to a hospital; they’ll start asking questions that I can’t answer. He’ll be able to find me there. No, I have to get away!” Abbey saw the girl get excited again and knew that the hospital was out of the question, but still this girl needed medical attention.

“Well, at least let’s clean you up a bit.”

“Is it that bad?” She asked with a slight cringe.

“Yes, it is. The loo is right behind you. There’s a handheld gizmo on the faucet that does a reasonable shower, there’s a floor drain, and everything in there is waterproof so you don’t have to worry about splashing. I’ve cleaned up there myself a few times.”

The girl stood and turned to the door Abbey pointed to. She opened it and looked about, there was a large commercial sink there and, indeed, there was a handheld showerhead attached to the faucet. On a shelf above the sink were soap and even a small bottle of shampoo. She closed the door and began to undress.

“Granger!” came Abbey’s voice through the door. “Here are a couple of clean towels and a flannel for your face.”

“Thank you. Is there anything you could do for my clothes?” After she asked the question she cringed. She could just see the look she was being given from the other side of the door.

Indeed, Abbey had her head tilted to one side and an eye half closed as she stared at the door in disbelief. Did this girl just forget she was in a laundry? “I’ll see what I can do.” She called, and then added more quietly, “Perhaps the rubbish man hasn’t been by yet.”

Granger finished taking off her tattered clothes and, opening the door a crack, dropped them on the floor outside. She took the washcloth and towels she was handed and shut the door again. As Abbey heard the water being turned on, she picked up the telephone and began to dial.

* * *

Harry was startled awake by strange sounds coming from his sitting room. It was the sound of nails scratching against stone and, wrapped around it, the beatings of wings. Harry left his bedroom and crossed the landing into what was now his sitting room. Hedwig was dashing herself around the ceiling as if trying to fly upwards through it.

“You stupid git!” Harry scolded her. “There IS a ceiling there you know, you just can’t see it. You’d think that after three days you would come to realize that.”

He tried to catch the owl, either to calm her or chuck her out the window depending on how hard she struggled, but she wouldn’t allow herself to be caught. Instead she kept attacking the ceiling of the room. Finally, Harry managed to get a hand on one of her legs, but instead of settling down as she would normally do she gouged him with the talons of the other causing a nice cut on his forearm.

“Blast, Hedwig! What’s got into you?” Harry quickly wrapped a handkerchief around the cut. “I’d better go see Madam Pomfrey before breakfast now. If I get an infection from this Hedwig, I swear I’ll send you back to Privet Drive for the rest of the year.”

The owl paid no heed to this and continued to flutter around the ceiling looking for a way through. Harry hurriedly put on his robes and left his rooms for the infirmary, hoping to get his arm fixed in time for a good breakfast. A few minutes later, Hedwig, now exhausted, returned to her perch and stared at the ceiling.

Poppy healed the cut almost instantly; it would take longer for the house elves to wash the blood out of his handkerchief, Harry thought grimly. Harry headed down the main corridor towards the rebuilt Great Hall. Turning a corner, he heard a cold slow drawl coming from a doorway to his left and knew at once that it had to be Draco Malfoy, a fellow Hogwarts alumnus but from Slytherin house and Harry’s nemesis for his entire school career.

“Mother, I’m doing everything I can, will you just leave me to do it?” Draco’s voice was full of anger, “Father was a fool! Throwing everything away for what? To become a lackey for the Dark Lord! And now that Voldemort is dead, he’s in Azkaban and I’m left to pick up the pieces.”

The last person Harry wanted to speak to right now was Draco Malfoy so, hunching his head down, he tried to slip past the doorway as quietly as possible.

“HARRY POTTER! Is that you?” Too late, he had been spotted. “I hardly recognized you without that thing on your forehead. You just blend into background now, nothing special about you at all.”

Harry stopped and reluctantly turned back to face Malfoy. He might not want to talk with Draco but the last thing he was going to do was to turn his back on him. There was no trace of his previous anger on his face and when he spoke it was in the same condescending drawl that never failed to irk Harry.

“So, tell me, Potter, how does it feel not to have that scar? Not to be special anymore?”

Harry stopped and thought a moment. “Bloody marvelous, actually. But Draco, tell me, how does it feel to have scars? To have people staring at them all the time?”

Malfoy’s face retained its almost unearthly whiteness but Harry could see his neck and the edges of his ears begin to turn pink. So, the rumors were true. At the end of their fourth year, while returning to London on the Hogwarts Express, a jumble of curses had struck Draco, deservedly, from five different people, one of them Harry, and he had been left unconscious on the floor of the train covered with an alarming collection of boils and pustules. Since no one cared enough to help him, he just lay there for several hours until the house elves that cleaned the train found him. There were rumors for the rest of their time at school that Draco had spent the summer in St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, and although they removed the curses, they couldn’t remove the scars they left behind. It was even whispered that Draco, in his vanity, always wore makeup to conceal the scars but when he got really angry the boils began to erupt again.

“I wouldn’t know, Potter.” Draco said through tightly pressed lips.

“So, what are you doing back at Hogwarts, Draccie?” For the first time since they had met, Harry wanted to prolong a conversation with Draco Malfoy, just to see if he would sprout anything.

“I’m here to help, if you must know, Potter. When I heard that the Dark Lord had caused some damage to Hogwarts, I straight away came to see what I could do.”

“How very generous of you, Mr. Malfoy.” The voice came from behind them. It was Professor McGonagall, who still had a knack for appearing at the most opportune times. “There is still much work to be done.”

“Work?” said Draco flustered. “I thought the servants would be doing that. I was thinking perhaps a contribution...”

“Oh, Hogwarts has no need for money, my dear Draco, what we do need are strong wands and wizards to use them.” She smiled at Malfoy in a way that told Potter that more was coming. “Indeed, we need people right now to assist in reinforcing the kitchens. Why don’t I have someone show you the way and you can get right to work.”

“The kitchens? I’m not sure I…”

“Oh, don’t worry. I have every confidence in you. Come along, right down this way.” She turned to lead Draco down the very corridor she had just emerged from.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Professor. I’m sure I can find my way.” With this, Draco began to walk down the hall and, turning his head, he called over his shoulder, “Come along, Mother.”

Narcissa Malfoy was Draco’s mother, the first time Harry had met her was at the Quidditch World Cup five years ago and, at that time, she had been a physically beautiful woman marred only by a haughty sneer on her face that reminded Harry of someone who couldn’t get the stench of dung out of their nose. The fall of Voldemort had changed her. She now looked like nothing so much as a pet that had been beaten too often by its owner. Her blonde hair was flat and streaked with a dull gray, her eyes were haunted, with dark bags beneath them, and she walked with the mincing steps of someone who expected bad news to leap out at her from around every corner. She was wearing an expensive looking robe of turquoise with ruby trim, even to Harry, who knew nothing about clothing except how to put it on, it seemed a little too much for tramping around a castle in the midst of being rebuilt.

“Yes, Draco dear,” She called as she skirted around Harry and Professor McGonagall, “but I thought we were going to London today to see the Minis…”

Draco cut her words off with a look. “We will, Mother, but we have to help out here first.”

Minerva McGonagall, the usually stern Professor, looked at Harry and he could tell that she was working very hard to keep herself from grinning. “We can always use an extra pair of hands, even if they belong to Draco Malfoy.”

“Yes, and speaking of work, what do you need me to do today?” Harry had spent the last three days helping to rebuild the castle. Actually the house elves did most of the work. House elves were very magical creatures but with a strange lot in life. They served wizard families, usually wealthy and powerful ones, as servants for life, virtually slave labor, but were capable of extremely powerful magic. They tended to be a bit scatter-brained and usually confusing to talk to although absolutely loyal, even to cruel or evil masters. Hogwarts had over a hundred of them - some of them actually paid employees - to do the cooking and much of the routine chores around the castle and grounds. During the reconstruction efforts it was the house elves that did the actual work. Moving, shaping and transfiguring the stone like children playing with clay. All the humans had to do was to coordinate their efforts and make sure that things were sized for beings more than three feet tall. Harry had watched them rebuild the kitchens, which were located directly beneath the Great Hall, and storerooms. In the seven years he had spent here Harry had never stopped to consider the complexity of running a place as large as Hogwarts. The storerooms were huge and a constant stream of foodstuffs and other articles flowed into and out of them everyday.

“Actually, there’s little left to be done today, dear boy.” Harry looked at the new Headmistress and again marveled at how she seemed to have changed. She still wore a black ribbon on her maroon robes and Harry knew she still mourned Dumbledore although she did not broadcast her sorrow, but gone was much of the demeanor of the stern instructor. She seemed to be lighter somehow, gentler in her ways and more apt to smile.

“The day after tomorrow the new term begins” she continued, “and I think we are ready for it. Oh, yes! There is something you can do Harry.”

“What is it?”

“We need to do some renovations of the Gamekeeper’s cottage. Hagrid is down there now and I think he might appreciate some help laying things out.”

“No problem, Professor. But would it be alright if I got a little something to eat first?”

“Of course not, Harry. They probably won’t even begin any real work there for another day or so, just the planning today I’ll wager. Go and get yourself a good breakfast.”

Then she did something that totally caught Harry off guard, she reached out and touched his cheek, just a light lying of her palm against it but it was something Harry had never seen her do before. “Now, I must be off. One of the new instructors is about to arrive and we must speak.”

Harry blinked a few times as she moved towards the Entrance Hall and thought that the new job certainly seemed to be agreeing with her. Harry shook his head and entered the Great Hall for breakfast.

The Hogwarts Great Hall was the largest single room in the castle, there were four long rows of tables, one for each of the four houses, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor, and another shorter row of tables across the front, on a slightly raised dais, for the staff. All of the tables were occupied; the alumni who had come to help rebuild the school buildings were enjoying a hearty breakfast before beginning the day’s work. The Hufflepuff table was completely full, and there were even some sitting at the next table over, Slytherin, which seemed to have the least number of returning students. Out of simple habit, Harry began to move towards the Gryffindor table, which was his old house, but stopped when Professor Lupin waved him over to the staff table. Harry smiled as he sat.

“I guess I just can’t get the knack of sitting up here,” he said.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it soon enough.”

Remus Lupin looked jubilant. Usually, at least to Harry’s recollection, he appeared haggard and in need of a few square meals. This was because he was a werewolf and most people shunned him. He was used to being out of work and needing to skip a few meals because he lacked the money to pay for them. Even his robes showed the rough life they had led. Although scrupulously clean, they were well worn and patched in several places. Harry had the suspicion that Remus almost liked them that way. In addition to being a lycanthrope, Remus Lupin was a bit of a rogue and in his student days had gotten himself into quite a bit of mischief, along with his three closest friends: James Potter, Harry’s father; Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather; and Peter Pettigrew, who had betrayed the group to the Dark Lord which led to the deaths of Harry’s parents and the wrongful imprisonment of Sirius. This mixture of personality and experience is what made him such an excellent teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts; he kept his classes exciting as well as educational.

"You certainly look happy, Remus."

"Do I? Well, yes, I guess I am. For the first time since I graduated from Hogwarts, I think I'm happy, or at least I have the chance for it." Remus thought for a moment then continued. "You see Harry, all my life people have feared and even hated me. Except for the years I was a student here, I've spent my entire life wandering from one place to another, never settling down or even getting to know anyone, an odd assignment here or there for a year but no prospects of any permanency. Don’t get me wrong, those years were great. I won't say that they weren't hard, they were, but I learned an incredible amount of things that I never would have if I hadn't been traveling as much as I did. And there were some really great times. Like that time your dad came to visit me, he told Lily he was only coming for an evening, to play some wizard chess, but he wound up being gone for two weeks because we met up with some...” Seeing the wide-eyed look on Harry's face Remus coughed and continued, "Anyway, I wouldn't trade them for all the gold in Gringott's but I'm getting older now and, frankly, I'm tired. I want a settle down someplace where I can unpack without thinking of when I’ll have to repack again. Six years ago, I came back here to Hogwarts and it felt like I had come home, but things being the way they were, I had to leave again. Well, Voldemort is dead now, knock wood," at this Remus tapped his wand lightly on the tabletop, bouncing pale blue sparks across his breakfast, "Sirius has been cleared, and the fates have given me another chance to make myself a home. Harry, I intend to grab that chance, make no mistake about it."

"I do know what you mean. Growing up with the Dursleys, in a cupboard, being constantly reminded that I didn't belong there and wasn't really wanted, wasn't much fun and certainly didn't make me feel at home. Then I came to Hogwarts, and Dumbledore, and Hagrid, and Professor McGonagall and everyone made me feel like this was where I belonged. It was a great feeling but I'm just not sure I want to settle down yet."

Remus looked at him and smiled. "Harry, you've just turned nineteen. You don't have to settle down. You've barely begun your life, although it has been a full one up to now. I'll bet you're still looking for some direction, huh? Where you want to go and what you want to do."

Harry tried to return his look but couldn't. What was he going to do now? He just didn't know. Remus had hit on the question that had been nagging at him since he finally understood that Voldemort, and the fight against him, was finished: what next? He shook his head slightly to chase the thoughts away and tucked into his breakfast. Between bites, he looked around the room, seeing whom he could recognize. At the Hufflepuff table was Amos Diggory, a senior official at the Ministry of Magic, and his younger son Andrew. Cedric Diggory, his eldest son was killed by Voldemort the night he returned to power. He had been a sixth year Hogwarts student when he was murdered for the simple crime of standing too close to Harry. At the Ravenclaw table was Cho Chang, dabbing a handkerchief at the corners of her eyes. She had completed Hogwarts a year ahead of Harry. She looked terrific and Harry still left a nostalgic tug of the crush he had had on her in school. The Gryffindor table seemed packed with redheads and that meant that the Weasleys were out in force. Harry saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley; Bill, their eldest son; Percy; and the twins Fred and George. Ron, their youngest son and Harry’s closest friend, was away searching for Hermione but Harry had no idea where Charlie and Ginny, their only daughter and youngest child, were. Finishing his breakfast, Harry got up from his seat.

“I guess I’ll go over and say ‘hullo’ to the Weasleys.” He went over to the Gryffindor table and took a seat across from the twins and next to Molly Weasley. “Hello everyone. Where’s the rest of the family?”

Arthur Weasley replied, “Well, Ron's still out searching for Hermione, I got an owl from him yesterday saying he still hasn’t found a clue about where she is. He’s starting to lose hope, I think. He’ll be in London tomorrow and will be here for the start of term feast. There’s going to be a few announcements that he wants to hear in person. Ginny is already working at her new job in the Ministry. She’s working in the Muggle Relations Office.”

“And where’s Charlie?” Harry asked.

The whole group suddenly went quiet; from the stricken looks on their faces Harry knew that he had said something desperately wrong. He began to turn his head, looking from face to face. The twins just gaped at him and he saw Percy flush. Mrs. Weasley began wiping her eyes with a napkin.

Bill said, “Harry, didn’t you hear?”

“Hear what? What did I say?”

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. “I guess you were so busy that you never had time to hear the news. Probably halfway to the Gobi Desert when it happened.” His voice trailed off.

“What happened?” Harry asked.

“Harry, Charlie was killed in Romania.” This was from Bill again. “A couple of days after You-Know-Who disappeared, a bunch of his Death Eaters came back and caused a stampede among the dragons in the preserve. Charlie rushed in to try to control it. He didn’t have time to put on his fireproof suit. He was killed.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’m so stupid.”

At this, Molly Weasley grabbed Harry around the shoulders and hugged him so tight Harry could hardly breathe. “No, you’re not, Harry. You just didn’t know. You weren’t there after all, you were off searching for…for…” Harry could sense how she was struggling with the name. Most wizards didn’t speak Voldemort’s name aloud, he had made them so terrified that even his name was too much to say aloud. “VOLDEMORT!” She spat the word and all of her children recoiled at the sound of it. Turning to their unasked question, she answered, “I’m not going to be afraid of him any longer. We beat him and MAY HE ROT! I won’t be afraid anymore!”

Her defiance seemed to spread across the table as one by one her children all nodded.

“Harry, dear, you had no way of knowing. You sped right off to find V-v-voldemort and when it happened you were elsewhere. It’s not your fault.”

“But still, I should have...” Harry hung his head in his embarrassment. How could he have been so dense? They had lost a son and he had just reopened the wound. He couldn’t face them. He quickly got up from the table and left.

“I’ll see to this, Molly. You all just finish your breakfast.” Arthur Weasley rose and followed Harry out. He caught up to him in the Entrance Hall.

“Harry! Hold on a moment.” Harry stopped and turned. The Weasleys had been like a surrogate family to him, showing him the love and affection that his own Aunt and Uncle had not. How could he have hurt them like that?

Arthur looked down at the young man and saw his eyes shining. His heart went out to this boy who had carried such a heavy burden all his life. “Harry, there’s no need to be upset.”

“But how could I have been so stupid? I shouldn’t’ve said anything. I should’ve known.”

Arthur put his arm around him and walked with him out the door. The sun was bright upon them and the day was already warm.

“Harry, what happened right after You-know…” he stumbled a moment, “Voldemort…”

“You don’t have to say his name.” Harry said.

“No, Molly is right. We beat him. We mustn’t let him make us afraid anymore.” He continued, “What happened right after Voldemort disappeared from Romania?”

“I don’t know,” Harry answered. "I got on my broom and started searching for him again.”

“Exactly, and when you found him what did you do?”

“I came back, told Dumbledore and we all when to Mongolia. When we got there, we attacked him.

“And when Voldemort and the Death Eaters left Mongolia, what did you do?”

“I spent most of a week searching for him until I found him in Egypt, trying to raid the Gringotts holdings there.”

“And so, we all went to Egypt to fight. Afterwards, Voldemort disappeared again, and you went off searching for him again.”

“Yeah, but what has that got to do with anything.”

“Harry, listen. We all fought, but when the battle was over, we rested. You always left immediately and searched out Voldemort in his new hiding place. And then when you found him and called the rest of us, you always joined right in the attack.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Everyone used those short breaks to rest. We healed and we dealt with our loses. During that whole affair the only time you rested was when one of us managed to slip you a sleeping draught.”

Harry irked at this. “I slept.”

“When? An hour here or there? Where? On your broom? Harry, more than anyone, you fought that battle. You didn’t take the time to rest because you knew that when you did, Voldemort grew stronger. You did more than anyone…”

“What about Dumbledore?”

“Dumbledore rested too, Harry. We all had to. Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t fly yourself to death out there. That’s certainly what Voldemort wanted.”

Harry looked into Mr. Weasley’s face. “What do you mean?”

“Why do you think Voldemort bounced around like that? He was trying to wear us out. He didn’t care about his Death Eaters. Most of the ones we captured he had abandoned. He left them behind when he portkeyed and they had no idea where he went. He was trying to get you, Harry. You were the only one who could track him and you were the only one who could kill him.”

“Wha’?”

“Harry, we knew about the prophesy, or at least most of us.”

“You knew?”

“Yes, Harry. Dumbledore told us about it. How you were destined to face Voldemort and only one of you would live.”

Outrage suddenly flared in Harry, “He had no right to say that.”

“He needed to tell us, Harry. We needed to make sure you didn’t do something foolish.” Harry’s eyes flashed. “No one thinks you’re a fool, Harry. No one, so just settle down. Dumbledore was worried that you might sneak off and try to meet Voldemort on your own, that you’d do that to try to protect us all.”

“Well, wouldn’t you?” Harry asked angrily.

“Yes, Harry, I probably would but I would be foolish to do it.”

“How?”

“It would have been a noble act, Harry. To ride off alone to face the enemy in order to protect the ones you loved. But V..voldemort wasn’t noble. He wouldn’t have faced you alone. He never did.”

Harry nodded, “I guess you’re right.”

“We weren’t trying to shield you Harry. We were trying to make sure that you had a fair chance and that’s what we did.”

“But that prophesy was bollocks,” Harry said.

“That may be so, Harry, but Voldemort believed it and that’s what counts in the end. And whether you believe it or not, Harry, Voldemort had to kill you before he could hope to defeat Dumbledore.”

“Yes, it was Dumbledore he was after! Not me.” Harry was still stunned. Dumbledore was the Dark Lord’s main target, and he, Harry Potter, was just a minor player in the whole affair.

“Yes, you’re right. In order to be victorious, Voldemort would have had to kill Dumbledore, and he knew that he couldn’t do that straight up, in a fair fight. The only way to do it would be to ambush him, to take Dumbledore by surprise. But he couldn’t ambush Dumbledore as long as you could track him, you see. He had to kill you first, and the best way to do that was to make you fly yourself to exhaustion. Harry, think of it like a game of Wizard’s Chess. Dumbledore was the king but you, Harry, you were both knights, dashing about the board and spoiling any attack before Voldemort could really begin it. He needed to eliminate you before he could checkmate Dumbledore and he couldn’t. So he lost.”

“But Dumbledore died too, so it turned out a draw.”

“No Harry, it wasn’t a draw. My analogy isn’t perfect, none ever are. Voldemort is dead, the Death Eaters are either dead too or in prison. The Dark Forces have been defeated, for now. Yes, our side paid a terrible price too. Dumbledore, Charlie, maybe Hermione, and so many others, but we won the war. We won, Harry. Never forget that.”

Harry looked into the eyes of Arthur Weasley. This was something he would have to think about, for now all he could think of to say was, “I’m sorry about Charlie.”

“So am I, Harry, so am I.” Arthur quickly wiped something from his eye. “You’d better go and help Hagrid. He seems to be a bit overwhelmed.”

Harry looked down the sloping grounds and saw Hagrid, the Hogwarts Gamekeeper and instructor in The Care of Magical Creatures. A half-giant, Hagrid stood about twice as tall as most men and three times as broad. He was surrounded by about a dozen house elves that didn’t come up to his knees. They were busy trying to avoid getting crushed as Hagrid stamped about waving his arms. Also stamping about was Madam Maxime, a lovely woman who also stood twice Harry’s height. The two were obviously having a very animated discussion.

* * *

The hot water felt glorious and Granger made sure she was well washed. There was little enough shampoo for the quantity of her hair but she made do. Granger began to feel much better, even her injuries hurt less now that she was clean. After making sure that all the soap and dirt had been rinsed down the floor drain, she shut off the water and dried herself off. She wrapped one towel around her body and the other around her hair. She used the flannel to wipe down and dry the surfaces of the room as best she could. This woman was nice enough to help her, the least she could do was be a tidy guest. Finally, she unlocked the door and opened it.

“Feeling better, now that we’re all washed up?” It was not Abbey, this woman was older and somehow more bureaucratic looking, as if she didn’t just follow the rules, she lived them. Granger drew back and closed the door, afraid that she had been turned in. She was about to lock the door when she heard Abbey’s voice.

“Granger, there’s no reason to be afraid. This is a friend of mine.”

Granger cracked the door to peek out.

“Who is she?”

“She’s a nurse who works in a local clinic. I told her that you needed care but couldn’t go through the usual routine so she has come down here to take a look at you.”

“Come on out, dear. Abbey told me that you've gotten banged up a bit and she just wants to make sure you’re going to be alright.”

The woman's manner was professional if slightly impersonal. She took hold of Granger's arm and probed about the elbow with her fingers, then up to the shoulder and down to the wrist. Once she was reasonably certain that no bones were broken, she took a firm grasp of the wrist and straightened the arm until Granger winced. She rotated the forearm and the shoulder. Finally, she released the arm and without a word began to examine the wound on her scalp. She opened a large bag and took out an orange ball of yarn, setting this aside she reached in again and removed the rest of her knitting. Then she took out what appeared to be her lunch, in a series of small plastic containers.

“What’s next? A rabbit?”

The woman took absolutely no notice of Granger’s attempt at humor. “I only have the one bag and this is my break so I brought my lunch along. Now just relax.”

At the bottom of the bag at last, she removed some scissors and started clipping at Granger’s wet hair. After a minute she had cleared away enough so that she could get a decent look.

“Not too serious, but it should have gotten a few stitches. Cuts too old now though, already starting to heal. It should leave a bit of a scar; luckily it’s hidden under all this hair. It looks like it might be a bit inflamed though. I’ll just clean it up a bit and put on some ointment. You’re very lucky, it’s not nearly as bad as it could have been.”

Finally, she poked at the bruises on Granger’s cheeks. She hmmm’ed a few times but was evidently not displeased.

“No, fractures there either. All in all, I’d say you did get banged up a bit but things aren’t so bad. The worst is probably that wrenched elbow you have. Nothing broken and it doesn’t look like any serious damage was done to the tendons or ligaments but it will be sore for another week or so. Let me give you a sling for that arm, just to make it more comfortable.”

Reaching again into her bag, she withdrew a small packet containing a sling and showed Granger how to put it on.

Granger said, “I would like to thank you for coming here. It was awfully nice of you.”

“Well,” came the reply, “Abbey here seems to attract lost lambs so I’m used to getting calls from her. You take care of your head, try to keep it clean and dry, also you should take it easy with that arm for awhile, don’t rush trying to use it too much.”

“Yes, I’ll be careful.”

The woman packed up her bag again and Abbey rose to see her out.

“Thanks again, Sarah. I owe you one for this.”

“You already owe me a lot of these. I’ll just add one more to the list.”

When Abbey returned she was smiling. “Sarah’s a sweet one, don’t let her manner put you off. She’s always been willing to help out someone who needs a little hand.”

“And you, too? I gather that I’m not the first woman to wander in here dirty and come out clean. Speaking of clean, were you able to do anything with my clothes? They’re all I have.”

“I did with them the only thing that I could do; I threw them in the dustbin.”

Granger’s mouth began to work but Abbey cut her off. “They were too far gone to even try to clean, but don’t worry, there’s enough clothing lying about the place here that I should be able to outfit you fairly well.”

She reached under the desk and pulled out a large cardboard box filled with assorted pieces of clothing. Rummaging through it, Abbey pulled out a nice red t-shirt and handed it to Granger. Sifting through the contents of the box a little further she came up with a pair of well worn but intact jeans, a pair of shorts and some panties. These she also gave to the young woman and said, “Those should do for a start. Go back into the loo and try them on.”

Granger stood and took the bundle into the washroom and began to dress. It was a bit tricky, pulling the t-shirt on over her injured arm but it fit well enough. The jeans were too small but the shorts fit. Granger felt a bit awkward wearing someone else’s knickers but figured they were better than nothing, at least for the time being. Now, fully clean and fully dressed, Granger felt like a new woman. Stepping back out into the office, she looked at Abbey.

“I don’t know how to thank you. You’ve really been much too kind considering you caught me trying to steal and all.”

“Don’t you worry about it, Granger. I know what it’s like to be in a tight spot and need a bit of a fresh start.”

“I’d like to repay you if I can. I mean I don’t have any proper money but if I can change what I have…”

Abbey cut her off, “There’s no need to pay me for helping. That’s what we’re put here for in the first place, to help each other. Just remember, when you see someone who looks like they’re trouble, it may well be that all they need is a bit of a helping hand and you’ve got two of them.”

top

Chapter 3 - To Lunch and London

Harry spent the entire morning going back and forth between the house elves, Hagrid, and Madam Maxime. It seemed that Madam Maxime was doing her best to try to reconstruct the Beauxbatons palace in the gamekeeper’s cottage, complete with grand ballroom and formal gardens. Hagrid, on the other hand, didn’t see why the place wasn’t just fine the way it was, “It mi’ need a new cupboard or two but naugh’ else I can see”. The house elves, meanwhile, just wanted to get started working, no matter what they were building. It took Harry at least an hour to just get them all settled down enough so that he could speak without being interrupted every sentence. In the end though, he came up with an idea that might just please everyone, and the house elves started gathering the materials they would need to start work.

His head still spinning, Harry walked back up to the castle for lunch. It was still full summer and the hot sun danced on the flowers that sprang up from between the cobblestones of the walkways. The day was glorious and it put a smile on Harry’s face just to be outside. He looked around him and wondered if anyone would notice if he skipped lunch and went for a swim in the lake. Deciding it would be better to eat and make sure no one needed him first; Harry mounted the stone steps leading to the entrance Hall.

Inside the hall was a cluster of people gathered around two objects covered with sheets. There was Professor McGonagall, Arthur Weasley, Remus Lupin, and a wizard Harry had never know. He was middle-aged and wore robes of deep blue and a maroon fez, complete with tassel, on his head. The wizard also carried a thin walking stick, not sturdy enough to really be used as a cane, with some sort object on the top but Harry couldn’t quite see what it was. The four of them were talking when Harry walked up and joined the group. Harry nodded his head in greeting to Remus, and Professor McGonagall turned to the motion.

“Oh, hello Harry. Everything going well with Hagrid and Madam Maxime?” she asked.

“Yes, there was some difference of opinion but I think we found some common ground.”

“Excellent, that's good to hear. Please, let me introduce you to our new instructor for the History of Magic. Mr. Harry Potter, this is Professor Ali ban Fez. Professor Fez meet Mr. Harry Potter. Harry will be assisting Professor Lupin in teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

Prof. Fez shifted his cane to his left side and shook Harry’s hand. His eyes did the automatic flicker to Harry’s forehead, looking for the scar, but finding nothing didn’t linger. Harry thought that he could get used to that, people not staring. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter. I have, of course, heard much about you. I’m curious to get to know the real person behind the myths.”

Fez was obviously of Arab decent but when he spoke it was with a crisp Oxford accent. The cane, Harry now saw, was topped with an orb of amber with something imbedded in its center.

“The pleasure is mine Professor Fez, and I hope the real me doesn’t disappoint you too much.”

“I’m sure it won’t, from what I’ve heard from your friends here, you are quite a remarkable young man.”

It made Harry a bit uncomfortable, having his former teachers referred to as his friends. He just didn’t feel grown up enough to be their equals. Luckily, they quickly returned to their former topic of discussion.

“But as I was saying, Arthur. Broomsticks may be fine for younger people, but a little undignified for we who are older, don’t you agree? Now a flying carpet, that is a conveyance more suited to people of our station and stage in life.”

“I see what you mean, Ali, but the ban on importing flying carpets has been in effect for quite some time...”

“Surely some consideration can be made? After all, I am new to your country.”

“Well, I’ll see what I can do. I’m sure that, at the least, I can get you an individual waiver so that you can bring in your own personal carpet.” To change to subject he said, “That is an unusual cane you have there, Professor. What is it exactly?”

“This?” raising the cane so everyone could get a closer look. “This is my wand, of course. Most wizards here in England prefer smaller wands but in my country we prefer a slightly larger variety.”

Arthur Weasley seemed fascinated by the orb at its tip. “What is that inside the amber, Ali? Some sort of beetle?”

“That it is, a scarab beetle to be precise. As your wands have cores of unicorn hair or dragon heartstrings, mine has a scarab beetle.”

“Was it alive when it was encased it in the amber?” He leaned forward, intent on the insect.

“Was? It still is alive, my good fellow. Amazing creatures these scarab beetles, they can be encased like this for centuries and yet when released they awaken fully, completely unaffected by the passage of time.”

“Completely? Surely there must be some effects.” Arthur was amazed, as if he were talking about something more important than just a beetle.

“Who can tell? They are only beetles, I mean. What effects could there be?”

“Hmmm” Arthur Weasley extended a finger and poked at the amber, as if expecting the beetle to move within its amber case. “Hmmm, I wonder.” Then shaking his head to clear it. “Ali, I think we may be able to assist each other in some small ways. We’ll have to get together later and discuss this in more depth.”

Ali ban Fez looked at Arthur as if he didn’t know what could be so interesting about a beetle. To break the awkward pause, Harry said, “Professor McGonagall mentioned that you were the new instructor in the History of Magic, what happened to old Professor Binns? He IS a ghost after all, what could have happened?”

“When I was in his classes, we often wondered if he even knew he had died at all.” Remus added with a smirk.

Harry also grinned at the memory of the stupefying boredom that seemed to fill every class Binns had ever taught. Professor Binns had been the only ghost teacher at Hogwarts and the rumor was that he didn’t even realize he was dead. One day he fell asleep in his usual chair in front of the fire in the staff lounge and when he woke up to go to his next class he just left his body behind and never missed it.

“Indeed, that may have been the case after all.” Said Minerva McGonagall with a small grin. “It seems that during the umm… recent disturbances, a large stone fell from the ceiling of the staff room and crushed the chair that Professor Binns always napped in when he wasn’t in class. I can only assume this disturbed him and when he looked at the crushed chair he reckoned no one could have survived such a blow and he must, therefore, be dead. Anyway, he has disappeared and not been seen since. We were quite lucky to find that Professor Fez was looking for a new position. It will be challenging to bring in a more international point of view to magical history.”

“Indeed, it should be interesting.” said Fez. “The fault of many in the British magical community is that they seem to feel that magic begins and ends at their shores. They never seem to consider that magic has flourished in other parts of the world for millennia.”

“Really?” said Arthur Weasley, still staring at the amber encased beetle on the end of Fez’s wand. His head bobbing like a cork on the water as Ali gestured with his arms.

“Yes. Let’s take for an example the recent events with You-know-who. Very nasty indeed but hardly new in the history of the world.”

“Fascinating” said Arthur talking to the beetle.

“Yes, it is. For example, what do you know about Pao Zhing?” Everyone shook their heads so Prof. Fez began. “Pao Zhing was a dark wizard in China over three thousand years ago. Like your Voldemort, he wished to conquer the world, but unlike recent events here, Pao actually succeeded. Through destruction and murder he managed to gain control of all of China, both magical and muggle, and ruled it for two hundred years before he died. It was an horrendous time, filled with the most vile of things.”

“But how was he overcome? I assume he died or was killed” Remus asked, “Voldemort took many precautions to try to ensure his immortality.”

“Indeed, so did Pao. It was a dragon that killed him. Pao kept a number of them as pets and guardians of his palace. One of these guardians caught a cold or something and sneezed on Emperor Pao. Being such intensely magical creatures, the flames cut through Pao’s personal protections and burned him to a cinder. Quite an excellent bit of luck, eh? Little wonder dragons are so prized by the Chinese as omens of good fortune.”

“Quite fascinating and exactly why I was so anxious to have you join our staff,” said McGonagall, “but I’m afraid we’ll have to continue this some other time. If you'd be so kind Professor Lupin, I could use a bit of assistance getting these into the Great Hall.” She pointed her wand at one of the covered mounds and with a spray golden sparks it rose a few inches off the ground and she began to herd it into the Great Hall.

“No problem at all, Minerva, I’ll be glad to give you a hand.”

Remus took out his own wand, lifted the second object and followed behind the head mistress. Harry turned to followed the unlikely parade. Mr. Weasley, however, took the opportunity to pull Ali ban Fez aside and began to talk to him privately.

Inside the Great Hall, Remus and McGonagall set their objects down in front of the staff table. Looking around the room, which was about half filled, Minerva thought for a moment then turned to Harry.

“Harry?”

“Yes, Professor?”

“If you’re through with the Hagrid problem for the moment.” Harry couldn’t help but grin at the thought of his mornings work being called 'The Hagrid Problem'. “I wonder if I might give you another little assignment?”

“Of course, do the kitchens need to be redone?” Harry smirked, thinking Malfoy might have botched the job.

“Oh no, the kitchens were quite finished yesterday. I was hoping that I could ask you to run down to London. Our new Transfiguration instructor will be arriving tomorrow and I would like you to escort her here.”

“Couldn’t she just apparate into Hogsmeade? I mean that’s what most people do, isn’t it?”

“No, dear boy. You see, she is coming over from the United States and has never been to Hogsmeade, or Hogwarts for that matter.”

“Oh?”

“She is also bringing her daughter along, both are transferring here from the Salem Witch’s Institute. Her daughter will be starting in her fourth year, I believe, and her mother wanted her to arrive via the Hogwarts Express along with the rest of the students.”

“So they’re American?”

“Yes, indeed. I’ve been trying to continue Albus’ efforts to give Hogwarts a more international approach to magical education. With the additions of Professor Fez and now Professor Stevens, I believe we at Hogwarts will have the greatest variety of wizarding backgrounds of any of the schools worldwide.” She continued, “Professor Stevens is quite renown for her knowledge of transfiguration. She comes from one of the most prestigious magical families in the colonies, I mean States. Her daughter also is quite talented, I’ve heard.”

“It would be my pleasure to meet them, Professor. Besides, I have a few errands I’d like to run in Diagon Alley before the term starts.”

“You might even run into young Mr. Weasley there. The two of you haven’t seen each other for a while and I’m sure you’d like to catch up. I’m interested in how the search for Hermione is going, as well. I’ll admit that I’m quite concerned about her continued absence.”

* * *

Granger patted herself on the knees, it was time to do something, she thought. She was washed and dressed and cared for by the generosity of others and now it was time to do something for herself.

“Abbey,” she stated, “I’m going to run out and find a bank. See if I might be able to change some of this money.”

Abbey was surprised at the change she saw. Just two hours ago, this girl was filthy, injured, and dressed in tatters, more like a trapped animal than a person. Now she stood straighter and carried herself with a confidence Abbey wouldn’t have thought she possessed. She seemed ready to take charge of her own life.

“I think that’s a good idea. There’s one just ‘round the corner.”

Granger rose and strode out of the shop without a second look. Abbey smiled, sometimes you just guess right, she thought. Good for you, Granger.

The air was warm on her skin and there was a nice breeze on her legs, thanks to the shorts she wore. These are comfy, she thought to herself, a nice change for those heavy robes. Then she stopped. What robes? She looked around her. There were many people about, but none dressed in robes. Everyone wore shorts or pants, like normal people. Where did she come from that people wore robes? Some kind of church? Had she been a member of a cult? She shook her head. She wasn’t there anymore and right now she felt like she could do anything. First some money, then some clothes of her own, and then some food. That is what she needed and that was what she would do.

Around the corner from the laundry was a small bank. She strode in and up to the counter. There was a clerk free to wait on her, a rather small and bookish looking fellow of around her own age.

“May I help you?” he asked.

“Yes, I have some foreign currency that I’d like to exchange, please.”

“Do you have an account with us?”

“Uhh, not at the moment but I could open one. Is it necessary?”

“The fee for changing currency is waived for our own customers, but no it’s not necessary. What type of foreign currency do you have?”

Granger took the coins from her pocket and deposited them on the counter. The clerk looked at them, obviously without recognition.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to get my manager.” The young man said and stepped away from his window.

Granger felt a sudden surge of panic. He knew... somehow he knew she didn’t belong. She wanted to grab the coins and run before anyone could catch her but she didn’t. By sheer will, she forced herself to remain still if she couldn’t remain calm. She was not a rabbit to run frightened at the sight of an owl. In a moment a woman appeared at the clerk’s window.

“Good day, madam.”

“Hello” Remain calm, Granger told herself, you can handle this.

“Rather unusual currency you have there. May I ask where you came by it?”

“If you must know” her mind raced for a plausible idea, “I got it from my grandmother. She has had it for some time I believe and just asked me to exchange it. Is there a problem?” She strained to hear the answer and prayed it wouldn’t be “yes”. She hoped her anxiety wasn’t visible.

“Well, no, not really.” Granger felt herself relax. “It’s just that we don’t normally trade in this type of currency, you see. We frequently deal in Francs, Marks and Guilders, most of the European currencies, but we rarely see this type.”

“Can you change it or not?” Granger asked, trying hard to sound a touch vexed rather than frightened out of her wits.

“There’s a bank in London that normally handles this type of currency, you see. If you could go there?”

“But I’m not IN London, am I? I was hoping to change it here.”

“I’m sorry, miss. I don’t even know what the exchange rates for these are. It may take as long as a week to find out. If you’d like, we can open an account for you with these, and then see?”

No, Granger didn’t want to wait that long and couldn’t risk being traced through the money either.

“No, I’m afraid that won’t due.”

”I’m sorry, miss, but then I’m afraid we can’t be of any assistance.”

“Well, thank you for your time anyway.”

She scooped up the coins and walked out of the bank in what she hoped appeared as a bit of a huff. Outside, she quickly moved down the street and around a corner. Once out of sight of the bank, she stopped and leaned against a wall, one hand pressed against her heart. That was close. She imagined the manager on the phone talking to a dark shape. “Yes, it was her. I’m sure of it. She was right here just a moment ago, she can’t have gone far.” NO! Those thoughts led to panic and that would ruin her chances of getting back. Getting back to what? Never mind that for now. First things first, and the first thing she needed to do was to get herself some useful money. Walking further down the street, always keeping a mind on where the laundry was, she started looking in the shop windows for what she needed. She didn’t have to go far before she found it: three white globes hanging above a shop door, a pawnbrokers shop. A small sign in the corner of the window read: “We buy old jewelry and gold”.

She entered the shop. The little man behind the counter appeared in his forties; his thin gray hair was patchy with a large bald spot on the top of his head. His nose was pointed, his chin weak, and his skin pallid. He reminded her of a sickly rat and for some unknown reason, she didn’t trust him, not at all.

“May I help you? Looking to buy? A nice pair of earrings, perhaps? I have a nice set of antique...”

“I understand you buy gold here,” she interrupted him before he could go further.

“Why yes, we do." His attitude turned a bit colder. "Do you have any to sell?”

Granger reached into her pocket, took out a single coin, and placed it on the counter. Better to play it safe she thought to herself. The man’s eyes glittered momentarily at the sight of the coin. Be on your guard here, Granger, she thought to herself. He reached under his counter and brought up a small tray with several dropper bottles on it. Taking one of these, he placed a single drop of liquid on the surface of the coin and watched as it bubbled.

“It does seem to be gold,” he said quietly.

“18 karat, if memory serves me correctly.” Granger said. She didn’t know how she knew this but felt it was important to sound confident.

“Yes, about that.” Came the answer.

The fellow took the gold coin from the counter and placed it on a scale. He took up a small calculator and punched in some numbers.

“Its value is, let’s see now…” He consulted a table pinned to the wall showing the value of gold that day, bought and sold. “About 17 pounds, miss.”

“Actually, I think it’s a good deal more than that, according to your scale and that chart there.” She said pointing at the wall.

“But miss,” a bead of sweat appeared on the man’s nose, “the chart shows prices per Troy ounce…”

“Yes, I can read, thank you. And your scale reads in grams. As I recall, there are about 33 grams to the Troy ounce and that means, this coin is worth about,” she paused for a second to figure, “36 pounds odd, isn’t it?”

The man ducked his head and returned to his calculator.

“If you’d prefer, I’m sure I could sell this at any other gold dealer in town. There must be one fair shop about.”

“Miss! There’s no need to be cruel. I just made a mistake on the adding, that’s all. I’m sorry. You’re right, the total is 36 pounds 32 pence.”

“Very well, as long as I’m not being cheated.”

The man counted out a stack of notes and added a few coins on top. Before Granger could begin to pick up the money the gold coin had disappeared as if by magic.

“Anything else I can help you with?” The man’s tone was now unctuous. “More coins to sell, perhaps?”

“Not today, thank you. Maybe another time.”

“I’m here to serve.” The man said, “Pettigrew’s Brokers is open six days a week for your convenience.”

Granger walked out of the shop feeling flush. She had to resist the urge to rush out and spend it all. No, she needed to sort out her priorities and husband her money wisely. She would need some food; the small amount of food she had harvested from the bin wasn't going to keep her stomach quiet for much longer. She also needed more clothes, and if Abbey's reactions were any way to judge, she also needed to stay reasonably neat and clean. Finally, she needed a place to sleep, the abandoned cottage might due for one or two more nights but she would need better housing soon or she would have to move on. OK, so how best to use her money.

She wasn't particularly hungry right now so she decided to do some shopping. A quick trip through a discount store gave her the prices of clothing and even a single change of clothes would seriously deplete her small purse. She did make a few purchases, though, including some toiletries. With these items in hand she began to walk about the town. It felt a little strange, just walking, somehow she felt as if she should be darting about from shadow to shadow but she knew that that would just draw the type of attention she was trying to avoid.

She went a couple of blocks further then turned right, intending to circle about and end up back at the laundry. After 15 more minutes of window-shopping, Granger came to a churchyard, the old church was surrounded by a cemetery which was very old with gravestones cracked and fallen. Hurrying past, she didn’t know why but those graves gave her the willies, as if the markers were staring at her, she came to another row of shops. The first of these was a church thrift shop. She eagerly entered. It was filled mostly with second hand women’s clothing and baby items. The latter she didn’t need but she was keenly interested in the ladies clothes. Shopping carefully, she picked out a number of neat and serviceable garments. Asking if there was a changing room, she took her goods and tried them on. After about 30 minutes of searching and trying on, Granger had managed to find three changes of clothes that fit and looked presentable. In a bin of loose shoes and sandals near the checkout she even managed to find a pair of simple leather flats that fit well, her own tennis shoes left much to be desired. Now, considerably lighter in funds, which she kept tucked well inside the sling on her arm, but burdened with bundles of goods she left the shop and returned to the laundry.

* * *

As lunchtime grew nearer, the crowd of people in the Great Hall increased. Professor McGonagall waited until she felt that everyone was there and then raised her voice to be heard above the crush.

“Your attention, please! I have something I’d like to show you.” The crowd quickly grew quiet for her. “As you all know, Hogwarts lost some dear friends in the fight against the Dark Lord, our own Albus Dumbledore and Professor Severus Snape, the potions master, among them. I felt, and I am sure you all will agree, that these fine men deserve some sort of memorial here at the school where they served.”

There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd, although Harry felt sure that more than a few eyes crossed at the idea of Snape getting a monument. Minerva reached over and with a flourish drew away the sheets that covered one of the two objects that stood beside her. The silence that followed was crushing. Underneath the sheet was a life-size statue of Severus Snape made of solid obsidian. The black glass seemed to glow as if lit from within. Harry looked closer. The eyes; inside the eyes of the statue were flecks of silver that glowed and seemed to follow him as he moved. Harry noticed that there were highlights of silver showing within black robes as well.

“Excuse me, Potter.” The slick and oily voice made Harry jump. It sounded just like Snape. “Would you happen to know the password?”

“Errr… No, I wouldn’t.”

“Then I suggest you go back where you belong!”

Harry flushed, it was just like he was a student again and Snape had caught him skulking about where he shouldn’t be. The voice was spot on. Harry took a step backwards, not knowing how to react.

“An excellent likeness, I must say.” Said the headmistress.

Professor McGonagall was grinning widely. Looking about, Harry noticed that many people were holding back laughter and others were just standing with their mouths open.

“I thought the entrance to the Slytherin dormitories could do with a new guardian, and Severus would be an excellent role model for the students of that house to emulate.”

Harry blinked several times then broke into a grin himself.

“Remarkable, it nearly scared the wits out of me.”

“It will be installed this afternoon. And for the main entrance to the castle we have…”

She pulled the cover from the second shape and revealed a portrait. The gilt frame was nearly eight feet tall and four wide. It contained a smiling Albus Dumbledore, standing on the sloping grounds with the castle standing in the background.

“Greetings. Greetings to you all, and welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

The eyes twinkled as Dumbledore smiled down at the group. Applause erupted from behind him and Harry was swept away too, clapping as hard as he could to welcome the old Headmaster back. The applause continued for a long time before McGonagall raised her hands for silence.

“And now I suggest that you enjoy your lunch, afterwards we can finish up what work there is to be done and you can all return to your homes with my deepest gratitude.”

* * *

When Granger moved towards the back of the shop she noticed a young girl of about 10 sitting on a stool pouring over books spread out on one of the large tables used for folding laundry.

Abbey came around a corner and spoke. “Granger, this is my daughter Miranda. Miranda, this is my friend Granger.”

“How do you do, Miss Granger.” The girl said, sitting up from her work and looking Granger straight in the eye. They shook hands quite seriously and in a most grown-up fashion.

Abbey said, “I see you must have been successful at the bank.”

“Not really, the bank hadn’t seen any coins like them either,” came the reply, “but I did find a shop where they bought jewelry and the like, and I sold them one of the coins.”

“It must have been worth quite a lot,” said Abbey, her eyes going over the bags Granger held. One of them bore the logo of a very upscale department store.

“Oh, no. I bought most of this lot at a second hand shop a few streets over. Nothing fancy but it will keep me from getting arrested when I walking about.”

“Let’s see! Let’s see!” piped Miranda, her eyes glittering with curiosity.

Granger dutifully opened the bags and showed Abbey and her daughter the things she had gotten. Abbey smiled as she saw that the clothes were all practical and would serve Granger well.

“There are still a few things I need, however.” Granger added when the lot had been returned to the bags.

“Oh, and what’s that?” Abbey asked.

“A place to sleep, and a job so I can pay the rental.”

Abbey laughed a second at this. This girl certainly had a good head on her shoulders. Abbey wondered what kind of trouble had led her to her current state and how she had gotten into it. Oh well, she would talk in her own good time.

“Abbey, I hate to make more demands on you,” Granger said cautiously, “but would you possibly know of anywhere that needs some help. I’m a hard worker and I’ll do almost anything.”

“Actually,” said Abbey smiling, “I might just be able to point you towards both of your needs.”

“Really? Abbey, you’re an angel. I can’t believe how much you’ve done for me.”

“Well, don’t get too appreciative yet. You haven’t heard the details and…”

“The devil is in the details.” Both women said in unison. They laughed and Granger continued, “Great minds think alike. So, tell me.”

“Well, as far as a roof over your head, there is the Riddle House at the edge of the village. It’s a big old house and the new owners, I understand, are letting rooms. I don’t know what their rates are but there might be something there for you.”

“Great, maybe I could take a walk there this afternoon. I might have to sell a few more coins to pay the first and last, but that will give me time to find some work.”

“Yes, as to work. You know that anyone who hires you, legally, will need to see some identification for the taxes and withholdings?”

Granger frowned, she hadn’t thought of that. In her excitement she had forgotten that she didn’t belong here. She had no identification and didn’t even remember what her true name was. How would she work this out?

“Now, it just so happens,” Abbey broke in, “that I need some help around here. I can’t afford to out and out hire someone, the shop doesn’t make that much money.”

“I could help you out. You wouldn’t need to pay me, I owe you so much already.”

“No, Granger. You owe yourself and as a human being you carry a debt to the rest of humanity.” Abbey continued, “I could only afford to pay you a couple of pounds per hour and that would be off the record. No taxes nor forms, but no benefits either.”

Granger tried to think of what benefits she would need with a friend like Abbey. “What would I be doing?”

“Well, you would have to watch over the shop. Make sure people don’t come in and try to steal the clothes...” Abbey watched for Granger’s reaction to this and was pleasantly surprised when the girl giggled. “And I have a couple of accounts that need to be seen to. The Riddle House is one; they send the sheets and towels over to be laundered. And a few of the hair salons here about bring me their towels and such to clean. They need to be washed and folded. Then you need to watch the machines, that’s fairly simple, put “Out of Order” signs on them when they break, I’ll call in the repairman, clean out the lint traps on the dryers, mop the floors and the like.”

“I reckon I could handle that. That is, if you want me.”

“When can you start?”

“Is now too soon?” Granger laughed.

“In fact it is.” Abbey said with a feigned growl. “First you have to go over to the Riddle House and see if you can get a room.” Abbey smiled, “When you get back I’ll run you through some of the routine here before I go up and start Miranda’s and my dinner. You can work till closing.”

”Abbey, you ARE an angel!” And Granger leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Abbey blushed beneath her copper skin.

“Miranda, why don’t you go and point out the Riddle House to Granger then get back to your lessons.”

“Yes, mum.”

Miranda led her out to the sidewalk and pointed down the street.

“That’s it. The big house with the tower goin' up.”

Granger quailed a bit. It was the same old house where she had regained consciousness just yesterday. Could this be just a coincidence or did it mean something? Perhaps it would be best if she didn’t go there, maybe she had enough to buy a ticket out of town, maybe to London.

“Go on, it’s not tha’ far.” Miranda must have sensed her apprehension and mistaken it for concern over the walk. “I could go ask Mum if I could go with you if you like?”

“No, Miranda, that won’t be necessary. You get back to your studies. Schoolwork is important if you want to make the most of who you are.”

“Now your starting to sound like Mum.” Miranda said glumly as she turned back into the shop and Granger smiled at the young girl’s back.

Again screwing her nerves to the sticking point, Granger set off towards the Riddle House. Determined to meet her fears head on and not running away.

Actually, it went better than Granger had hoped. The Riddle House was basically a bed and breakfast sort of place, mostly for couples away on weekend holiday, but there were a few permanent residents. When Granger explained to the landlady, Mrs. Seward, that she needed just a simple room and that she was on a tight budget, Mrs. Seward had thought for a moment then told her that there was one room that might suit her needs. It was small, just a single bed, and at the top of house. That was the reason the rates were her lowest; few people wanted to face all those stairs, and she would have to share a common bath with other tenants. When Granger said these would be no problem, she was shown the room.

“It’s right under the attic” Mrs. Seward explained, “and of a time the wind blows through the chinks and makes a bit o’noise.”

“Oh, I’m sure that won’t bother me,” said Granger. “How much is it to let?”

“Well,” said Mrs. Seward pausing, “It would normally go for ten pounds a night, fifty for a week and two hundred monthly, and that includes breakfast.”

Granger hesitated then said that was a bit more than she could afford. After a few moments haggling it was decided. Granger agreed to pay one eighty per month, but no deposits and she would pay ten pounds each day at the start until the first month’s rent was done in full. Mrs. Seward reminded her that she would have to tidy her own room at that rate. A fresh set of sheets and two towels on Saturdays, if she needed more it would cost extra. Handing over her first ten pounds, Granger left the house fairly dancing.

Working at only two pounds an hour, Granger saw that almost half her wages would be going towards her room, but that included one meal, she reminded herself and Granger promised that she was going to get her money’s worth on that account. Whistling, she started the walk back to the laundry. As she passed the chip shop again, she decided on the spur that she would do something nice for Abbey and Miranda. Taking most of what was left of her money, she stopped and ordered three dinners to take away. The proprietor, the same greasy and unpleasant fellow who had frightened her so this morning, was much more pleasant this time and obviously didn’t recognize her. Granger smiled to herself, she must have been quite a sight indeed.

* * *

The pawnbroker sat, his frozen Shepherd’s Pie sitting uneaten in front of him, staring at the gold coin which lay gleaming on the shabby table, in the shabby kitchen, in the shabby apartment above the shabby shop. His eyes seemed glazed and any casual observer who be left wondering if he really saw the coin at all or did it just happen to be in the path of his vision which was focused miles, or was it years, away. His meditations were broken by a scratching sound that came from a window. Shaking his head, he turned towards the sound and to what, to any normal person, would be an unusual sight. Perched on the ledge outside his window was an owl, scratching at the glass to gain entrance.

“So, what's this now? Things just keep getting curiouser and curiouser.”

He opened the window to admit the owl. It landed on the back of a nearby chair and held out its leg upon which was tied a small piece of parchment.

top

Chapter 4 - The Hogwarts Express

Whenever Harry entered Diagon Alley he felt the same feelings that he had felt the very first time he came here. Hagrid had brought him here the first time to buy the things he would need for his first term at Hogwarts and when the bricks in the rear of the Leaky Cauldron opened to reveal the streets behind Harry had been swept away with feelings of excitement, of movement, of many strange and secret things going on right under the eyes of the muggle world beyond. His stomach had fluttered then with butterflies as he looked at the vendors selling things like mummified dragon's toes, or powdered rat spleens and it still fluttered today.

It was getting on towards suppertime and Harry had a few things to do before he could eat. His first stop was Gringotts, the wizard’s bank. Harry had inherited a small fortune when his parents had been killed and it lay in a vault miles under the city, watched over by the goblins of Gringotts. He entered the bank and walked up to an available goblin whose long nose pointed at him as he approached.

“Can I help you?” the goblin asked coldly.

“Yes, I need to take some money out of my vault,” Harry replied.

“Your name, please?”

“Potter, Harry Potter.”

Even the goblin’s eyes did the almost automatic flick to his forehead but there was no longer anything there to be seen.

“And do you have your key, Mr. Potter?”

Harry was about to withdraw his small golden key when another, evidently more senior, goblin came up behind the first. Harry recognized him; his name was Griphook.

“Mr. Potter. Here to make a withdrawal, I assume.”

“Yes, yes I am.”

Griphook spoke to the smaller goblin next to him. “Excellent. Hobtail, take Mr. Potter down to his vault and assist him.” Then turning back to Harry, “The deposits to your account have been proceeding nicely, Mr. Potter.”

“Deposits? What deposits?” Harry was confused, he rarely made deposits to his accounts, and in fact he couldn’t remember ever having made a single one.

“You have been receiving regular deposits, on a monthly basis, for almost a year now. There was none last month, but we assumed that you didn’t make it for obvious reasons.” At this Griphook raised one green eyebrow knowingly.

“How much have these deposits been for?” Harry was confused but he hoped it didn’t show.

“Well, the amounts vary but they have always been made on the 20^th day of the month. We assumed you were making them or at least authorizing them. Is there a problem?”

“No, no problem.” Harry stuttered, “I just didn’t think you kept that close an eye on your accounts.”

“Normally, we don’t but with the recent events we have been... extremely careful.”

During the final battle, Voldemort’s followers had attached several of the Gringotts branches. The Dark Lord himself had launched a raid on the main vaults in Egypt, which Dumbledore and the others had foiled, and another group of Deatheaters had tried to reach the underground vaults here in London but were stopped by Gringotts' own internal security. None of the London attackers had been recovered; the rumors were that they had been eaten.

Harry thought for a moment. If they were aware of deposits to his vault then perhaps they would know if Hermione has been taking money out of hers. If she has, then she’s OK and just doesn’t want to be found. If she hasn’t, then that was one more thing they could cross off their rapidly dwindling list of ideas.

“Hmmm, maybe there’s something else you can help me with.”

“What is that?”

“Well, could you tell me if there have been any withdrawals from the account of a Miss Hermione Granger?”

“Sir, we here at Gringotts hold our clients privacy very dear. It is strictly against our policy to reveal details of an account to anyone but the account holder.”

“But, I’m not looking for details. I only want to know if there has been any activity.”

“Excuse me?”

“You see, Hermione…Miss Granger went missing a week or so ago, while fighting Voldemort. She was injured and accidentally portkeyed somewhere and hasn’t been seen since. We have been trying to trace her whereabouts so that we can find out if she’s all right.”

“So why are you concerned about her accounts?”

“It’s simple you see, if she has withdrawn money from her account, or even if she has made a deposit, then we would know that she is alive and well.”

“So, you aren’t inquiring as to the balance of her accounts with us?”

“Oh, heavens no. I don’t care about how much she has, only if she has used her accounts recently and, if she has, perhaps at what branch so that we can narrow our search for her.”

“Well, that is a different matter. I’ll bring it up to the manager while you’re traveling to your vault. I may even have an answer for you by the time you return.”

With this Griphook departed and Harry was led to the underground railway that in turn led to the vaults below. The rail ride down through the underground caverns beneath London was something tfor which any amusement park owner would give his teeth. Full of hairpin turns and precipitous drops that left your stomach behind. Harry knew from experience that it was best to face it before eating. When the cart finally came to a stop in front of his vault, Harry was dizzy and needed a moment before he could stand.

“Key, sir.” The goblin’s voice was crisp and he seemed totally unaffected by the journey.

“Here it is.” Harry said, shakily gaining his feet and worrying that he might fall when he tried to get out of the cart.

The goblin took Harry’s key and opened the vault. This gave Harry a few extra seconds to regain his equilibrium and walk without falling on his face. The heaps of gold, silver and bronze coins that Harry remembered were still piled there, but in front of them were newer and smaller piles, mostly of silver Sickles. Harry didn’t know how much there was nor where they came from. He skirted around these piles and scooped a quantity of Galleons into a leather pouch and left the vault again. Looking over his shoulder he watched Hobtail close the vault and they were off again. The trip back up to the surface was no less harrowing than the trip down but at least it ended in sunlight. Leaving the cart Harry again encountered the goblin Griphook.

“So, can you tell me anything?” Harry asked impatiently.

“Sir, under normal circumstances, no I could not, however, given the extenuating nature of your inquiry and the extraordinary services you have recently performed, we will make a small exception to the rules. I can tell you that Miss Granger’s accounts with Gringotts Bank have not seen any activity, either deposits or withdrawals, for approximately 32 days.”

Harry frowned, “Well, thank you for the information.” They say that no news is good news but in this case Harry wasn’t so sure.

“I hope it was helpful.”

“Only in that we can cross off another possibility of how we can find her.”

“Well, good luck to you, Mr. Potter. If we can be of any further service, please let us know.”

Harry left the bank and walked down the street towards Madam Malkin’s Robes for all Occasions. He needed some new robes if he was going to be teaching this year. As he walked he passed Quality Quidditch Supplies and noticed a crowd gathered around the window.

“Oh no, they took it out of the window!” said one young man of about 16.

“Ya think they SOLD it?” came the reply from one of his companions.

"Looks tha’ way don’ it.”

“Who could afford it? It was one o' the first ever! It must have cost a fortune!”

Nosing his way through the crowd, Harry looked into the window and saw an empty display stand. At the base of the now vacant stand was a small placard that announced:

Introducing the new CYCLONE!

The Absolute Latest in International Grade Brooms!

Price upon request.

Harry's broom, a Firebolt, had been the latest and greatest broom when he had gotten it five years earlier. A surprise gift from his godfather, Sirius Black, it had caused quite a stir at Hogwarts when it arrived. He wondered what this new Cyclone was like and who would be the first one at Hogwarts to get one. Maybe he should go inside and see what the price was? Whatever it was he could afford it and he did need a new broom didn't he? After this past year his Firebolt was definitely a little worse for wear. He hadn't even seen it for over a week; Ron had borrowed it to go searching for Hermione. No, Harry thought, he didn't need a new broom, the Firebolt was just fine, all it needed was a little maintenance, maybe some new twigs for the tail. He didn't even know what this Cyclone looked like anyway, so Harry turned and continued on his errand to get some new robes.

After spending nearly half an hour with Madam Malkin, Harry decided to head back to The Leaky Cauldron for some supper. He hadn’t taken but a half dozen steps when something bounced off of the back of his head. Harry turned about to look but didn’t see anyone paying any particular attention to him. On the ground he saw a crumpled piece of parchment. He bent to pick it up, it was a sheet from the Daily Prophet and just as he began to uncrumple it to see if anything was written there another bounced off his head. Harry whirled around again but saw nothing except a few passersby. A third wad struck his head and Harry now noticed that a few of the people on the street were pointing at him and smiling behind their hands. Quickly, Harry ducked into a narrow alley between two buildings and sprinted to the end.

Drawing his wand, he turned to face the entrance to the alley he said, “Accio.”

A soft shimmering cloud of fabric flew through the air and draped itself over Harry’s arm. Standing in front of him, with another crumpled wad of paper in his hand and a wide grin on his face, was Ron Weasley.

“Why, you…” Harry started but then he burst out laughing, Ron laughed too and the two embraced fiercely.

“So, now that I have my cloak back,” Harry asked, “where’s my Firebolt?”

“I dropped it off at the Quidditch shop for a bit of a tune up. We have been flying it rather hard lately.” Ron noted ruefully. “It should be ready to go tomorrow morning.”

“Great! I have to go to King’s Cross tomorrow. We can meet there.” At Ron’s quizzical look he continued, “McGonagall asked me to meet a new professor and her daughter there and make sure they get on the train to Hogwarts.”

“My, don’t you have an exciting job! Maybe after this you can be the doorman for the Great Hall!” Ron jibed.

“Hey!” Harry responded, “I’m an assistant instructor at Hogwarts now, so you mind yourself or I’ll use you as a class exercise. And I wouldn’t talk if I were you, what kind of a job could a git like you get? Does the Knight Bus need a new conductor?”

The two friends laughed and continued back to the Leaky Cauldron. Over supper they joked together, just like they were back in school. Talking of nothing more important than Quidditch and England’s abysmal showing in the World Cup, like that was anything new, England hadn’t fielded a decent team for the Cup in almost ten years, and the two sat renewing themselves until long after midnight. Finally, just as they were about to go to bed, Ron turned to Harry, his face lined with sorrow.

"I can't find her, Harry. I've looked everywhere I could think of and I just can't find her."

Harry bumped shoulders with his best friend and said, "Yeah, I know."

"What am I going to do?"

"Tell you what. Tomorrow we'll sit down and work out a plan. We'll have the whole trip up to Hogwarts to figure something out."

Ron's head went down in a nod but didn't rise again and the two men trod up the stairs to their rooms.

The next morning, after breakfast and asking Tom, the proprietor of the Leaky Cauldron, to wrap up a few sandwiches for the train ride, they were getting a bit old to dine on Chocolate Frogs and pumpkin pasties the entire long trip, they split up again, Ron to go to pick up the Firebolt and Harry to the station to make sure he didn’t miss Professor Stevens.

The train to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Hogwarts Express, departed from platform 9 ¾ at 11 am. The way to gain access to the platform was to walk right at the barrier between tracks 9 and 10. If you belonged on that track you would pass through the solid wall and arrive on the platform, if you didn’t you would bump your nose and look ridiculous. Harry stood off to one side, watching as the people walked past. Occasionally he would see a wizarding family, they always looked slightly out of place in the muggle world, with a son or daughter pushing a trolley loaded down with a trunk and other things walking past and before he could look twice they would be gone, passed through the barrier. No one but him seemed to notice that whole families were disappearing and he often wondered if the muggles saw it happening at all.

Harry had been standing there, leaning on a railing, for two hours and there was no sign of the new professor or her daughter. He was getting rather bored when he noticed the muggle girl. She was leaning against a pillar about 50 feet from him and seemed to be waiting for someone also. She wore a form fitting t-shirt, and Harry saw she had quite a form to fit, above a pair of low-slung blue jeans. She had gorgeous red hair that seemed to flow in waves to just past her shoulders. She was reading a magazine closely so Harry couldn’t see her eyes. She just seemed so… so right somehow. She struck Harry like a thunderbolt. Gone were thoughts of Professor Stevens and her daughter, Harry stopped looking for them. He just stared at this girl. She stood there casually, hips cocked to one side, reading and waiting. Harry wanted to get a closer look but was afraid. She might think he was some kind of weirdo and leave, and Harry definitely didn’t want that. He just stared at her and as she stood there Harry’s chest began to swell. He could feel his pulse in his ears and his breath came shallower. Maybe she would turn and notice him? He wished she would. Maybe even come over and strike up a conversation. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and lowered her magazine. She would see him staring! Flushing, Harry quickly stooped and began to fidget with the laces of one of his shoes. Glancing up through his unkempt bangs he managed to see that she was still looking in his direction. Harry stood and turned away as if reading some notices posted on the wall. He could feel her looking at him but didn’t dare turn back to meet her gaze. What would he say? “Hi, you don’t know me but I think you’re beautiful.” Yeah, would that sound brilliant. So he just stood there and said nothing. Finally, he turned back towards her and saw that she had resumed her earlier pose of leaning against the pillar and reading, so Harry resumed his posture of just looking. Every time she would seem about to turn her head Harry would look away. He felt a little silly and didn’t know why he was doing this but he couldn’t stop himself. He just had to watch her.

“Oi, Harry! You awake there?” Harry jumped so at the sound of Ron’s voice that he almost crashed into the wall.

“Oh, Ron, it’s you.” Harry managed to stammer.

“Yeah, it’s me. You’ll never guess what happened when I went to pick up your Firebolt! The manager of Quality Quidditch had one of the new Cyclones…” Ron stopped mid-sentence. “Harry, you there?”

Harry quickly turned back to Ron; he had been looking at the girl again. “Yeah, I’m here. You got my Firebolt.”

“Well as I was saying, he had a Cyclone and somebody had put a deposit on it then backed out, decided he couldn’t afford it.” Harry had turned away again so Ron thumped him on the shoulder.

“Ouch! Wha’ cha do that for?”

“What’re ya staring at anyway?”

“Sssh, she’ll hear you.” Harry said franticly.

“She who?”

“Hush” he whispered sharply. “That girl over there, the muggle.”

Ron looked where Harry had indicated, the girl started to turn her head and Harry ducked away to avoid making eye contact.

“Her? You don’t mean…”

“Yes, her and will you keep your voice down. I don’t want her to hear.”

“Hear what?” Ron plainly didn’t understand. “Don’t tell me you don’t recognize…”

“HUSH! You’ll frighten her away.”

“Harry, if you haven’t already scared her off, I don’t think I could.”

“Just look at her.” Harry said. “Just look. Isn’t she just everything you could want? I mean really.”

“Not quite my type actually, but if you want to meet her, I’ll go and arrange an introduction…” Ron made as if to walk over to the girl and Harry nearly panicked.

“DON”T!” He hissed, “D’you want her to think I’m crazy?”

“Think you’re crazy? Mate, you ARE crazy. Some people may think you’re a great wizard Harry but, ya know, sometimes you can be a right perfect git!”

“Yeah right.” Harry took Ron by the shoulder and steered him so that he screened the girl’s view of Harry. “Now just stand still.”

“What are you supposed to be doing here anyway?” Ron asked.

“I’m waiting for the new American professor. She should be here any minute.”

“Or sooner.” Ron pointed somewhere behind Harry.

Harry turned around and there indeed, walking along the platform was a tall woman pushing a laden trolley and holding a piece of parchment in her hand. Harry flushed slightly and went to speak to her.

“Excuse me, are you Professor Stevens?” The woman smiled and nodded. “I was sent from Hogwarts to make sure you were able to find the platform. I’m Harry Potter, an assistant instructor, but you can call me Harry.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She extended a hand to Harry; he was pleased to note that she didn’t look for the scar. “And please, call me Tabitha.”

They shook hands, her grasp was firm, and Harry turned towards Ron. “Let me introduce you to a friend of mine. This is Ron Weasley.”

“Weasley? Are you the son of Arthur Weasley?”

“Just one of many I’m afraid.” Ron also shook hands. “It’s a pleasure Professor. Do you know my father?”

“Not personally, no, but I’ve heard many good things about him and I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

“Well, you will tonight, he’ll be at the Welcoming Feast. I thought your were going to be bringing your daughter along?”

“I am. She ought to be around here somewhere.” She turned and looked over her shoulder. “Sam, could you catch up for a moment.”

Now, Professor Stevens was tall and slim with hair that sandy blonde color that just seemed so typically American, so Harry assumed her daughter would be of similar appearance. He was wrong. The girl that was walking towards them, although of average height and trim build, looked nothing like her mother. She had painfully straight, flat black hair framing a pallid face with rings of black mascara around her eyes. She wore a heavy steel chain, like a dog collar around her neck and more chains wound around each wrist. Her dress was likewise black, like some Victorian mourning gown, and she covered it with a black leather motorcycle jacket. Her outfit ended with black hose and clunky black leather boots.

“You called, mother.” The voice fairly dripped with teenage sarcasm.

“Yes, dear,” said the professor without the slightest hint that her daughter looked anything other than perfectly normal, “I’d like you to meet Misters Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.”

Harry reached out his hand but the girl just leaned in and stared.

“Where’s the scar?”

“Sam!”

“Don’t worry, Professor, I get that all the time.” Harry pushed his hair up off of his forehead. “Sorry, the scar’s gone. See?”

“Too bad, it must’ve been bitchin'.”

“SAM!”

“Sorry, mother” she said in a tone that told the world she was anything but.

“Harry, you’ll have to forgive my daughter. She’s…”

“That’s quite all right, Professor. But I have to say, your daughter is not exactly what I expected.”

“I’m right here, you know. I’d appreciate it if you two wouldn’t talk about me like I’m not.”

“All right then,” said Ron, “why exactly do you dress like that? It can’t be comfortable.”

“It’s not supposed to be. It’s Goth.”

“Goth?”

Professor Stevens interrupted, “Goth, as in gothic. It’s a style of dress for mortal teenagers who are, shall we say, preoccupied with the gothic myths of how witches dress and behave.”

“I’ve never known any witches who dressed like that,” said Ron, still confused, “…mortal teenagers?”

“Not magical, here in England I think you call them muggles,” said Sam.

“So, wait a sec… You’re a witch, right? I mean a real witch.”

“Duhh.”

“But you dress like a muggle trying to look like what she thinks real witches looked like a hundred years ago?” Ron’s confusion was complete now.

“Yeah”

“Tha’s daft.”

“I take it irony is not your strong suit.”

“Sam, be polite at least if you can’t be nice.”

Sam looked at her mother, tilted her head in an attitude that screamed “what-everrrr” and turned away.

“McGonagall’s just going to love her.” Ron said shaking his head.

Looking at the expressions on the faces around him, Harry couldn’t help but smile. “I dunno, I kind of look forward to it. Won’t be boring, at least.”

Tabitha Stevens smiled back. “Just wait, you’ll be the parents of teenagers yourselves one day. Now, how DO we find this platform 9 ¾?”

After getting the professor and her daughter to the platform and loaded onto the train, and gathering quite a few stares along the way, Harry and Ron found a compartment to themselves in the first car. Harry tossed his bundles on the seat next to him while Ron lifted the his bundle onto the overhead rack. It was about 5 feet long and a foot in diameter.

“Its that the Firebolt?” Harry asked.

“That and more.” Came the response.

“More? What more?”

“Like I was trying to tell ya in the station, ya’ll never guess what happened when I went to pick up yer broom.”

“What?”

“Aren’t ya goin’ t’guess?”

“You just said I couldn’t.”

“No, I said you wouldn’t. Anyways, the manager there had a Cyclone! One of the first ones made. Somebody had put a deposit on it when they were first announced but when it came in he decided he couldn’t afford it and backed out of the deal. Manager was plenty miffed, I tell you. So anyway, I come in as he’s just about to put it back in the window and I ask if I can look at it. It’s bloody gorgeous, I mean! Anyway, he’s so miffed that he asks if we could make a deal on it.”

“Can you afford a broom like that?” Harry asked, almost afraid to brooch the subject knowing how sensitive Ron was about his family's finances.

“NO WAY! But I says, what kind of a deal are you talking about?” Ron’s face split into a grin that reminded Harry of nothing so much as the look the Weasley twins, Fred and George, would get when they were planning a particularly nasty prank.

“And he says that he’s keepin’ the deposit that prat left on the broom and would give me a discount.” Harry didn’t like the way this was sounding. “He didn’t want to put it back in the window, just in case the other buyer came ‘round again. Wanted it to look like customers were fighting over it and he just missed out.”

“But still, it must have been really expensive and you don’t have a job yet, do you?”

“Well, not a REGULAR job, but I am earning a bit o’ money. While I was searching ‘round the Beauxbatons castle, I came up on Avery Oglethorpe hidin’ in the forest, he was a Deatheater and I stunned him and turned him over to the French ministry. Guess what? They’re paying a bounty for any Deatheaters captured and turned over to them! I got a hundred Galleons for Oglethorpe! So, I tells the manager I’m a free-lance Auror. Well, he’s all sorts of impressed, especially when he hears my name, and he makes me an offer. I don’t have to pay the whole price up front. Instead I give him a partial payment now and a little each month until the broom’s all payed for. AND I get to take it with me. I figure he’s got to be real pissed at that other guy or he’d never make an offer like that and I’d better strike while the iron’s hot. So we make the deal and now I got myself a genuine Cyclone!”

Alarm bells were ringing in Harry’s head but he didn’t want to squash Ron’s excitement. “So, what’s this Cyclone look like?”

“It’s a beauty! But not here, tomorrow’s Saturday, no classes, so I’ll tell ya what, I’ll meet ya on the Quidditch pitch after breakfast and we’ll shake it out. See how it matches up against the Firebolt.”

“All right, it’s a date." Harry said. He looked at Ron and within a heartbeat they both knew it was time to pick up their other topic. "Now, how are we going to find Hermione?”

All business now, Ron sat down and told Harry how he had backtracked Voldemort and searched all of the places they had been. InFrance he had found Oglethorpe but couldn’t get any information out of him. InEgypt, the Gringotts people had been extremely helpful, especially so since Bill had been with him, but there was no trace of Hermione. InMongolia, likewise, there was no sign of her, or in Romania. Harry noticed that Ron hesitated a bit when he talked about Romania, that was where Charlie had been killed.

“Did you find any other Deatheaters there?” Harry asked.

“No, but then I wasn’t looking for any.”

“Well, maybe we ought to go back there and look. If we find one, maybe they'll know something.”

“But what if they don’t? Where do we go from here? I mean, it’s been almost two full weeks now. If she were alive don’t ya think she would have gotten in touch somehow?”

“Unless, she couldn’t.” Harry answered. “Maybe she portkeyed to some secret place and was captured by Deatheaters.”

“Hmm, I hadn’t thought about that.” Ron said glumly, but then he suddenly brightened, not at the idea of Hermione being held prisoner, but with hope that she could still be alive. “That might be the answer, she was captured and she's being held somewheres." Ron seemed to find renewed energy in this thought. "Besides the more Deatheaters I find, the faster I can pay off the Cyclone. But where is their hideout?”

“That’s the question.” Harry thought for a moment and then remembered how Arthur Weasley had equated the battle with Voldemort to a game of Wizard’s Chess. Ron was the best chess player Harry knew. “Let’s look at this like a chess game. We know the moves that Voldemort made, now we have to figure out what moves he planned but hadn’t made yet.”

Harry and Ron were deeply engrossed in talking, their heads bent low over a map of Europe covered with lines and circles, when the door to their compartment opened.

“There you two are! I’ve been searching the whole train for you.” It was Ginny Weasley; Ron’s younger and only sister.

Ron looked up. “Oh, hullo Ginny," he said with a wide grin on his face. “Harry, aren’t you going to say hello too?”

Harry straightened, “Huh? Hello, Gin…” The words died in Harry’s mouth as he turned and looked towards the door. It was HER. It was the muggle girl from King’s Cross. It was… She was… GINNY! There was an audible clunk as Harry’s jaw dropped to the floor.

Ginny Weasley stood framed in the door of their compartment, one hand on the jam and the other on her hip, staring at the two of them. Harry saw the sun glinting off the gold in her hair and wondered if hair really could look like that or was it an enchantment. Ron looked about to burst from trying not to laugh and Harry just stared with his mouth open.

“So… Ginny…” Ron said as he tried to take a full breath without choking. “What were you doing in King’s Cross dressed as a muggle?”

“If you must know, Dad asked me to keep an eye on things. To make sure nothing funny happened.” She shot Harry an inquiring look. “Harry? Are you ill?”

Harry couldn’t speak. Every time he tried his mouth would just sort of hang open and it would take him a couple of seconds to get it to close again.

“Something funny happened all right.” Ron said with a snort. “You just missed it.”

Harry tried to swipe a hand at Ron but since he couldn’t take his eyes off Ginny standing in the doorway, he missed.

“You look nice in muggle clothes, Gin. Doesn’t she Harry?”

“Well, mixing with muggles IS a part of my job, you know. Harry... Harry! Say something!”

Harry’s jaw just worked soundlessly as he continued to stare. Ron began to snort as the strain of holding in the laughter built up in him.

“Say something! ANYTHING!” Finally she snapped, “Gawd! You both are just impossible! You know, sometimes the two of you can be a pair of right perfect gits!” and she slammed the compartment door on them.

With Ginny gone, Harry regained some of his senses.

“Why didn’t you tell me that was Ginny at the station? You let me make a fool out of myself.”

“I didn’t let you Harry, you charged off in that direction all on your own,” Ron said. He had both arms wrapped around his stomach to keep in under control.

“That was Ginny. GINNY! When did she start looking like that?”

Ron couldn't take it anymore. He let go of his stomach and dissolved into a fit of laughter.

“What are YOU laughing at?” Harry screeched.

When he could catch his breath, Ron replied, “Stick a fork in you, mate. You're done!”

top

Chapter 5 - Sorting Things Out

The Hogwarts Sorting Ceremony and Start of Term Feast was always exciting. The newly arrived first years were brought across the lake in small boats and led into the Great Hall. Once there, they were paraded before the entire school population and sorted into one of the four houses, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw or Slytherin, where they would live for the next seven years. There was always great debate among the houses about who would get the most new students and who would get the best. There was great fanfare and much applause as each was sorted. Professor Sprout, the Herbology Master and head of Hufflepuff House, would call the names, one at a time, and the new student would come forward, sit on a tall, rickety, three-legged stool and the Sorting Hat would be placed on his or her head. The hat, created by the four founders of Hogwarts to judge which of their houses the student was best suited for, would examine the heart and mind of each and announce through a slit-like mouth the name of the student’s new home. This year, however, there were a number of transfer students who would need to be sorted as well. Many came from the ruined school of Beauxbatons, students who had followed their Headmistress, Madam Maxime, to Hogwarts, and most of these were sorted into Ravenclaw House. The line of new faces slowly dwindled until Professor Sprout finally called out “Samantha Stevens”. When Sam stepped up to the stool to put on the Sorting Hat, still wearing her leather jacket and chains, the room got oddly quiet and more than a few students stood to get a better look. When the hat called out “Gryffindor” there was more applause than usual and Harry noticed that most of it came from the other three houses. At last all the new students were sorted and Headmistress McGonagall rose to speak.

“Welcome, all of you, to the start of another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It feels strange, I know, to be coming back with so much different and so many missing, but we must carry on and it is up to you, who are the future, to do just that. I know that you will all do your best.

“We are all anxious to begin our dinner, but we have some new faculty members and distinguished guests that need to be introduced. First, let me introduce all of you to Madam Maxime, our new Potions Mistress.” To a one, the former Beauxbatons students jumped to their feet and began to applaud. They didn’t stop until Madam Maxime rose, her head brushing the draperies that hung from the ceiling, and acknowledged them. “Madam Maxime has graciously agreed to come to Hogwarts to teach until Beauxbatons can be rebuilt. I would also like to introduce to you Professor Stevens who has come from the Salem Witch’s Institute to be our new Transfiguration instructor. Returning to Hogwarts after a brief absence is Professor Lupin, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and last but not at all least, Professor Ali ban Fez, who will be teaching us all the History of Magic.

“We also have many distinguished guests with us tonight and it gives me great pleasure to introduce one of them to you, our new Minister of Magic, Arthur Weasley.”

There was a loud round of applause, this time especially from the Gryffindor table, as both Minister and Mrs. Weasley were alumni of Gryffindor, as well as all seven of their children. Harry was delighted, he hadn’t heard that Ron’s father was to be the new Minister but he couldn’t think of anyone who would be a better choice. He looked at the table where the Weasleys were all sitting and saw them beaming with pride. Arthur Weasley rose and addressed the hall.

“Thank you, Headmistress McGonagall, and thank you all. I know as the Minister of Magic, I am expected to make a speech now, a very long and boring speech, and I do have one prepared.” He removed a scroll of parchment from his robes and let it unroll down beneath the table and to the floor. “But, believe it or not, many years ago I too was a student here at Hogwarts and I know how you all are looking forward to the Welcoming Feast after that long train ride, and so I will forego my speech until later,” at this he smiled and winked down at his wife, “after you’ve all finished and gone to bed.”

As the minister sat down the platters filled with mounds of food. The students immediately began to tuck in. There were chops, and meat pies, and roasts, with tureens of vegetables and roasted potatoes. The kitchens were doing their best to prove that the recent construction had not impeded their ability to cook. Harry didn’t taste any of it. He mindlessly ladled a bit of whatever was in front of him on to his plate and toyed at it with his fork. What he was concentrating on were the Weasleys, more specifically Ginny Weasley. She was wearing standard wizard robes now, and her hair was tied back into a ponytail. She looked like the Ginny that Harry was used to. He remembered how she appeared in King’s Cross and sat trying to reconcile the two images. What did it mean, that she had affected him so when he didn’t know who she was? Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe he was just bored and when he saw her he just reacted that way as something to do to pass the time. How could he have recognized her anyway, dressed the way she was? On the train, it was just the shock of seeing that it was Ginny all along. That’s all it was, shock, nothing else. That was it. Harry relaxed a bit and managed to finish his dinner. He only stuck himself once. Poked himself in the cheek with his fork. His own fault really, he should have been watching what he was doing instead of looking at the Weasleys.

Finally, after almost two hours of eating, things began to wind down. Dinner was finished and the students began to wander slowly out to their dormitories to go to bed. The prefects gathered up the first years and lead them away. Harry stood up and walked over to where the Weasleys sat together.

Harry cleared his throat, “Ginny, uhh, can I talk to you for a moment?” He saw Ron and the twins snigger and lean their heads together to talk, but Ginny stood up and followed Harry a few steps away from the table.

“Yes, Harry?”

“I, uh..” Harry looked at her as she stood there. Her face calm and composed, without a hint of mocking. “I just wanted to...to say I’m sorry for being such a twit on the train.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, you know. After not recognizing you at the station and all. I was just kind of caught off guard.” Harry found he couldn’t look her in the face. It was her eyes; they were bright brown, with flecks of gold in them, the same gold color as the highlights of her hair. When he looked at them he just sort of stopped. He stopped talking, stopped thinking, just stopped and got pulled into her eyes. Harry dropped his eyes and stared at the floor.

“You were caught off guard?”

“Oh, ya know what I mean. If I had known it was just you...”

“JUST me! What is THAT supposed to mean?”

“Just you, that’s all. Nobody special...”

“So, I’m nobody special, am I?”

“Aw, Gin, come on, you know what I mean.”

“I know exactly what you mean, MR. POTTER”

She whirled about and grabbed a parcel off of the table where she had been sitting. Turning back, she slapped it into Harry’s chest and said, “THERE, Happy Birthday! I haven’t had a chance to give it to you before this!” She then stomped out of the room and left Harry standing there like a fool. Again.

Harry blushed and looked at the rest of the Weasleys sitting at the table. Mr. Weasley was smiling. Molly was gathering her things, evidently to follow Ginny. Percy was dumbstruck while Ron, Fred and George were in hysterics. Harry turned from face to face until he saw Bill, who just shook his head and said, “Bad move, Bro. Bad move.”

Harry left quickly and made his way back up to his room. He avoided the sitting room where there was a cot for Ron to sleep in and went straight to bed. He pulled the curtains tight and just sat there with Ginny’s parcel in his lap. He didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know why Ginny got so angry when all he did was try to apologize. He didn’t know why everyone else was laughing at him. Most of all, he didn’t know why he couldn’t get the image of Ginny, standing in King’s Cross Station, out of his mind. Slowly, he untied the string and removed the brown paper that wrapped the present Ginny had given him. Inside was an album. He opened it and began to look at the pictures. It was a scrapbook of his years at Hogwarts. There were pictures of Harry knocking about with Ron and Hermione, playing Quidditch, holding up the House Cup, there were even pictures taken during the Triwizard Tournament his fourth year. All seven years he had spent here were documented in pictures that Harry didn’t even know existed. How did she get all these?

Harry flipped through the pictures and watched himself grow through his teenage years and smiled. Then he flipped through again, looking at Ron’s images grow from being a young boy to adulthood. Next, he watched as Hermione grew up in the pictures. On the first page she was just a little girl of 11 and by the last page she had grown into a young woman. Harry wondered, not for the first time, if Hermione was still alive. He had tried to give Ron encouragement and hope but inside he felt none. It had been two weeks and there was no word from her. If she were alive she would have contacted them. If she had been taken prisoner then what reason would Deatheaters, on the run themselves, have to keep her alive? He didn’t want to think she was dead but what alternative was there?

Finally, to break this dismal train of thought, he concentrated on the pictures of Ginny. Here was one taken in her first year, she was standing on the steps to the entrance of the castle, her hair in pigtails, smiling and waving at the camera. Her robes were new, being the only girl in the family there were no clothes to be handed down to her, but the books she was carrying were worn and mended with Spell-o-tape along the bindings. This was Ginny as Harry thought of her, Ron’s younger sister, just a kid. He flipped through the book looking for more images of Ginny. Here in her second year, there in her third, but rather then staying the little girl Harry saw in the first photo, she grew too. Harry watched as she grew taller, as she grew into a woman. Harry closed the book and sat with it on his lap thinking. He looked down at the back cover and saw that it too was a photo. It was an image of the castle with the sun setting behind it. Harry could see the lake on one side and small waves blown by the wind traveling across it. As he looked, someone appeared from the distant castle and began to walk towards the camera. As the image grew in size Harry saw that it was Ginny. Ginny as she was today, no longer a girl. She walked until she stood right in the center of the shot and unrolled a sign. It read: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARRY! love, Ginny.

* * *

Granger waved at Abbey through the glass door and began her walk home. Her steps were light and she felt as happy as she could imagine anyone being. It had been a good night and lately they all had been good nights. Abbey and Miranda had brought their dinner down to the shop to share with her, they had been doing that quite frequently lately and she really enjoyed their company. Granger and Abbey had spent the evening folding sheets and towels while Miranda watched the telly and told them all about her day at school. Things had been going so well this past week that Granger hardly felt the tug of her past at all anymore, whatever it was. She was happy here and felt content to leave things just the way they were.

She reached the Riddle House and quietly began to climb the steps to her room, it was almost 10:30 and she didn’t want to disturb anyone. The small room at the top of the stairs had become her home. She had added a couple of small vases that she kept filled with flowers from the garden and a clock-radio. She entered, hung up her clothes and climbed into bed. Soon she was asleep and snoring lightly.

A strange feeling brought her awake some time later. Her room was dark, the curtained windows allowing neither moon nor starlight to shine in. She felt a cold draft as if someone had opened a door; it raised goose bumps on her arms and had her reaching for the covers.

“Who’s there?” she said into the dark. No answer. She looked at her clock to see the time but the blinking numbers 12:00 told her there had been an outage.

“Maybe that’s what woke me up,” she said.

“I don’ think so.”

Afraid, she sat up in bed, the bedclothes clutched tightly.

“Who’s THERE?” she said again.

“A better question would be: Who’s there?”

“What do you mean? I’m here.”

“But who are you?”

Granger scrambled and flicked on the bedside lamp. She looked around her small room and saw him. He was sitting in an old rocker, the only chair in the room. At first glance he looked harmless enough, he was old, old enough to be her grandfather, and sat with a sturdy cane across his knees but as Granger looked closer, he seemed indistinct, as if he wasn’t quite in focus.

“Alright now, who are you and what are you doing here?” she asked, somewhat less afraid now that she could see.

“Who I am is not important, but as I said afore, who are you, Hermione?”

“That’s not my name! I don’t want to be her anymore.”

“Do ya have a choice?”

She had no answer so the old man continued, “Com’ on. Let’s go fer a walk.”

“I have no intention of going anywhere with...”

Granger found herself standing, standing outside with the wind blowing her hair. She looked around and saw she was in a graveyard.

“Where are you?” she cried, she didn’t like being here. The moon caused nothing more than a pallid glow in one small patch of the gray clouds that filled the sky. The air was heavy and smelled of impending rain. The wind caused the leaves on the trees to rustle like the voices of things unseen. “Where are you?” she repeated, frightened and near tears.

“I’m right ‘ere.” came the voice calmly. The old man was standing a few graves away from her, leaning heavily on his cane. Granger made her way over. The gravestone was large and ornate; it was two crossed cannons carved from granite, a plaque below read: “LnCpl Frank Bryce VC, 3^rd Highland Fusiliers, the brave are never forgotten”. Granger noted from the dates that he had died 5 years ago.

“So, you’re a ghost.”

“I guess ya could say ’at.”

“Your family must have loved you very much.”

“I’ve no family.”

“Well, then the town must have been very proud of you to erect such a great stone.”

She looked up but the old man was gone. Instead there stood a man much younger, no older than Granger was now she guessed. He had light hair and was wearing the Army dress uniform of a Lance Corporal, there was a small cross hung from a scarlet ribbon on his chest. Gone also was the cane, the young man stood erect but limped badly as he turned and walked away.

“Aye, proud enough to dump me in a pauper’s grave as quick as they could.”

“But this...” Granger pointed back at the large stone as she followed.

“When they ‘eard that I died, some o' the lads from my old regiment came to play the pipes o'er me. When they found what the town's folk had done there was a right row, I'll tell ya.” The ghost grinned at this but there was nothing pleasant in the look of it. “The lads raised the money for this stone themselves. The telly folks even did a story on it, forced the town to dig me up, they did, and bury me proper here in the churchyard."

Granger looked at her companion; he had changed back into the old man. He stood now looking at another grave. The stone here had once been a tall obelisk but it had been shattered, with the base sticking less than two feet up from the ground. The only part of the inscription left read: “...iddle”.

"Looks like this stone was struck by lightning." Granger said.

"Not hardly. ‘At was done by a friend o’ yours."

"Who?"

"You know who," came the reply.

"That doesn't matter." Granger said with a shiver. "It's over. If it wasn't we wouldn’t be standing here."

"Aye, it's over fer now, but not fer good."

"What do you mean?"

"Ya know anything about starfish?"

"Do you ever give a straight answer?"

The ghost just looked at her. Granger returned his stare for a moment, but only for a moment.

"Starfish are Echinoderms, a carnivorous marine invertebrate."

Aye, I guess that’s true enough, but what happens when you cut ‘em up?"

"What?"

"Say ya take a starfish and chop it into pieces. Ya burn most o’ it but ya throw one piece back inna the sea. Wha' appens?"

"It regenerates. It grows into a new starfish."

"That it does lass, that it does. And that's why ya got t’ go back."

"But I don't want to. I don't like to fight."

"You don like fightin’, eh? Well, let me tell you something, the only people who like fighting are the ones you have to fight to stop."

"But I'm not brave enough. It hurts too much to be brave."

“Aye, tha’s true enough too. It does hurt, but it hurts worse to run. And not just you, running hurts a lot of innocent folks a’ well.”

“There’s plenty more where I came from. Let them be brave, I can’t any more.”

“Ya can and ya must.”

“NO! I won’t go back. I like it here.”

“And wha’ d’ya ken will ‘appen ‘ere if ya don’ go back?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, think on it. I’ll come back and we’ll chat more another night.”

“No, don’t come back. I don’t want to talk...” but it was too late. The old man turned and walked away, leaving Granger alone in the graveyard, standing among the shattered stones. She looked around trying to see which way to go. She was lost. She caught a slight movement out of the corner of her eye, like a shadow flitting among the stones. She tried to run but her feet couldn’t move. She looked down; a pair of moldering arms had emerged from the grave beneath her and were holding her ankles fast. A high cold laugh sounded from the headstone behind her. Kicking, she snapped one foot loose and stamped on the hand holding the other. She tried to run but too late, the rotting hands had grabbed one ankle again and tripped her.

Granger fell to the floor, her covers tangled about her legs. She looked at her clock; it read just past 6, there were streaks of sunlight shining through the curtains and across the bed. She had been having a nightmare. Just a bad dream and now that she was awake she couldn’t even remember what it was about. At least that is what she told herself as she stood and absently brushed the dead leaves and dirt from her bedlinen.

* * *

After an early breakfast, Harry and Ron left the castle and headed down to the Quidditch pitch. Harry carried an armful of cricket balls while Ron had the package containing the two broomsticks over his shoulder. Harry noticed that Ron was exceptionally quiet; he had expected to be ribbed over what happened the night before at the feast but Ron hadn’t even mentioned it. Harry looked closely at his friend, he looked drawn and there were dark circles under his eyes.

“What time did you get to sleep last night?”

“I dunno. Late.”

“You look done in. What were you doing?”

“I got to talking with Remus and Bill. Trying to figure out where that last portkey could have gone to.” Ron began to go over the list of the destinations of the all portkeys that Voldemort had carried. There was Romania, Egypt, Durmstrang, Mongolia, Beauxbatons, and one to Hogwarts. Of the unused portkeys Remus and the others had found on the body, one went to Albania, another to the Yucatan, one led to a hidden underground chamber, another to an abandoned shop in Knockturn Alley, one to Bartie Crouch’s home, and the one Hermione had triggered.

“So, Crouch’s house was thoroughly searched?”

“Yeah, Dad said that he had Aurors go over it with a fine tooth comb. Nothing.”

“How about that underground place, was that searched?”

“No, James Abernathy, the bloke who got portkeyed, couldn’t figure out where it was. He sort of panicked in the dark and apparated to Hogsmeade as quick as he could.”

“But what did he see there?”

“I haven’t talked to him but Remus said all he says he saw was dark. He stumbled across some dead animals, he didn’t know what kind, and got the heck out of there.”

Something clicked inside Harry’s brain, but he couldn’t quite put it into words. “Maybe, we should go there and search it?”

“Yeah, if we only knew where it was. Besides, I’ve been looking for Hermione, remember? Abernathy said he didn’t hear any voices or see any movement so she wasn’t there and nobody had a good reason to try and find the place again.”

“But there might be some kind of clue there, right?”

“Yeah, I guess but we don’t know where it is. Abernathy dropped the key when he got there and besides they were all magiced to be one trip only. So why invest time looking for some hidden room when we should be looking for Hermione. If we find it we can search it then, but until we do, I’m looking for her.”

They both sat in the first row of seats at the pitch. Harry tossed the balls onto the grass and Ron began to unroll the broomsticks. As the brooms came loose, Harry saw Ron’s mood change. His eyes widened as the prospects of a good fly drove the worries over Hermione away, at least for a few minutes. Harry thought back to a week ago when Remus forced him to rest and how he had fought it. Remus was right, the heavier the burden, the more important it was to, once and a while, set it down. Some rest and a little recreation would do them both good. Harry picked up his Firebolt but looked at the Cyclone. How it got its name was easy to see. The shaft of the broomstick was straight but the wood grain twisted, like a length of cord. It gave the impression of a whirlwind twisting around. The twigs of the tail were likewise each twisted like corkscrews and spliced together like wooden rope.

“Gawd, ain’t it just beautiful?” Ron asked and Harry had to agree. The Cyclone gave off a feeling of incredible motion. Even standing still you could feel the swirling power of it.

“And look at the serial number!” Ron pointed to the number engraved in the base of the shaft: 003. “It’s only the third one ever, and I’ve got it!”

“That’s quite a broom you have there.” Harry and Ron both started as they looked around. Professor Stevens was coming down from one of the upper seats. “Mind if I join you?”

“No, Professor, please have a seat.” Ron stammered.

“Please, call me Tabitha. I’m not YOUR teacher after all.” She spoke with a glint of mischief in her eye.

“Well all right, Tabitha.” Ron said, “What are you doing up this early? Time lag?”

“Well, it is an eight hour difference between here and Boston, besides I thought I would keep an eye on Sam for awhile.” Tabitha pointed up and Harry and Ron both turned to look. High in the clouds, barely visible, was a figure on a broom.

“She’s just stretching her legs. Getting the kinks out after the trip.”

The figure above did a few lazy circles and chased a crow for a moment.

“Does she play Quidditch?” Ron asked. “Gryffindor is in a rebuilding period, since Harry and I left. The team could use some new blood.”

“No, she never really showed much interest in it. I think it’s mostly a European sport.”

“Oh, too bad. Great game Quidditch, the best there is.”

“But what about this new broom of yours?”

“It’s a Cyclone. The very latest. I expect it will dominate the Cup circuit this year. It’s supposed to be the fastest yet. I just got this one yesterday. Haven’t even flown it myself yet.”

“Well, let’s get to it then!” piped Harry, grabbing his Firebolt and dashing out onto the grass.

Harry lifted off and immediately felt the cares of the ground fall away. It was always this way when he flew. No worries, no troubles, just the wind in his hair and a golden snitch to be caught. Below him Ron quickly straddled his Cyclone and pushed off from the ground. He immediately zoomed past Harry and stopped at a height of about fifty feet. Drifting in a tight circle.

“Whoa! Did ya see that! It nearly jumped inna the air by itself. You wouldn’t stand a chance against this, Harry.”

Harry thought maybe he was right. The Cyclone fairly leapt from the ground and it probably was faster than his Firebolt.

“It’s not the broom, it’s the rider that carries the day.” Harry said.

Ron took off again. Darting down towards the ground he cut up the pitch. Nosing up into a climb he zipped between two of the goals and raised his hands in mock victory.

“Weasley scores!” he cried pumping the air with his fists. He must have been a bit too energetic because the broom dove to the right and nearly threw him off.

Harry laughed, “Better watch it, Ron, or your imaginary goal will cost you a real broken neck.”

“Bah, you’re just jealous.” Ron hunkered down on the broom and tore off. He raced around the edge of the pitch and then circled the outside of the stadium. Harry jumped to follow. He tried to keep up but the newer broom easily pulled away from him. Finally, coming near the stands again, the two landed.

“Wicked! Did you see me moving? Tha’ was fabulous!” Ron was fairly panting with excitement.

“It sure is a fast one,” Harry admitted “I could barely keep up with you!”

“Keep up? You could barely keep track! One more trip around and I would have lapped you!”

Ron was right, Harry was jealous. His Firebolt just couldn’t keep up with the Cyclone. Maybe he should get one too, he could send Hedwig with his order as soon as they got back. Then he saw the look on his friend’s face. The glow that was there made Harry stop. Coming from such a large family Ron had never been the first at anything and rarely had anything new. Even now most of his clothes were hand-me-downs from one or another of his brothers, so let him have the best broom Harry decided, at least for awhile.

“Just look at ‘er. Even standing still, you know she’s fast.”

“Yes, indeed, that’s quite a broom.” Answered Tabitha.

“Watcha all lookin’ at?” Sam had landed a short distance away and approached the group.

“Ron just got a new broom, sweetie. It’s one of those Cyclones.”

“Really? I’ve never seen one. May I?”

“Why certainly.” Ron held out the broom expecting some type of awed gasp from the girl but he was severely disappointed. Sam took the broom roughly and stared down its length.

“It’s got lots of power, that’s obvious,” she said after a minute’s close examination, “but don’t you find you have a problem with positive torque steer?”

“Positive what-sneer?”

Sam heaved a great sigh and said, “I said, this thing turns right better than left, right?”

“Huh?” Ron looked at her and tried to puff up his shoulders. “Listen young lady, this is a World Class broom, the very latest. I’m sure the blokes that built it knew what they were doing.”

Sam looked thoroughly unimpressed. She shrugged her shoulders and began to turn away.

“What kind of a broom do you ride anyway?” countered Ron.

She turned back and lifted her broom. Harry and Ron both squinted their eyes and leaned in. It was like no other broom they had ever seen. The handle was straight and made of what Harry guessed was ash. There were no twigs on the tail, instead strapped to the broom was a tight bundle of straw and not round but, instead, flattened out like a whisk broom. The top end of the longer than normal handle was even stranger, it ended in a fork with the two tines bent slightly upwards where they emerged from the handle then flattening back out to point straight ahead.

“Wha’ kind of broom is that?” asked Ron incredulously.

“My kind.”

“I mean what’s it good for? It’s got two handles so ya have to hold on with both hands.”

“Right” Sam’s face had a look like you’d see on a bored teacher watching a pupil work out a new type of problem.

“And that straw! That can’t hold up to much use. You’ll be replacing it every other week.”

“Just about, but this broom isn’t intended to be used in foul weather.”

“Quidditch is played in all kinds of weather.”

“So? I don’t play Quidditch.”

“So, what do ya do with it? Just take it out for a Sunday stroll?” Ron laughed at his own joke but Harry could see that Sam didn’t think it was at all funny.

“Ron,” Harry interrupted, “how Sam flies her broom is her business. Why don’t we just chase some balls for awhile?”

“Yeah, I guess” Ron said. Harry was hopeful of avoiding an unpleasant situation but Sam wasn’t going to let go.

“It’s a racing broom,” she said.

“Wha? That? It doesn’t look that fast ta me?”

“And do you always judge things by how they look?”

“Listen, Sam, it’s your broom and I’m sure you like it and all, but you can’t expect to tell me that it wins races.”

Tabitha cut in here; it looked like she wanted to avoid a confrontation as badly as Harry. “Actually, Ron, Sam has flown in quite a few races and done very well for herself.”

“Maybe in America, but a broom like that wouldn’t stand up in a real race. With World Class brooms.”

“Like yours?” asked Sam with the innocent look of a 3-card Monte dealer.

“Well, yeah. The Cyclone is bound to be able to take that thing in a race.”

“Wanna bet?”

“SAM!” Tabitha fairly shouted. “You are NOT to be wagering on broom races. Do you hear me?”

“I didn’t start this, mom. He did.” She jabbed her chin at Ron. “If he thinks he can beat me then let him try. What about it, hotshot?”

“No gambling, young lady.”

“Don’t worry Professor, I wouldn’t take advantage of a child...”

“TAKE ADVANTAGE!!”

“It’s not her I’m worried about Ron." Tabitha said. "Sam, mind your temper.”

“Alright, mother! We won’t gamble...for money. How about something else, huh?”

“Like what?” said Ron.

“How about the loser serves the winner breakfast in bed tomorrow?”

“Breakfast in bed? I haven’t had breakfast in bed since I had the measles. OK, you’re on.”

“Deal.” Sam said, she held out her hand to shake. Ron spat into his palm and slapped his hand into hers.

“Ewwww, gross!”

“Now, Sam, remember,” Tabitha cautioned, “we have to get along with these people.”

Sam just looked at her mother and grinned a wicked little grin.

“How about twice around the pitch?” Ron suggested.

“Nah, that’s barely time to get up to full speed. How about we start from here, head over to that tree over there...”

“You mean the Whomping Willow?”

“Whatever. Then turn right towards the castle. We each take a left turn all the way around the tallest tower then back here to finish.”

“If either of you crashes into my bedroom," Harry exclaimed pointing at Sam, "I’ll have you expelled, and you” now he pointed at Ron, “I’ll send you home to your mother.”

“No prob. I don’t crash,” said Sam.

“And don’t get too close to the Whomping Willow, Sam,” Harry cautioned, “it likes to eat brooms and it hasn’t been in too good of a mood for the last couple of weeks.”

Sam nodded, Professor Stevens was just shaking her head like she knew what was coming and could do nothing to stop it.

“Alright then,” said Ron “on my mark.”

“Wait a minute.” Broke in Sam. She put her broom down and started taking off her robe. Underneath she wore a skintight suit of what looked to Harry like vinyl. He didn’t like the looks of it but Ron didn’t seem to notice.

“OK, I’m ready.”

Ron began again, “On your mark... get set... GO!”

Ron took off like a flash with Sam close behind him. Both flyers looked like blurs to Harry. Ron reached the willow first and as he turned he looked behind him for Sam. He was shocked to she that she was right on his heels, her body hugging the length of the broomstick and both hands tightly on the grips. The two of them stayed neck and neck as they headed for the castle. An owl, probably delivering the post, meandered into their path, Ron jerked the stick up to avoid crashing into it but Sam neatly ducked her broom down a foot and sent the bird careening through her wake as she flew past. Thanks to this maneuver, Sam was a short stick length in the lead as the two got to the tower. Ron watched as Sam flipped smartly onto her side and heaved at the two handles, her broom snapped around the tower and in an instant was headed back to the pitch still at full speed. Astounded, Ron fought the Cyclone in as tight a left turn as he could but by the time he had gotten all the way around the tower he had lost sight of Sam. He pushed the broom forward to its top speed.

Back at the pitch, Harry watched the race. The two seemed equally matched until they got to the castle. He watched as Sam carved around the tower faster than Harry would have thought possible. Ron, on the other hand was obviously having problems with the unfamiliar broom. Harry gasped as Sam’s broom actually continued to accelerate as she approached them. He ducked as she went overhead, expecting to hear a sonic boom in her wake. Ron had made it around the tower and was halfway back to the finish line as Harry stood again.

“She’s incredible!” Harry said.

“Yes, she’s quite a talented flyer.” Tabitha’s smile shone with maternal pride.

Sam was well out over the forbidden forest as she pulled her broom into a climb. She executed a wide turn until she was headed back towards the group. Ron landed and let the Cyclone drop to the ground.

“D’ya see that? The way she just whizzed round that tower? She didn’t slow down a mite. She’s some flyer!” Harry was glad that Ron was feeling impressed, it was certainly better than being angry or worse, humiliated. “Where is she now?”

Tabitha pointed up to where Sam was circling overhead. “It will take her a moment to bleed off that much speed. She’ll be down soon.”

“Blimey, she was bloody great up there. As good as you, Harry, maybe even better!” Harry was taken aback. She was good yes, but as good as him? He didn’t know about that. “Did ya see the way she just dipped under that owl? Sent it for a fair spin, I tell ya. And the way she spun ‘round the tower! I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s called energy maneuvering. It’s a little trick I picked up from the way mortals, I mean muggles, build some of their military aircraft.” Sam had reached the ground and rejoined them.

“Energy maneuvering?”

“Yeah, instead of fighting your craft around turns and losing momentum, you actually use your propulsion to change your direction by vectoring the thrust.”

Harry didn't have the slightest idea what she was talking about but Ron seemed to at least grasp the general idea.

“Z’at why your tail is flattened like that?” Ron asked.

“In part, the shape of the tail distributes the thrust so that the broom is very stable horizontally and yet maintains sharp focus in the vertical plane. The shaft is more flexible than usual in the z-plane also, so I can use that to vector the thrust.”

“That’s the reason for the two-handed grip. To make it easier to control the shaft.”

Sam nodded, “Exactly, plus at those speeds you need to hold on with both hands just to keep your seat on the broom.”

“How fast can that broom go?”

“In level flight, under the right conditions I can sometimes nose it up to close to 250.”

“250 kilometers an hour?” Now it was Harry’s turn to gape.

“No, miles.”

“Whoa!”

“Where d’ya get a broom like that anyway?” Ron asked.

“It’s mine.”

“No, I mean who made it.”

“I did” came the matter of fact reply.

“YOU made it?” Ron and Harry chorused.

“Well, mom helped with the transfiguration and stuff but the design is all mine.”

“Blimey. We need to get her to start playing Quidditch.” Ron said to Harry.

“Or maybe she could make some new brooms for the team?” replied Harry

“Helllooo. I’m still here! I don’t like it when people talk about me in the third person, it’s rude.”

“Sorry, Sam," Harry said. "It is rather rude, isn’t it? So, how can we convince you to give Quidditch a go?”

“Sorry, I’m not much for team sports.” was her answer.

“But your part of Gryffindor now. You want to help us win the House Cup don’t you?” Ron put in.

“Actually, I’m here to learn. Quidditch and that House Cup thing just get in the way.”

“Sam,” Tabitha said, “you do need to try to fit in a little.”

“No! We’ve had this conversation before, Mother. I don’t HAVE to fit in, I don’t WANT to fit it, and I just plain DON’T fit in. I never have and I never will. So let’s just drop it, OK?”

Sam turned and stalked off. Harry was trying to figure out what to say when Ron jumped in.

“Oi, Sam!” he called.

She stopped and turned back to them with a scowl. “What is it now?”

“What d’ya want for breakfast tomorrow?”

Harry and Ron began to walk back up towards the castle. Their little respite was over. Harry didn’t want to voice his fears that Hermione might be, probably was, dead but he felt he needed to say it.

“You know Ron, I figure there are really only two possibilities.”

“About what?”

“Hermione.”

Ron stopped dead in his tracks. He turned to face Harry, his face set with menace. Harry knew it would be dangerous to continue, dangerous physically and more importantly to their friendship, but he also knew he had to.

“Go on.” Ron said tightly.

“Well, the first is that she hasn’t gotten in touch with us because she just doesn’t want to.”

“Why on earth would she not want to?” Ron snapped back.

Harry swallowed and continued, “Maybe she’s had enough. Maybe this fight with Voldemort was so hard on her that she decided to give up wizarding entirely and go back to a muggle life.”

“We’re her friends, why would she want to get rid of us? Besides, we both know how much she loves magic. She loves everything about it. She wouldn’t just toss it all away. She wouldn’t.”

“Well then the other possibility is that...”

“She was captured, like you said yesterday. She was portkeyed to some secret hideout and she was captured by Deatheaters.”

Harry took a deep breath and continued, “But think Ron, why would Deatheaters, who are on the run and trying to save their own skins, keep her prisoner? It would be too risky. Wouldn’t it make more sense for them to just get rid of her as quickly as they could?”

“What do you mean, ‘get rid of her’?” Ron had turned to face Harry dead on, menace in his every movement.

“I mean Ron, that maybe we have to face the fact that Hermione is probably...”

“DON’T SAY IT! Don’t you say it.” Ron’s voice choked, his eyes were wet but his face was torn with rage.

“Ron, I don’t want it to be true either...”

“It’s NOT true. It can’t be true. I won’t let it be true.”

Ron took one halting step towards the castle. “It can’t be true, Harry. She can’t be... I never even... It just can’t be. She’s out there and I’ve gotta find her.”

Ron began to doubletime back towards the castle. Harry could see how upset Ron was but he also knew it was for the best. Even if Ron couldn’t believe it now, the seed had been planted. Now it was just a matter of being there to help when he was ready to accept it. To try to break the tension, Harry changed subjects.

“Boy, that Sam can really fly, huh?” he ventured.

“Yeah. She’s wicked good all right, and that broom of hers! It might look a bit silly, but it will fly the wings off a hawk.”

“That it can. She’d better be careful with it.”

“Yer right there. If she isn’t, some Slytherin snitch will try an’ nick it.”

“Yeah.”

“She better lock it up in some kinda secret cupboard or chamber or something. Maybe her mother can...”

Harry stopped. Like a flash of lightning the idea he saw earlier but couldn’t place flashed into focus. “Ron, you’re a genius!”

“Huh?”

“That’s were he went.”

“Who went?”

“Abernathy”

“He went flying?”

“No, you dunce.” Harry stopped, grabbed Ron by the shoulders, and turned him to look him straight in the eyes at him. “Ron, he went to the Chamber of Secrets!”

top

Chapter 6 - Faces Revealed

When Harry mentioned that the Chamber of Secrets was possibly where the Auror Abernathy was sent by one of Voldemort’s hidden portkeys, Ron wanted to go and investigate immediately, but Harry held him back.

“First, we have to tell Remus, and maybe McGonagall, where we’re going,” he said.

Ron looked confused.

“So that if we disappear too, they’ll at least know where to start looking for us,” Harry explained.

“OK, I can see that.”

“Then we have to find a house-elf to come with us.”

“Wha’?” Ron chafed. “The famous Harry Potter needs someone to serve him tea now?”

Harry knew the comment only came from Ron's frustration at any delay and he let it go unchallenged.

“No, the tunnel roof collapsed, remember?”

“There was room enough for us to squeeze through before...”

“Yeah, when we were twelve!" Harry responded hotly. "Besides, all the fighting here might have caved it in even more and one elf can move the debris faster than a dozen wizards.”

Ron had to agree there too, so they went off in search of Professor Lupin. The Great Hall was starting to fill up with people having lunch, but Remus was not at the head table, nor was he in his quarters. They finally found him in the staff room hunched over a pile of scrolls with a plate of sandwiches at his elbow.

“Remus,” Harry called, “there you are.”

Remus looked up from his work. “Hello Harry, I’m glad you’re here. Hello, Ron, it’s good to see you two. Listen, Harry, the moon goes full the end of this week, so I’ll need you to take the classes from Thursday on. Now, Madame Maxine has already mixed me up a batch of my Wolfsbane Potion,” he pointed to an empty goblet on the table, “and hers tastes a LOT better than Snape’s. I think he used to put a few ‘little extras’ in it just for me. Anyway, it’s the first week of the term so we’ll go easy on the first years. They’ll probably be just figuring out how to get around the castle anyway, but we need to hit the fifth years hard. They’re OWL’s are coming up and we need to make sure that they’re ready. I’ve got some things outlined here that you can use in class...”

“Remus,” Harry interrupted, “we need to talk.”

Remus noticed the serious looks on their faces and put down his quill. Wiping ink off of his fingers he gave them his full attention.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing really, it’s just that we think we know where Abernathy got sent by that Portkey and we’re going to go and have a looksee to check if there’s anything there.”

“Where exactly?”

“The Chamber of Secrets,” Ron blurted out. “We figure maybe there’s something there that can lead us to Hermione.”

“The Chamber? That’s a dangerous place.”

“We know,” Harry said. “We’ve been there before.”

“Well, you'll need to be careful. You don’t know what kinds of traps Voldemort could have set if he’d a mind to. And he did have a mind to. Do you two want any help? Maybe I should go along with you.”

“No, there’s no need for that. We’re going to bring a house-elf with us in case there have been any rock falls down there, and now you know where we’re going so...”

“It should be OK. Just remember to be careful and if you’re not back by dinner tonight, I’m coming in with the cavalry.”

Harry nodded and Ron turned to the door. He had turned the knob and was opening it when Remus spoke again.

“Harry, before you go, can I have a word?” He looked worried.

“Sure, Remus. Ron, you head down to the kitchens and I’ll catch you up there.”

Remus pulled out a chair next to him and Harry sat down. The Professor fidgeted a bit and tugged at one of the patches on his sleeve. It seemed as if he didn’t know where to start. Or maybe he did know, but he was still hoping to come up with an easier way. From the look on his face, Harry knew what was about to come.

“Harry, this is hard for me to say. It’s about Hermione...”

Harry looked down at the floor. “You think she’s dead too.”

Remus grabbed the young man’s shoulder and squeezed. “Let’s look at this logically. She was very badly injured when she got portkeyed, she might not have even survived that.”

“I know”

“Arthur Weasley had the whole Ministry out searching for her and nothing. Not a single sign. It’s been over two weeks now, and if she were still alive, she would have gotten word to us somehow.”

“I know all that too.” Harry rubbed at his eyes, he didn’t like the turn of this.

“Then maybe it’s time for us all to accept that she didn’t. Even if she managed to survive the porting, she must have died very soon afterward.”

“I know all that. She’s dead. She died alone, without even an enemy for company. And she died trying to protect me, just like...” Harry hesitated, he didn’t want to think about that, about the people who’d given their lives for his; his parents, Dumbledore, and now Hermione. “But Ron’s not ready to accept that yet. I tried to talk to him this morning about it and he practically blew up. He’s just not ready to give up hope.”

“And all you can do is to be there for him when he is,” the older man finished.

Harry nodded, “Yeah.”

“Well then just make sure that you are, but don’t take any unnecessary chances. The Weasleys have already lost one son and we can’t risk losing them another. Not to mention that it’s kind of nice having you around.”

Harry grinned weakly but still hung his head.

“You know, Harry, it’s all right to miss her. Your parents too. I know I do.”

Harry looked up. He wasn’t the only one who missed them? “You do?”

“Sure, sometimes..." Remus seemed lost for a moment. "Especially when... during the full moon... a lot of the time I just lie there and remember all the great times we had.” He drew a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped at his eyes. “You would have like them, Harry, not just loved them ‘cause they were your folks, but really liked them. They were great.”

“Yeah, but I never had the chance, did I? At least I’ve got you, Remus,” Harry tried hard to concentrate on who he had in his life and not who he’d lost, “and I’ve got Sirius back now too.”

Harry rose and headed toward the door. “Oh, and by the way.”

“Yeah”

“The Potions Mistress, Madame Maxime, her name has an ‘m’ at the end, not an ‘n’.”

“Great Pumpkins! You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Oy, thanks for telling me. I’d hate to be calling her by the wrong name.”

“She might get insulted and then there goes your great tasting potion.” Harry grinned weakly and Remus followed suit.

“You be careful down there, Harry. And remember, your family isn’t just what you’re born with, it’s what you make as well.”

Harry thought for a moment and then nodded, “See ya, Uncle Remus.”

Harry closed the door behind him and rushed down the corridors to the entrance to the kitchens. Just as he turned the last corner, he saw Ron and something that looked more like a walking bundle of filthy rags than anything else coming out. Harry skidded to a stop. Harry stared for a moment.

“Winky?” Harry asked.

The bundle of rags looked at Harry and said, “Oh, hello, Mr. Harry Potter, sir.”

Ron looked glumly at him. “I got down to the kitchen and all the elves were runnin’ around getting lunch ready. So I told ‘em we needed an elf to help us maybe move some rocks and a whole bunch of 'em come over and started crowding ‘round me. Then I told them where we were going and POOF, they all disappeared. All of ‘em except Winky here.”

Winky was one of the few free house elves working at Hogwarts but the shock and shame of being sacked still clung to her. To make matters worse, all of her old masters, the Crouch family, were now dead. Victims of the Dark Lord in one way or another. She stood there fully clothed and filthy. She looked to Harry like the most miserable and wretched creature in the world. He squatted down to look her in the eye.

“Are you OK, Winky?” he asked gently.

She returned his gaze with the morose stare of someone who just doesn’t care anymore, about anything. “Winky fine. Winky fine. Work to do.” was her answer as she turned and plodded down the hall.

“Com’on Harry, let’s get going here,” Ron interjected and off he strode. Harry brought up the rear.

* * *

Mrs. Seward poured her guest a cup of tea and offered a biscuit. He took both. The two were seated at a table in the kitchen and there was a ledger book sitting open on the table between them.

“It was a fairly good month, last month. The weather was fine and I think that helped.” Mrs. Seward opened.

“Yes, but with the summer over, I think we can expect a slight drop off in occupancy the next few months,” the man answered as his watery eyes ran down the list of expenses, “I notice the grocer’s bill has gone up a bit?”

“Yes, we have a new permanent tenant and she does seem to have a healthy appetite.”

“A new permanent resident?”

“Yes, I found a lodger for the small room up near the attic.”

“Really, tell me about her.”

“Not much to tell, really. She seems a nice young girl, all on her own and for the first time, I expect.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, she is staying in a furnished room, isn’t she? So she has no furniture or other things that most folks collect along the way. Didn’t even have any luggage that I could see.”

“None?”

“Only a couple of shopping bags of clothes.”

“She’s not a trouble maker, is she?" the little man said anxiously, "I don’t want any trouble.”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t have let to her if I thought she was. No, she’s a nice, quiet girl. I think she had a spot of trouble with a not-so-gentle man. Ya see, the first time I saw her, she had her arm in a sling and I could see what was left of a nasty bruise on her cheek. My guess is she walked away from a bad marriage with nothing but the clothes on her back.”

‘Hmm, curious,’ the little man thought. “She is paying her rental though?”

“Oh my, yes. We’re not running a home for wayward girls, now are we?” The man shook his head slightly in response. “I did have to make a few accommodations though, she didn’t seem to have any resources to draw on.”

“Accommodations? What sort of accommodations?”

“Well,” Mrs. Seward hesitated, “she negotiated the monthly down to 160 pounds. Now, I know that’s less than the 175 you said you were looking for but I figured a room rented is better than one vacant...”

“Quite right.”

“Especially tha’ one. It has been a spot of bother to let it on account of the...you know.”

“No, I don’t know. On account of the what, exactly?”

“Well, you know...” then almost in a whisper, “the ghosts.”

“Now, Mrs. Seward, we’ve been over this several times. There are no ghosts in this house. There are, in fact, no ghosts anywhere, because there are no such things as ghosts. It is just people’s overactive imaginations combined with some wind occasionally whistling through the attic. I’ll have no talk of such nonsense in this house.”

“I know, Mr. Pettigrew, I know, but whether you believe or not doesn’t really matter now does it? Other folks tend to believe and tales get told. You have to remember, this is an old house with a lot o’ sadness in the history of it.”

“What happened in the past is no concern of mine, nor should it bother you or, for that matter, any of the tenants. I wish you to do your best to quell any silly rumors that may be started about hauntings and such. It’s all just so much nonsense. Anyway, back to business. I don’t see any notation of her security deposit in the ledger?”

“No, and you won’t. That was another accommodation I had to make. She wouldn’t pay any deposits. I don’ think she had the funds, ya see.”

“Hmm,” the small man pondered this for a moment, it did seem to fit. He ran down the figures in the ledger summing up her rental payments. They appeared in order but he wondered what else was missing. Could it be, perhaps, that Mrs. Seward was skimming a bit of the cream? “You said she seemed injured when she took the room, is she still infirm?”

“Oh, heavens no! She just fine now.” ‘If he’s genuinely concerned for this girl, I’ll boil my bustle,’ the woman thought.

“A rather tall blonde, did you say?”

“Oh no, average size, I’d say, with lots of brown hair.” ‘Now what was he after?’

“Really? No matter. As long as she pays her rental on time.” ‘Curious,’ the man thought, ‘could it be?’

“Indeed, we’ll see to that.”

The small man raised a hand to ensure that the few strands of hair he had were still combed over the center of his scalp, then he closed and picked up the ledger book. “Alright, everything seems in order. I’ll get this back to you in a day or so.”

“No problem, Mr. Pettigrew. No bills expected for a while. Have a nice day.”

“And the same to you, Mrs. Seward.”

With that, she showed the man out of the kitchen door and closed it behind him. As she returned to her cleaning she squelched the annoying feeling that she had just seen the start of something that would not end happily.

* * *

The tunnels leading to the Chamber of Secrets were hidden in the plumbing of the castle itself. The entrance was disguised as a broken sink in one of the bathrooms, one of the girls’ bathrooms. Harry, Ron, and Winky stood outside the door, hoping it was empty.

“Well, go on in, Harry. We knocked and no one answered.”

“Yeah, OK, I just hope that it doesn’t mean that whoever is in there is hard of hearing.”

“Bah, don’ worry. With Moaning Myrtle haunting this loo, nobody ever uses it.”

“Well then you go in first,” Harry said.

“Not me, I don’t want to barge in on some girl doing her business," Ron countered. "You go first, you’re a teacher, after all.”

“Oh yeah, that’d make it just fine. Anyway, you’re the one in such a hurry.”

Winky looked from one face to the other and shook her head, her long ears flopping back and forth. Stepping between the two arguing young men, she pushed open the door and walked through. Harry and Ron looked at each other sheepishly and, after waiting ten seconds, followed Winky into the bathroom.

Harry spoke the words that opened the entrance to the tunnels. It was a slimy and dank hole that ran down through the walls like a child’s slide covered in goo. Ron went first with a shouted, “Tally Ho!” and, after his red hair disappeared from sight, Harry turned to Winky.

“You’re next. I’ll bring up the rear.” He was expecting to have to do some persuading to get the elf to go into the slimy pipe, after all he would certainly need some if he didn’t absolutely have to go, but the house-elf calmly walked up to the maw and hopped in. Still blinking in surprise, Harry followed.

It was with a loud slurp that Harry exited the tunnel and skidded to a stop on the floor of a long corridor. He drew his wand and spoke a spell that lit the tip. Ron had done the same. By the soft light the wands emitted they wiped as much slime as they could from their robes.

“Yuck! Welcome to the Chamber of Secretions,” Ron muttered as he continued to wipe at his clothes. “No wonder nobody ever bloody found this place. Who'd want to?”

Winky, however, didn’t bother to even try to clean herself, instead she glanced around then stooped to picked up a fist sized rock. She squeezed the stone with both hands until it began to glow then tossed it into the air in front of her. The stone, burning as bright as a streetlamp, hung in the air just below the roof of the corridor and about twenty feet in front of the elf.

“Nox,” Harry whispered, extinguishing the light from his wand. “Well, let’s get moving, shall we?”

The trio began to move down the passage, the glowing stone staying ahead of them and just below the ceiling. Soon, the floor became littered with the skeletons of small animals. At first they tried to step around the bones but, as they grew in number, it became impossible. So they just crunched along.

“Winky not cleaning this up,” the elf said as she stepped on a rat’s dried skull.

“Don’t worry, Winky,” came Ron’s reply, “we’ll just tell Filch and he can save it up for some poor firstie’s detention.”

Around a bend in the passageway they came to the point where the ceiling had collapsed during their first visit to the chamber years ago.

“Hmm,” Harry said, “does this seem right to you, Ron?”

“It’s in the right spot, I guess, but I thought it was a lot worse.”

Harry examined the pile of stones on the floor and the hole in the ceiling where they had fallen from. There was a wide gap between the two, large enough for a grown man to walk through if he only bent over at the waist.

“It was. I had to push Ginny through ahead of me, and then I barely had room to squeeze through myself.”

“Maybe it settled?”

“I dunno. Something just feels odd.”

As Harry climbed the pile of stones he noticed something else. The rocks that remained piled up were all large stones but the ones that spread down and across the floor were smaller, most no larger than gravel. It didn’t make sense to him that the larger stones would stay in place while the smallest tumbled down. Harry ducked as the glowing stone floated through the gap. In the bright glare of its light, he noticed that the stones around the gap were scratched with long parallel lines. He barely had time to register this fact when Winky walked through, followed closely by Ron.

“Quiet now,” Ron said. “If there’s anybody here, we want to surprise ‘em.”

“Ron, if there’s any one here then, I assume, they’ve already heard us.”

“Ya never know, so just pipe down, will ya?”

“OK, OK. The doors to the chamber are down here a bit.” Harry continued down the corridor still littered with small bones.

Ahead of them were a pair a large stone doors, each engraved with the undulating form of a giant snake. Their four jeweled eyes glowed at them with reflected light.

“Now this is creepy,” Ron said.

“Yup,” answered Harry, “I was kinda hoping that these got ruined in the battle, or at least they’d stayed open from the last time we were here.” He turned and faced the icons and, using his will to imagine them as real and living things, he hissed, “Open.” As the two massive doors ground apart, shadows danced and elongated across the figures of the snakes revealing, if any of the trio would have made the effort to notice, a hole bored through the base of one of them, a hole just large enough to permit a small animal to crawl through.

The air was dank and cold. The heavy stench of rotten flesh hit Harry in a wave, raising the taste of bile in his throat. Even after six years it hadn’t dissipated. Their shadows stretched along the floor as the trio entered the Chamber.

“Gawd, this place gives me the willies,” Ron said. “But at least this time we don’t have to worry about Ginny. She’s safe in her little cubbyhole at the Ministry.”

The three of them continued filing past twin rows of tall stone columns. Even by the light of Winky’s stone lantern neither the tops of the columns nor the roof of the chamber could be seen. Ahead of them, a broad line of putrid black sludge extended from their path into the shadows of a column to their left.

“Is that the...” Ron started.

“Basilisk?” Harry finished. “Yeah, or at least what’s left of it. Most of it should be over around that wall if you want to go look.”

“No thanks, mate. This is quite close enough.” And he skirted the mess and continued down the chamber.

The little elf looked around and muttered, “Winky DEFINATELY not cleaning this up.”

By the light of their now-lit wands, Harry and Ron began to fan out as they approached the end of the room. Before them stood the statue of Salazar Slytherin. It was at the feet of this statue that Harry had seen the unconscious body of Ginny Weasley at the end of his second year and the start of his third encounter with Tom Riddle/Lord Voldemort. Tilting his head back, Ron looked up into the statue’s face more than 20 feet above him. Its mouth gaped open in a macabre parody of a yawn. Or was it a scream?

Harry looked over at his friend. “Yeah, that’s where the monster stayed. Locked up until Riddle called it out.”

“Blimey, I remember you talkin’ about it. Telling the story to Dumbledore and all, but still, how big was that thing?”

Harry unconsciously raised one hand to grasp his arm just above the elbow, where the poisoned fang of the Basilisk had stabbed him. He remembered the cold feeling of the venom spreading up his arm and then throughout his body. It was only through the help of Fawkes that Harry had managed to survive at all, much less kill the beast and stop Riddle. It’s magic tears had cured him of the poison and Fawkes had been the one to tear out the Basilisk’s eyes, blinding it and stopping it from killing Harry with a mere glance. It was even Fawkes who flew them - Harry, Ginny, Ron, and the amnesiatic Gilderoy Lockhart - out of the chamber and back up the pipes. ‘It was Fawkes who saved Ginny really,’ Harry thought. 'He saved the both of us.'

Harry sat down on the toe of the statue, just as he had done years before. ‘I’m no hero,’ he thought. ‘I was just another minor player, a tool to be used by others. I was no more responsible for saving Ginny than she was responsible for releasing the Basilisk. No heroes here.’ He sat there with his head in his hands, feeling too small for the clothes he wore, as Ron began to search the room.

“Oi, Harry! Come have a look.”

Harry shook himself out of his gloomy revelry and walked towards Ron’s voice. Tucked into the far corner of the room was a large cauldron on a stand. At the bottom of the cauldron were the dregs of some sort of goo. It was a deep red color, like fresh blood. As Harry leaned over for a closer look, he noticed the iron was still warm. This potion had been brewed recently, sometime this morning he guessed. Looking around further, he saw a small pile of rags and straw against the wall. He nudged Ron and pointed.

“Yeah, whoever this was, he was a real slob.”

Harry just nodded.

“Let’s see what else we can find,” Harry said and drew Ron further along the wall, away from the nest.

Ron pointed his wand’s light along the walls. “Maybe Hermione left us some kind of message. A clue or something as to where she went.” He circled around the pillars as they went past. Harry stood still and listened.

“You know Harry, you could help out a bit,” Ron said. He sounded a little snappish but right now Harry didn’t care.

“Shut up, Ron. I’m listening.”

“Listening? Listening to what? The walls? Com’ on, there mus’ be some type of clue ‘round here or something.”

“Shut Up, Ron!” Harry snapped, “Don’t you hear that?”

Ron stopped, his mouth hanging open, and listened. There was something, just barely there. It was like a scratching sound.

“It’s like...” Ron thought, “something scratching against stone.” He leapt forward. “It’s Hermione! She’s here! She’s tied up somewhere and she’s trying to get loose! We’ve got to find her.” He had started to run before Harry could grab hold of him.

“Ron, wait!” he called but already too late. Harry began to chase him. The sound grew a little louder and then, and this caused Harry to run even faster, changed pitch. It was no longer just a scratching sound, it was much louder now and accompanied by sharp crackling sounds. A final, loud crack, like a giant whip, brought Ron up with a start. Harry could see his eyes widen as he realized something was horribly wrong. Then Harry saw it, one of the large stone columns behind Ron was toppling; it was at least six feet across and rose more than 40 feet up into the darkness. Ron turned and looked as the huge mass of stone began to fall towards him.

“Run! Get moving, Ron!”

But Ron seemed frozen, just staring as the column came down. Harry could see the column coming apart as it fell, each piece at least six feet long and all of them accelerating towards the spot where Ron stood. There was no time to get to him, he would be crushed before Harry could reach him. Harry’s wand was still clutched in his hands, he had to do something.

“ACCIO RON!” Harry had never tried to summon anything as large as a person before, and never anything living. He didn’t know if it would work, if it could work. Time slowed down as he watched the huge chunks of stone continue to fall. Ron still stood frozen and Harry knew that the spell wouldn’t work, that Ron was doomed. His mind flashed on the image of Ron’s face still unmoving, uncomprehending as the pillar crushed it. Then, finally, it happened. Ron’s shoulder jerked, as if an invisible fist had hit him. Ron fell backwards, towards Harry, just as the first section of column thundered into the space he had occupied just a heartbeat ago. Ron slid a few more feet towards Harry@,@ then stopped. The spell was spent, but it had been enough. A series of ear-crushing booms deafened the pair as a cloud of dust enveloped them.

Coughing and spitting dust, the two young men gained their feet and moved back, away from the pillar.

“What ‘appened?” Ron sputtered. “I was standing there, watching those things coming a’ me, tryin’ to figure out which way to jump when something pulled me.”

“Well, you can thank Hermione for drilling that summoning charm into me. I summoned you out of the way.”

Ron looked at him. “Well, I was about to...” Whatever Ron was about to say was drowned out by the roar of another column coming down. The two snapped around to see where it was coming from and, more importantly, where it was going. The column was further back in the chamber, towards the entrance.

“If this place is going to come down around our ears, I think we ought to leave. Now, while we still can.”

“No, we’ll wait.”

Harry’s statement left no room for discussion so Ron just turned and made his way back to the statue of Slytherin. Harry followed a few steps behind him and the two sat side by side on its feet. Time ticked past as Ron looked at his friend. Finally, after a slow count to 100, he spoke.

“So, Harry, you mind telling me why we’re just sitting here waiting for the roof to come down on our heads?”

“The roof’s not going to fall.”

“If the columns that hold it all fall...”

“Ron, look up.” As Ron gazed at the roof, Harry continued, “Remember when that first column fell? It didn’t snap at the top, only at the bottom. It fell straight over like a stack of Knuts.”

“Yeah, it did, didn’t it. So the columns don’t really hold up anything. There just there for show.” Harry nodded. “But then why did they start falling?”

“They didn’t”

“They didn’t?”

“Nope. They were knocked down.”

”Knocked down? By who? We haven’t seen anybody down here?”

“No, but we did see his nest.”

”Whose?”

“Pettigrew’s.”

“WHAT!” Ron leapt to his feet. “That little rat bastard!” He pointed his wand ahead of him. “Where is he? I’ll fix him.”

“Hopefully, he’s long gone but we’ll wait a couple of minutes anyway, just to make sure.”

“Wait? Why? Let’s go find the bloody coward and show him what for.”

“No, Ron, if we go chasing him now, he’ll just start dropping more columns on us and we might not be able to duck all of them. Let’s just give him a chance to run to his next little hole and then get out of here.”

“Maybe he isn’t running, maybe he’s getting ready to drop another column, right on our heads this time?”

“Naw, he’s running.”

“How do you know?”

“’Cause that’s what he does. You said it yourself, he’s a coward. He runs. He only fights when he’s cornered.”

“Just like the rat he is,” Ron muttered. “But we can’t let him get away. We’ve got to catch him.”

“And the best way to catch a rat is in a trap, right?” Ron nodded. “So we wait, and we think it through, and then we set our trap. He ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“Yeah, you’re right, but still...what was he doin’ down here?”

“I don’t know but maybe if we can identify what he was brewing in that cauldron, we can find out.”

“Yeah, let’s bring a sample of it up to Snape...” Ron stopped mid-sentence. “Bloody hell, just when you need the snarky git, he’s not there.”

“That’s alright, Madame Maxime should be able to tell us what it was.”

Ron reached into his bag and brought out a small flask. “Water,” he said “anybody want some?” Since no one answered he drained the contents then shook out the last few drops. “I’ll go over and see if I can get some in here.”

Harry stayed seated on Salazar Slytherin’s big toe and watched Ron go off into the shadows. After a moment, Winky approached him.

“Mr. Harry Potter, sir...” she began.

“I know, I know. Winky’s not going to clean this up.” Harry said and smiled. The elf just looked back at him and sat down on the floor at his feet. Harry looked down at the sad elf. He wondered why, after almost 5 years, she was still so miserable.

“Winky, can I ask you a question?”

She turned her crinkled face up to him and batted one long ear away from her eyes. “Of course, Mr. Harry Potter, sir.”

“Why are you so sad? Don’t you like working here at Hogwarts?”

“Of course, Hogwarts is a good place for work. The bestest place for a house-elf.”

“Then why are you sad?”

The elf turned her face away and looked at the dust between her feet. “Winky works at Hogwarts, but Winky not belong here.”

“Go on,” Harry prodded gently.

“Winky belonged with the Crouches. Winky’s grandmother came to the Crouches many, many years ago. Winky’s mother belonged to the Crouches and Winky belonged there. Then Winky got sent away.” Harry watched as two large tears fell off the elf’s long nose and dropped into the dust. “Then Winky got sacked. Grandmother would be ashamed of Winky, and now there is no more Crouches. Winky has no family. She works at Hogwarts but belongs nowhere.”

Harry’s heart went out to the pitiful little thing. He knew what it felt like not to belong anywhere. It wasn’t freedom, it was solitary confinement without even a cell to call home.

“But Winky, you know what happened to Bartie Crouch wasn’t your fault.”

“Does that matter?” she asked. “When Winky’s family needed her, Winky wasn’t there. Now they’re gone.”

“That’s not your fault either. You were sent away.”

“Doesn’t matter, Winky still alone.”

Harry couldn’t think of anything else to say, nothing that could ease the elf’s pain. He was about to just say anything to try to help when Ron bounced over.

“Got some! It’s not much, but I hope it’s enough. Now com’ on, let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah, it’s time for us to go.” He stood and, with Ron and Winky following, left the chamber.

Author's Note: Thanks again to Ahmie for her beta efforts and a special thanks to those who have reviewed this story, especially Julephenia. Five reviews for five chapters. Girl, you are the bees knees!

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Chapter 7 - Alliances and Allegiances

The Great Hall was loud with the clatter and chatter of students eating breakfast. Harry looked out at them and marveled at the variety of emotions he could see on their faces. Excitement, mixed with more than a little fear, on the faces of the new first years. Carefully cultivated boredom on the older Slytherins. Most of the Ravenclaws looked anxious to get back to work, many with books already open in front of them. And then there was Sam. Even at mealtime, with the whole student body present, there were empty spaces on the bench on either side of her. She sat, looking as nonchalant as possible, with her raven-black hair now showing three inches of bright orange roots. She sat nibbling on a piece of bacon and gazing up through the enchanted roof at the clouds beyond. Harry caught her eye and smiled; he had to fight the urge to laugh out loud when she reacted with a haughty tilt of the head. She wasn’t fooling anyone. Next to him at the staff table, Harry could feel Remus fidget, plucking at his new robes as if they were going to burn him. Harry smiled inwardly, it hadn’t been easy getting one of the house-elves to put the new robes he had bought for Remus at Diagon Alley in his closet, but Harry had managed it and he had convinced the squealing elf to remove all of the older, tattered ones as well.

“You look sharp today Remus.” He said as casually as he could. “New robes?”

Remus glared back. “They itch, they’re full of starch. I look like some kind of...”

“Teacher?” Harry quipped.

“You did this, didn’t you?” The tone was accusing but Harry noted the mischievous glint in the older man’s eyes.

“I thought you might like to show up for your first classes in some new robes. Consider it a late birthday present.”

“But you don’t even know when my birthday is!”

“Doesn’t matter now does it, since I must have missed at least a couple?” Harry laughed. “Stop worrying, I didn’t get rid of your old robes, just had them removed for the day.”

“You better not have, I like those old robes. They’re comfortable.”

“So are bedroom slippers but you'd probably not wear ‘em to class.”

“Ah, but I remember one occasion when Albus did,” injected the headmistress. Harry hadn’t even noticed she was listening. “The rest of the school was scandalized but he seemed quite pleased with them, as I recall.”

“I can just picture Dumbledore and his fuzzy pink bunny slippers sitting there in the Headmaster’s seat.”

“Oh, this was before he became Headmaster. He was teaching Transfiguration then.” Harry’s eyebrows went up at this. “It was during my own final year as a student here, Mr. Potter. Albus was teaching then and he was quite excellent at it.”

“It must have been tough to fill his shoes,” Harry said, quite pleased with his pun. Then he thought for a second and went scarlet. He should have thought first before he opened his big mouth.

“Indeed, it still is. Now relax Harry,” she said as she patted him on the shoulder, “no need to get embarrassed. Thinking about it, I seem to have been following Albus most of my professional life. First, taking over teaching Transfiguration when he became Headmaster, and now... here I sit.”

“In the big chair,” Harry said.

Minerva smiled at him and added, “Quite. Well, at least I didn’t follow him as the head of Gryffindor house.”

Harry was rather surprised at this. “You mean Dumbledore was never the head of a house?”

“Yes, indeed he was, Mr. Potter, but not Gryffindor.”

“Then which one?” Harry paused. “NotSlytherin?”

Minerva smiled again, her dark green eyes twinkling familiarly, “Now if you will excuse me, I have a few announcements to make.”

She stood and tapped a spoon against the side of her glass. The clear ringing sound peeled throughout the hall and quickly brought silence.

“Good morning to you all. I hope you are all well rested and ready to begin your classes today.” There were scattered groans from the Gryffindor table and a few Ravenclaw students actually clapped their approval. The Headmistress raised a hand and the hall grew quiet again, “Now, before you all leave for your first classes, I have a few announcements to make. First, for any students who are interested, Quidditch try outs for the house teams will be held in two weeks.” Over the tumult that always surrounded any announcement regarding Quidditch, McGonagall continued, “Each house will conduct their try outs separately. Hufflepuff on the morning of Saturday the 16th, Gryffindor that afternoon, then on Sunday the 17^th, Ravenclaw will hold their try outs in the morning and finally Slytherin that afternoon. The prefects will coordinate the posting of sign-up sheets in each house common room with the team captains. The first game will be held the last Saturday of October.

“Secondly, this year, immediately following the annual Halloween feast, there will be a dance for the students in fourth year and up. Younger students will be permitted to continue their celebrations in their common rooms...” Here Minerva squinted her eyes in the stern look that Harry remembered so well. “within reason. The dance will be semi-formal and appropriate costumes are encouraged.

“And finally, you all know about the extensive construction efforts we have undertaken here at Hogwarts recently. I’m sure you’ve all noticed the excellent work done by everyone involved. However, there is still some work to be completed in the dungeons, the area involved is the level below the wing housing the Potions classrooms. This area is highly dangerous and is strictly off limits. Any students found in the construction area will be immediately expelled!”

Harry could hear the intake of breath from around the room; usually such rule breaking was punished by detention. Serious violations could end in death, but expulsion! Now that was serious. Harry thought about this, trying to remember what construction still needed to be completed. As far as he knew, it had all been completed days ago.

“Now if you all have your class schedules, may I suggest we adjourn? I’m sure none of you want to be late for you very first class.”

As the Headmistress sat down, everyone else stood up, including the staff. Harry leaned close to Remus and asked, “What’s being done in the dungeons? I thought we were all done down there.”

“It’s just a little rework, Harry," Remus said, "nothing to get excited about. Probably some structural work that needed to be reinforced.”

“Expulsion? Just for looking at some construction? I don’t know...”

“Relax Harry, she’s probably just trying to give them a scare. Just to give them something to speculate about. Nothing to it.”

‘If there was nothing to it,’ Harry thought, ‘then why are you lying to me about it?’ He stood and followed Remus from the room.

The first Defense Against the Dark Arts class of the term was a combination of first year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. ‘What a way to start your time at Hogwarts,’ Harry mused, DADA with a werewolf!’ He and Remus arrived at their classroom a few minutes before the bell and only a few of the students had managed to straggle in yet. Harry found a tall stool in the back corner of the class and was about to sit, when Remus called out.

"Ah, I see you found yourself a seat Harry. Fetch it up here to the front so everyone can get a good look at you." As Harry reluctantly lifted the stool and began to make his way to the front of the class, Remus continued. "Besides, your going to need to start recognizing their faces if your going to take over for me."

There was the bell indicating the start of class. Remus looked around and noticed that only about half the students had found the room on time.

"Let's see... Everyone take out a piece of parchment and a quill."

There was a rustling as the class hurried to comply. Just as they were all prepared, Harry noticed a trio of students enter the room, looking rather sheepish and trying to be as inconspicuous as first years could be.

"Alright now, let's continue," Remus barked. "Question number 5, from your summer readings...You are confronted by a dark wizard, or witch for you young ladies, and he demands you relinquish your wand. What do you do?"

A few of the young Gryffindors immediately recognized the joke and Harry tried to memorize of their faces. Gryffindors were notorious mischief makers and these would likely turn out to be the best of their class, or the worst depending on how you looked at it. Most of the students just gaped at their Professor but the three latecomers were absolutely panicked. A test! On their very first day! On a summer assignment that they’d never even been told about! AND they had missed the first four questions! Before any of them had a chance to faint, Remus started to laugh and one by one the students joined in.

"We'll just wait a few more minutes to see if the rest of your classmates can find the place, shall we?"

"Wan' play the same gag on ‘em?" one of the Gryffindors piped. Harry made a point of learning that face, black hair and near black eyes, not a Weasley, but he could turn out to be cut from the same bolt of cloth.

"I think not," Remus answered. "One of the hallmarks of a truly good practical joke is that it's original. And your name is...?"

"Abercrombie, sir. Wilson"

"I don't recall seeing any Abercrombies on the roles. Do you Harry?"

Harry was about to shake his head when the young man interrupted.

"It's not Wilson Abercrombie, Professor, it's Abercrombie Wilson."

Remus took a paper from his desk and scanned it, after reaching almost to the very bottom of the sheet he nodded. "I take it I'm not the first person to make that mistake, Mr. Wilson."

"No sir, and likely not the last."

"Indeed, but I think, Mr. Wilson, that we'll just be patient for a few moments instead."

Remus rested his lean frame against the table behind him and lightly crossed his arms. He seemed so calm and natural up there, so totally at ease that Harry wondered about his own teaching abilities. Here he was, just sitting on a stool in a corner of the room, and he wasn't calm at all. He could feel his palms beginning to sweat and he had this almost uncontrollable urge to check to see if something was hanging out of his nose. Maybe it wasn't too late to run and join Ron in searching for Hermione?

* * *

The morning sun shone warm on Granger's face as she left the boarding house and began to walk towards the village center. She wasn't supposed to be at work until this afternoon, so she figured she would stroll over to the library and maybe catch up on her reading. She hadn't read a newspaper in weeks, maybe longer, and she thought that maybe it was about time to catch up. The feeling of the sun on her skin seemed to fill her heart with peace and she stretched out her arms in welcome. Tilting her head back, like a child catching snowflakes, she did a slow pirouette and reveled in life. She didn’t know where she came from and, right now, she didn’t care. She had no cares, and life was soft and gentle on her skin. ‘What more could a person want?’ she asked herself; ‘What more could they need?' As she easily strolled down the lane, she didn’t notice that she was being watched.

She reached a corner, ahead of her was the laundry, to the left the lane led to the small country church with the graveyard, but she turned to the right where the public library lay. Somewhere behind her, a little man sitting on a bench folded his newspaper and stood. Tucking his paper under his arm, he rushed up the street. ‘Blast that Mrs. Seward,’ he thought, ‘The girl was supposed to work at the laundry. If she’s been lying to me she’ll soon find herself on the street.' He came to a stop at the corner and poked his head around. There the girl was, just walking up the street as plain as could be. The little man began to follow her, trying as hard as he could not to look directly at her too long. She passed a market, then a small flower shop, he had been closing in on her when she abruptly stopped and turned back to face him.

The street was quiet and Granger was glancing into the shop windows as she passed. She had no desire to buy anything; she just wanted to look. She had passed a florist when an idea struck her: Why not get a few for the laundry? It would add a little welcome colour and give Miranda something to sketch. She was quite the artist, that one. She turned about to see if the florist had any specials when she almost knocked down a little fellow rushing along behind her. She was about to apologize for being so abrupt when he just rushed past her and on. ‘Odd little fellow,’ she thought, 'and somehow a bit familiar.'

* * *

After the initial shock of sitting in the front of a classroom instead of the back had worn off, Harry’s first few days of the term descended into a well of tedium almost as bad as being back on Privet Drive, locked into the little cupboard under the stairs. He spent his days perched on his stool and watching as Remus taught class after class of students. He knew he should be paying attention, after all he would be the one teaching them soon, but, after a few minutes of trying at the start of each class, he grew bored and his mind fazed into that gray area where time drags by but leaves no mark of its passing.

‘I can’t take much more of this",’ he thought to himself, 'I’m a Gryffindor, after all,’ and although to most people that signified that he was brave and daring, to him it meant being easily bored and prone to trouble. ‘So why not?’ he decided to himself. ‘As long as I’m here I might as well see what I can stir up.’ And so it was that during the third day of classes, when he was supposed to be keeping a sharp track of what Remus was doing, Harry Potter decided it was time to start marauding again. But what to do?

It came to him just before lunch. The class was filled with Gryffindors and Slytherins, all fourth year. He was sitting there watching Sam; as usual for her, she was alone at a table for two in the crowded room. The parchment in front of her was blank and she was idly twirling her quill between her fingers. It was obvious how bored she was, or at least how bored she wanted to appear, so Harry figured it was time to give her something to do. As the bell rang to end class, Harry spoke up.

“Excuse me, Miss Stevens, would you mind holding back for a moment? I’d like to have a word with you.”

Sam gave quite an eloquent shrug and dropped her bag back onto the tabletop. Harry walked over to her. There were dark circles under her eyes, but Harry noticed they were carefully applied and not due to any lack of sleep. From her ears dangled a pair of silver skulls with red gems for eyes and the heavy chain dog collar was still around her neck.

“Sam, are you planning on trying out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team?” he asked mildly.

“Gawd no,” came the response. “Why would I want to do that?” She thought for a moment then added, “Oh no you don’t. Don’t even try it. I’m not going to do it.”

“Hold on a minute there, Sam! I wasn’t going to try to persuade you to try out. Exactly the opposite in fact.”

“What? You want me to NOT try out for the team? What about all that ‘Rah-rah, do it for the house' nonsense I’ve been hearing for the past three days?”

“Hey, you don’t like the game. No big deal. I’m not going try to change your mind. I just need a little help, that’s all.”

“Help with what?”

“Well, as a Gryffindor alumnus and a former member of the team, I’ve been asked to help with the try outs.”

“So?”

“So,” Harry answered, “everyone there will be either trying out for the team or selecting the new members. Remember, there are three open spots on the team this year, so the four remaining players will be concentrating on evaluating the new ones...”

“And this concerns me how?”

“I need someone there to help set the stage. Someone who knows how to fly but isn’t interested in being on the team. I need someone to act as the unknown element.”

Sam’s interest was piqued, her eyes narrowed and a slight grin spread on her lips. “Like how for instance?”

“Well, everyone there will be trying to show off, to prove how good they are, so I want somebody to just zip around and break up their plays. To cause trouble just to see how they react to it. If YOU can keep them off their guard, then WE can get a better feel for how they would react under the pressures of a real game.” Sam was nodding her head in understanding. “What ‘d ‘ya say? Up for it?”

“I think I could manage that. What time do you want me there?”

“Right after lunch. And speaking of lunch, we better run and get ours before it’s all gone.”

Sam picked up her bag and Harry shut the door behind them. Luckily, she didn’t get a chance to see the grin that he couldn’t hold back any longer.

* * *

That afternoon passed much faster as Harry spent the time plotting rather than listening. As the last class ended, Remus came over to him.

"Now, you going to be all right taking these classes tomorrow? You know what material you're supposed to cover for each? I've left you copies of my lesson plans so that you can mark their progress."

"Calm down, Remus. I can handle this. I've been keeping track of how the classes are going and I can handle it."

"Maybe I should have let you teach today while I watched, then we could sit down and do a little critique on your performance..."

"Don't trust me?"

Remus blushed a little at this. "Of course I trust you Harry, it's just that you've never done this before and it does take a bit of practice."

"I'm sure it does, but I won't get it with you looking over my shoulder. Now I'm sure you have other things to worry about tonight, don't you?"

“OK, OK, I get it. You’ll be fine, and, if you’re not, then I won’t know about it until Monday anyway. Good luck Harry.”

“Err...” Harry didn’t know how to ask this question and wasn't sure it was any of his business anyway.

“Go on Harry, spit it out. I want to get some dinner today before the sun sets.”

“Well, you see, that’s sort of my question. Where are you going, not back to the Shrieking Shack?”

Remus grinned and this made Harry relax, he hadn’t wanted to insult his friend by prying.

“No, not there. There's a cupboard in my rooms. It’s got a good solid door and stone walls, so there’s no chance of my getting out, and silencing spells on it so that no one will hear me if I start to howl.”

“But what about food and such, you’ll be there for nearly four full days.”

“Yeah, but I don’t normally eat much during that time. There’s a big bowl for water and the elves will blink some food in once a day so I won’t starve.”

“It’s just bad enough that you have to do this. You ought to at least be comfortable.”

“Well, being comfortable is really not that hard a thing for a wolf, and with the Wolfsbane potion to keep me clear-headed, it’s mostly just boring. Unfortunately, I can’t see any way out of that.”

“I’ll bet it was terrific, though, when you and Sirius and my dad and even...him...would spend your nights running around the forbidden forest.”

“Yes, it was, even with Peter.” Remus shook his head slightly, not with regret but with the sad knowledge that time passes and things past can never be recaptured. “But it was also dangerous and I wouldn’t take those sorts of risks now. I guess I’ve grown more cautious as I’ve grown older. Anyway, I'm going to go have some dinner. Care to join me?”

“I’d love to but I have to go and see Hagrid about something.”

The fleeting look of disappointment in the older man’s eyes reminded Harry of how much he had missed Remus’s company while he was gone.

“On second thought, Hagrid can wait till tonight. Besides, if I head down there now, he’ll probably invite me to stay and eat, and you know how Hagrid cooks.”

“Yes, it is good for cleaning the tartar off you teeth, isn’t it?” and with that the older man threw his arm around the shoulders of the younger and off they went.

The Great Hall was almost empty. Most of the students were still returning their books and bags to their dorms and would probably meet up in their common rooms before making their way down to dinner around six. Harry and Remus had the staff table all to themselves as they sat and rapped their forks on the edges of their plates. The elves in the kitchens read the signal and, before they could put their forks back on the table, platters of food and a pot of tea appeared before them. Harry noticed that Professor Lupin ignored the potatoes and vegetables and snatched up a large joint of chicken and began to tear into it. It might have appeared amusing to his students, but Harry found it a bit chilling to see the normally fastidious Professor tearing into his meal with carnivorous zeal. ‘Is this what he’s like when he changes?’ Harry wondered as Lupin cracked the leg bone with his teeth and reached for a second. Harry took up the pitcher of pumpkin juice that had just appeared and poured two glasses. He had just put some food on his own plate as Remus put down his third piece of chicken and noticed the mutton that had arrived.

“Here, let me move that a little closer for you.” It was Professor Stevens; she must have arrived while Harry was watching Remus eat. “You certainly seem hungry tonight.”

Remus half choked on the chicken in his mouth and Harry could tell that he was slightly embarrassed to be caught eating this way.

“Well, yes, I guess I am. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you sit down.” He wiped his mouth and hands hastily with his napkin and half-rose to shake her hand. “So, settling in OK? Classes going well?”

“Since I’m the teacher, yes the classes are just what I expected.” Came her reply and the gleam in her eyes showed a merriment that you could almost taste. “I have to admit that it is taking me a bit longer than I expected to settle in, though.”

”Why is that, Professor?” Remus leaned forward, “That is, if I can ask.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have brought it up if I didn’t want to talk about it. And, please, call me Tabitha,” came the reply. “I’m an American and all this English formality is just so unlike me.”

“OK, Tabitha, what seems to be the problem? Anything I can help you with?” Now that he knew he was being watched Remus was all human again. He sat straighter and had resumed using his utensils. Harry felt strangely warmed by the fact that Remus felt his own presence was natural enough to let down his guard.

“Oh, it’s nothing really, I’d say. Just the cultural differences in how the schools run.” Professor Stevens blushed slightly and both Harry and Remus leaned just a bit closer. “Back in Salem, the school is...” she hesitated a bit here as if searching for the words to correctly describe her feelings, “more casual. Sam and I shared a small condo just off campus and we’d eat most of our meals together. Most of the students who lived at school ate in a normal cafeteria. This Great Hall is beautiful but it can be a bit intimidating, knowing that several hundred students are watching you eat. That’s why I’ve taken to eating this early, to avoid the crowd. I guess I’m a bit shy.”

Harry was about to ask how she could consider herself shy when she spent every day standing in front of classroom after classroom of students when Remus said, “So the main problem is that you miss your daughter?”

Tabitha dropped her eyes to her plate and answered in a surprisingly small voice. “Yes, I guess that’s it.” Her eyes came up again and Harry could see that she had regained her voice. “Oh, I know that she can be difficult, but she is also incredibly intelligent ...”

“And she’s family,” Remus finished for her.

“Yes, she is. But here at Hogwarts she’s living in the dorm with the rest of the girls and I have my own suite in the faculty wing. Speaking of that, I know Harry has the room all the way at the top of the tower,” she smiled, “and I don’t envy you that climb. I mean really, if those were my rooms, I’d turn those stairs into an escalator like those going up to Miss McGonagall’s office. Honestly, I don’t see how you climb all those steps every day.”

“Ah,” said Remus, “the sweet energies of youth.”

“But Remus, can I call you Remus?” He nodded. “I haven’t seen you in the faculty wing. Do you live in town?”

“Well no, I don’t.” Remus stumbled. “My quarters are on the level below. You normally wouldn’t get down there.”

“In the dungeons? With no windows? How do you stand it?” Then she understood and her cheeks flushed scarlet. “Oh, it’s you. I mean, you’re the one who...” Her hands fluttered with her napkin and she quickly looked away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

Remus smiled warmly at her discomfort. “It’s all right, Tabitha. I’ve been a werewolf for quite a while and there’s no need for you to get embarrassed. Unless you’re afr...” Now it was Remus’s turn to blush.

“Oh. Oh no, that’s not it. I mean..”

Remus quickly looked up at the ceiling and noticed the bright scarlets and gold of the sunset. “It’s getting late.” He stammered, “I have to go. If you’ll excuse me.” He quickly got up from the table and turned to go. It wasn’t until he had pulled the tablecloth halfway off the table that he realized that he still had it clutched in his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ve got this, Remus,” Harry said, grabbing the tablecloth so nothing would slide off the edge.

“Thanks. Well, I’ll see you on Monday, Harry.” He half turned to leave again. “Good-bye Professor, err... Tabitha, it’s been a pleasure talking with you.”

Remus quickly left the room and Tabitha watched him go.

“Oh, that was smooth,” she said and dropped her head onto the tabletop with an audible thunk.

“Relax, Professor. Honestly, things like this happen all the time. He’s used to it.”

“But he shouldn’t have to be, now should he? Especially from another teacher.”

“Forget it.”

“It’s not like I’m afraid of him or anything, I know he takes every precaution he can. It’s just that I’ve never met one before, a werewolf I mean, and I didn’t expect him to be so...”

“Normal?” Harry offered.

“Charming,” Tabitha corrected.

Author’s Note: It has been pointed out to me that my interpretation of Remus’ Lupine periods differs from most people. Many in fanfic-dom have taken the position that, since the moon is only truly full for one night every four weeks, a werewolf only transforms for that one night. For canon support they reference the portion of PoA where Prof. Snape takes over Remus’ DADA class for only one day. However, that one day is a Friday and when the trio learns that Prof. Lupin is “ill” they become quite worried about him. The book states that they do not see Lupin at all that weekend. He only reappears Monday morning, looking haggard and worn, in his classes. To me, this means that Remus was incapacitated for the entire weekend. For this fic, I am assuming that Remus transforms into a wolf for three nights each month, this also conforms with other lycanthropy stories I’ve encountered, and that, in order to insure that he poses absolutely no risk to his students, he is confined to secure accommodations that allow no possibility of his accidental escape or deliberate release for the entire period. I know this sounds harsh, but after the events at the conclusion of PoA, I’m assuming that Remus would only agree to return to Hogwarts under the conditions that he is held in the strictest of confinements during his monthly episodes. Remus would show himself no mercy in the cause of safeguarding his students.

I would also like to thank those of you who have taken the time to post reviews to this little tale, especially Becky, who still has an unbroken streak of reviews per chapter.

And finally, I want to thank Ahmie for defrosting the dead carp she insists on bapping me over the head with when I run roughshod over the rules regarding commas and things.

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Chapter 8 - History Repeats

As Harry made his way down to the small Gamekeeper's Cottage he thought he could just make out the sound of a wolf howling. ‘Nah, just your imagination,’ he thought, but still he wondered about the ordeal his friend-mentor-uncle went through 13 times each year. How painful was it to transform? As he approached, he noticed very little difference between the way the cottage looked now and how it had looked for generations, and that was good. One of the points that Hagrid had been adamant about during that long morning’s discussion with Madame Maxime and the house-elves was that a Gamekeeper's Cottage should look like, well, it should look like a Gamekeeper lived there. This idea infuriated Madam Maxime, who was used to living in regal splendor at Beauxbatons. She thought that they should insist on at least an entire wing of the castle as their new home. Harry had come up with a compromise. The original one-room hut had a new room built on in the back and a small walled garden attached to the side. Looking at the results from the outside, Harry thought it still looked perfectly homey, like a place you could come to visit and always be welcomed. Now if only the Madam was equally pleased with the interior.

Harry knocked on the huge door and was immediately greeted by the thunderous barking of Fang, Hagrid’s great Boarhound. In a moment the door opened.

“Harry!” called the huge Gamekeeper, “It’s good ta see ya. Come in, come in.”

He stood aside and ushered Harry into the hut. It looked perfect to Harry. Still there was the huge, heavy, and well-scrubbed table. There was a pot of something simmering on the fire but Harry didn’t quite feel the courage to ask what it was. Against the far wall, where Hagrid’s huge bedstead used to stand, there was now a comfortable looking armchair, Hagrid sized o’ course, and a rough hewn door leading into the new, rear room.

“So, how are things going, Hagrid? New classes going all right?” Harry asked.

“Oh, there goin’ jus’ grand. O’ course, some of the third years are a bit squeamish ‘bout tendin’ the firecrabs, but that’s understandable. ‘At’s why ey’re comin’ t’ class, in’ it?” Hagrid said, giving Harry a friendly poke in the shoulder that sent him across the room and, thankfully, into the waiting armchair.

Harry was about to ask what a firecrab was, but then he remembered the Blast-Ended Skrewts from his own fourth year and decided against it.

“Hagrid,” Harry asked instead, “I’ve come to talk to you about house-elves.”

“Wha’?” Hagrid growled, “Somebody causin’ trouble for ‘em? Is it that Malfoy runt? If he’s up to his ol’ tricks again, why I’ll...”

“No, Hagrid.” Harry broke in. “It’s nothing like that, I just realized that I don’t know that much at all about them, and, since you’re the Care of Magical Creatures Professor, I thought I’d ask you.”

“Well now, I am the teacher, though I can’t claim the title o’ Professor, now can I?” He gave Harry a conspiratorial wink, “A’ least not yet. So, wha’ is it ya want to know.”

“I don’t know, everything I guess. Like, how long do they live?”

“Well, them’s old creatures they is,” Hagrid began. “I guess, properly cared for and barring accidents, they live t’ be three or four hundred years old.” Harry’s eyes went up. He never imagined they lived that long. No wonder Winky was so attached to the Crouches.

“Aye, the families they serve hand ‘em down generation to generation. Now, mind you, they don’t breed that often so it tends to keep their numbers in check. In fact, few families wan’ em ta breed since it takes ‘em away from their work.”

“Do they get married then?” Harry continued.

“Naw, not like humans do anyways. When a pair gets together, it’s usually for breedin’ and they’ll stick together till the young ‘un is mostly grown. That takes ‘bout 50 years. Then the couples tend to go their own ways. House-elves is maternalistic, ya see, and the father stays around only to provide for the mother and child ‘til it kin start managin’ fer itself.”

“Fifty years. No wonder their masters are so reluctant to let them have children, that’s almost a whole lifetime for us.”

“Yup, and the mother is pretty much carin’ for the child full time. So few families ‘ill let their house elves do it. Them’s that do are usually the richer ones that have other elves to take up the slack.”

“Sort of like an investment in a future servant?” Harry suddenly got the image of Lucius Malfoy, calculating the reproduction of his servants like interest on a loan.

“Either that or they care enough ‘bout the creatures to want t’ see’em ‘appy,” Hagrid continued. “I tell ya, ‘Arry, there’s nothin’ in this world happier than a house-elf carrying a baby. Joyful, they is. Joyful.”

Harry was just wondering whether the Crouch family was historically a kind family that wanted to see their servants happy or usurers, like Malfoy, who simply made investments in increasing their stock, when the door next to him opened.

“Agrid? Why did ju not tell me we ‘ad company?” Madame Maxime asked as she noticed Harry sitting there. “Arry! Such a pleazire, to see you again!” She grabbed up Harry, and before he could say a word, she had kissed him on both cheeks and set him back down in his chair as if he were an infant.

“Uh, hello Madame Maxime, and how are you?” he managed to say.

“Tres bien, ‘Arry, tres bien. Ze work is coming along veery well. I ‘ave brought some of my own elves from Beauxbatons to assist with the constructeon.”

Harry nodded.

“Yeah, Harry. Your idea’s workin’ out jus’ fine.” Hagrid said with a broad smile. “I gets ta keep me old cottage here and Olympe gets wha’ she wans a’ well. Care to take a look?”

“Well, I wo....”

“Oh, mon cher, we are in no fit state for veezitors!” Madame Maxime broke in. “There are elves everywhere and not a zingle room ‘as been completed!”

“Wha’ da ya mean?” Hagrid said, “We’re sleeping down there, ain’ we?”

“Mon du! You can not be zinking of showing ‘Arry our BOUDOIR?” she gasped. Harry was amazed that a woman the size of Madame Maxime could actually blush, but then agan, why wouldn’t she? Her size made her no less human.

“Well, it’s not like he don’ know we ga’ one, dearest.”

“NON, c’est imposible. We shall have tea in ze garden. Zat, at least, is fineeshed.”

She opened the door behind them with a flourish and ushered Harry into the Grand Foyer. There were rows of torches on either side of him, ahead was a broad staircase leading down into the rest of the quarters, and to his right was a gilded set of double doors that lead, Harry remembered from his original idea, into the formal gardens. Hagrid rushed to open these doors and gave Madame Maxime his arm to escort her out.

“Always the formalities, eh Harry?” he said as they passed out of doors.

They stood on a path of crushed stone that wound its way through the gardens. Harry had seen some spectacular gardens before, but this was amazing. It seemed to cover at least three acres with small stands of fruit trees, flowers, and even an herb garden. Even at this late hour bees buzzed back and forth pollinating the flowers. Harry tried to follow the path but soon noticed that it didn’t merely wander, it was, in fact, a complex maze that one had to navigate in order to reach the center of the garden. Hagrid and Olympia, being twelve feet tall each, simply stepped over the beds of flowers onto another part of the maze but Harry, reluctant to trample any plants, had to jump over them so that, by the time they reached a gazebo in the center of the garden, he was grateful for the chance to sit. A rose-covered trellis arched above him as he sat in an over-large wrought iron chair and sipped the iced tea that had been brought for them by house-elves draped in embroidered velvet window curtains.

“This is really lovely,” Harry said. “I’ve never had much of a chance to do any gardening. Outside of Herbology, that is.”

“Oh, ‘Arry.” Madame Maxime’s voice almost cooed, if anything that resonant could be said to. “You mus’ develop some ‘obbies! There is a ‘ole world outzide of ‘Ogwarts. There is literature, drama, gardening, so many zings for a person to do. You must learn; you must grow.”

“I don’t know. It seems that my whole life, since I got out of that cupboard, has been spent either chasing Voldemort or hiding from him. I don’t know if I could do anything else.”

“Oh, but you must. After all, Voldemoirte is dead now. If you do not move on, then you might as well be dead also. Life continues, cheri, and we must go on.”

“What she’s sayin’ Harry, is what did we do all that fightin’ for if, once we won, we did nothin’ but relive it all over and over again?”

“But what else is there?” Harry asked.

“Tha’s up to you, Harry, you’re The Boy Who Lived, now it’s time ta start livin’.”

* * *

The next morning Harry found himself standing in the front of the class, HIS class, waiting for the bell to ring. He didn’t remember walking down the halls, or eating his breakfast, or even waking up and getting dressed. All he could remember was standing here and watching the students begin to take their seats. All he could think about were the pairs of eyes that stared at him, and the giggling. They were laughing, and they were laughing at him. Then Harry looked down. Oh Lord! He was stark naked! Harry sat up in bed and shook his head to clear away the dream. “Oh boy,” he thought, “maybe I should have paid more attention to what Remus was teaching.”

Quickly, he got dressed and ran down to the Remus’s office to gather up some notes. Here it was. His first class were first years and they were talking about Grindelows. No, that was the third years this afternoon, the firsts were studying hexes. NO! That was the fourths. Blast it! Where were the notes on the first years? Here was the roster. He could take attendance, at least. The cuckoo clock on the wall chirped that it was time for breakfast. Harry scooped up all of the notes, vowing to sort them out over some croissants (thanks to the arrival of Madame Maxime and so many of her former students, the elves were adding a little more variety to the menus).

Harry arrived at the Great Hall and made his way to the staff table. He dumped all of Lupin’s notes onto the table where Remus usually sat and poured himself a cup of tea. Adding a spot of milk and sugar, he stirred with one hand as he rooted through the pile with the other.

“Having a bit of trouble sorting things out, Harry?” It was Tabitha. She had both hands free to eat her breakfast and seemed utterly composed. How did she do that? Didn’t she know that in just a few minutes all kinds of people would be looking at her and expecting her to actually KNOW what she was doing?

“Well, actually...”

“Is this your first time?” she asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Teaching. Is this going to be your first time teaching a class?” she repeated.

“Yes, yes it is, and I’m a bit nervous.”

“Well, just try to relax and it will be OK.”

“Relax? Ha! I can’t even remember what it is I’m supposed to be teaching them.”

“Trust me Harry, on your first day it really doesn’t matter what you teach them as long as YOU seem relaxed and confident.”

“Huh?”

“If you’re nervous, the class will pick up on it and no matter what you try to do, it won’t work. If you relax and make them think you’re comfortable up there, they’ll tell you what you’re supposed to teach them.”

“But how can I not be nervous? All those eyes just staring at me. It’s creepy.”

“Come on now, Harry, you’ve fought dark wizards in open battle, you fought the darkest of them on several occasions. Do you really think a bunch of students can hurt you?”

Harry just stammered and fumbled with the notes.

“Look, there’s an old trick to relaxing.” Harry brightened a bit, if he knew a trick maybe. “You just imagine all your students are wearing their pajamas. How can anyone be afraid of a bunch of 11 year olds in their PJ’s?”

“Yeah, you think that’ll work?”

“Yes, it will, trust me. Oh, and one more important piece of advice.”

“Yes, what is it?” Harry was desperate to hear all the advice he could get at this point.

“Don’t pick your nose!” Harry sputtered, how did she know?

Tabitha smiled, “We all get that urge the first couple of times in front of a class. OK now, let’s see what you have here.”

They spent the rest of breakfast sorting the papers into piles, one for each of the classes he would have for the next two days; rosters on top, then the notes on what each class was covering. Harry even noticed that Remus had been noting some personal comments on the students next to their names on the roster. Just like Harry had done, Remus marked Mr. A. Wilson as needing close scrutiny. Finally, everything was in order, and Harry gathered his notes and left for class. As he left, Minerva McGonagall leaned over.

“Thank you, Professor Stevens, I know young Mr. Potter is rather nervous and I appreciate your helping to sort him out.”

“No problem, Headmistress, Remus asked me to make sure he got off on the right foot.”

“Yes, as brave as he can be when facing death, in most things he is still just a young man trying to come to an understanding with himself.” Both women smiled at the memories. “But that advice you gave him, about picturing his students in their bedclothes? I had always heard that a nervous speaker should try to picture his audience in the nude?”

“That’s the way it was told to me as well, but remember he’ll be teaching my teenage daughter later today!”

* * *

“But Mr. Potter,” the student countered, “you’re teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. If we have to defend ourselves against them, don’t they have to be evil?”

Harry walked around to the front of the desk and tried to lean against it as he had seen Remus do.

“Just because you are on the opposite side of an argument doesn’t make your opponent evil. Any more than the fact that you think your actions are justified makes you good.”

He could see the bewildered looks on their faces as the bell rang ending the class.

“We’ll discuss this more tomorrow. For your homework, I want a short essay on the definition of evil.”

Amid the groans at this last minute assignment a voice called, “How short?”

“Only long enough to show you’ve thought about the question.”

As the students began to file out of the class, Harry sat down on his stool in the corner. Remus made it look so easy, but here Harry was at the end of his first day of classes and he felt like a wrung-out sponge. Well, at least he didn’t really embarrass himself, or at least he didn’t think he did. He gathered up his notes and headed out to door. All he wanted was a hot shower, then some fresh clothes, and then a nap. ‘But if I go to bed now,’ he thought, ‘I’ll only wake up at three in the morning with nothing to do. I’d better try to stay up a little longer,’ He reasoned it wouldn’t do for a teacher to be going to bed before any of the firsties. He decided to head to the Great Hall first. He wasn’t particularly hungry but he wanted to thank Professor Stevens for her help. It had sounded crazy this morning but she was right. Once he settled down a bit, the classes did seem to direct themselves. He hadn’t gone over any new information, but he had gotten them to ask questions on what Remus had covered and they’d discussed that.

The Great Hall was empty except for a few students playing Exploding Snap and waiting for dinner to be served. Harry didn’t feel like sitting at the head table alone, so he turned and walked out the front entrance instead. It was a lovely September day, still relatively warm, so Harry sat on the steps to the castle and just drank it in. Down at the Quidditch pitch, out of sight around the bulk of the castle, he knew a horde of students would be flying, getting ready for the tryouts next weekend. The boys would be showing off just as hard as they could, but the girls, at least the clever ones, would be taking notes so that during the tryouts they would know who the best flyers were already, and how to beat them. Harry smiled and wished he could be with them, a carefree student once again impatiently waiting for Quidditch season to start. He thought of the irony that, when he was a student, he was always caught up with worries about exams, and the NEWTs, and the house standings, and Quidditch. All he had wanted then was to be out of school, to be an adult with none of these things hanging over his head. Now here he was, supposedly a grown up, and all he wanted to do was to go back to being a student, and he didn’t know why. He thought back to his final trip on the Hogwarts Express and how it had ended with an attack by the Death Eaters. Well, not an attack really, they just swooped down on Platform 9 and 3/4, casting explosions and smoke into the air to cause confusion as they took away a dozen students. It was the first part of their initiation into the Dark Lord’s service. Harry remembered how angry he had been and then how shocked that, although Crabbe and Goyle had been taken away, Draco Malfoy was left standing on the platform, all alone. Harry had spent the next year in the fight. Even as young as he was, he got involved in most of the campaigns. Then came the final running battle that had ended right here at Hogwarts. Well, the war was over, and now, for the life of him, Harry couldn’t think of a single thing he wanted to do with his life.

“PROFESSOR POTTER!” The voice brought Harry out of his revelry with a jolt. He looked around to see who was calling him.

“Professor Potter!” It was Wilson, the first year Gryff, along with some others.

“It’s not Professor, it’s just Mr. Potter, and considering that we’re not in class anymore why don’t we just make it Harry?”

“OK, err...Harry,” Wilson’s chest swelled with importance; he was on a first name basis with HARRY POTTER! The other boys circled around him, “We was jus’ wonderin’ if you’d tell us about it.”

“About what?”

“You know... the war. I was -” He got a sharp nudge in the ribs from one of the other boys, Thomas Finney if Harry recalled right. “Well, we was wonderin’ what it was like...”, he continued almost in a whisper, “when he died.”

“He?” Harry was momentarily taken off guard, how did they know he was thinking about that?

“You know...him”

“Dumbledore?”

“No, not him...” then again in a whisper, “you-know-who.”

“Oh, you mean Voldemort.”

The boys all stepped back at his voicing the name but nodded in unison. “Yeah, him. So, what was it like?”

They huddled in closer, anxious for the gory details. Harry sat there for a second, remembering Hagrid’s comment of last night, about spending your life reliving the past.

“Sorry,” he said, “I don’t rightly remember it all.”

“Aww, com’ on. You must remember, you was there, wasn’t ya?”

“Sorry, I got hit pretty hard and don’t remember much of what happened.”

“You must remember sompin.”

“Sorry, no. Anyway, I’m sure Professor Fez will be covering it his class. It’s all history now anyway, isn’t it?”

The boys turned away, looking as dejected as if they had just lost the Quidditch Cup. How on earth do war stories go from being horrific in the first person to exciting in the third? Harry shook his head and stood to head back into the Great Hall. As he entered, he noticed that Tabitha was already seated and had begun to eat. He dropped his stack of notes onto his chair and sat next to her.

“I’d like to thank you for the help this morning,” he said.

“No problem, Harry. We’ve all been there before.” He noticed how warm and genuine her smile was, it was like it wasn’t on her face so much as shining through it from within. “I take it things went well.”

“Better than I had a right to expect, I guess. I was glad I was wearing these robes though.”

Tabitha wrinkled her nose a bit. “Why’s that?”

“So, none of them could see my knees knocking.” He grinned. “A couple of them did turn around a few times to see who was at the door though.” She laughed politely at his poor joke. Harry noticed that he had filled his plate with food and, surprisingly, he had the appetite to eat it. “By the way,” he said. Tabitha paused with her fork half way to her mouth, “Sam looks really cute in those pink bunny pajamas with the feet in them.”

“Did she wear those to class AGAIN?” she asked.

Dinner over, Harry considered going up to the library, he had given himself a tough assignment to research, but decided against it. He was just too tired to slog through the dusty shelves tonight. Instead, he just returned to his rooms to prepare for the next day’s classes.

* * *

If Harry's first day of teaching had left him feeling like a wrung-out sponge, then his second day had gone a bit better. He still felt slightly damp as the students fled the room at the end of the last class period, but then he looked down at the pile of parchment stacked on his desk and realized that the day was not over yet. When he had assigned homework to the students, he failed to understand that it also meant that HE had to grade it. He stuffed the pile of papers into his bag and trudged off to the staff room to begin.

The staff room, or faculty lounge as it was formally called, was a large rectangular room similar in size to a classroom but with fireplaces at either end. In the center of the room was a large round table where staff meetings were conducted and there was a smattering of other tables and desks about the room. It was on one of these other tables that Harry dropped is load of papers and sat down to start reading. Harry grabbed the topmost scroll and began.

Several hours later, Harry was jolted awake by the creaking of the door as someone opened it. The room had grown dim as the fires burned low and Harry blinked to bring the room into focus. Two men were entering and speaking low.

“Yes, the fire here is a part of the Floo Network so it would be simpler to head straight home from here.”

“Such a mess though, don’t you think. You arrive all covered with soot...”

“Yes, but Ali, it is so much faster than walking halfway to Hogsmeade and Apparating, besides it’s not that messy, Molly keeps the fireplace quite clean so that the children can use it to visit and not track soot all through the house.

“Well, Ali, it has been quite an evening. I must say that our initial work has been everything I had hoped. With luck, we could have everything in place by year’s end.”

“But still, Minister, there are issues. I’m not sure that this is an ethical means of solving your dilemma.”

“Tut-tut, Ali. Let me handle that. You do have some good points, but I think that our intentions are good and our need is great. But not to worry, I will think about these things before we commit to this course of action.”

Harry stood up and both men started. It was obvious that neither had seen him, nor did they expect anyone to be in the room.

“Good evening, Minister Weasley” Harry said, “and Professor Fez. I’m sorry if I startled you. I must have fallen asleep grading some papers.”

“Oh, Harry! You gave me quite a start there. I must say, I didn’t expect to be seeing you tonight.”

“Yes, good evening, Mr. Potter. You gave us quite a surprise.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just the papers. I reckon I’m just not used to being a teacher.”

“Falling asleep while grading papers is an occupational hazard, I’m afraid,” continued Prof. Fez. “In fact I usually keep a stack by my bed in case I have a bout of insomnia. I was just saying farewell to the Minister.”

“Yes,” interjected Arthur Weasley quickly, “we were just discussing his flying carpet. You know, there is that pesky ban on importing them and all.”

Harry nodded silently as he gathered his papers and headed for the door. Just as the door shut behind him, he heard their conversation begin again.

A/N: Again, I would like to thank those kind folks who have left reviews of this work. Your words do indeed make a great impact on those of us who post our twisted little fantasies here, so please help us further by letting us know that someone, somewhere actually reads this nonesense.

And of course I need to thank Ahmie for her ceaseless beta bapping There seems to be fewer bruises on my head today so I guess thats a good sign Or else she's gotten fed up and has given up all hope of redeeming this miserable punctuation sinner.

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Chapter 9 - A Flying Leap

It was a beautiful Saturday morning, the temperatures were still warm and the sun shone bright and clear in the sky. Every student at Hogwarts would be outside enjoying themselves and Harry wanted to join them. However, he knew he had to take advantage of this opportunity to go the library while it was empty. He had a lot of searching to do and didn’t know the first place to start.

The library was dimly lit with dust dancing in the shafts of light coming in from the windows, it always struck him as odd that a library would be dimly lit but that had always been the case here. Harry had to stop himself from looking out the windows at the lake and surrounding grounds, he knew that if he did he would never get any work done. Instead, he chose a table against the inside wall, a sconce on the wall flickering to provide him with enough light to read. He spread out some parchment and a quill but then just sat there; he had absolutely no idea of where to begin. Well, when all else fails, ask for help, so he got up again and walked over to the librarian’s desk. She sat at her desk in worn gray robes, her silver hair tied up in a bun so tight it would have made Minerva McGonagall proud. Harry secretly suspected that Minerva had been the one to teach her this little trick. Tortoise shell glasses sat perched on the end of her nose as she sat scanning a list of borrowed books, placing small tic marks next to the ones that would become overdue that day.

Harry cleared his throat to get her attention, “Excuse Madam, I was wondering if you could give me a bit of assistance?”

She turned to face him and Harry saw her usual poker face spread into a wide smile. “Oh, of course, ‘arry. What can I do to ‘elp you?”

Fleur Delacour was part-veela, with that race’s breath-taking beauty. She had come to Hogwarts during Harry’s fifth year, the year after the Tri-Wizard Tournament and the return of Voldemort. Many on the staff had objected to bringing her in but Dumbledore had overridden them and hired her as an assistant librarian to Madam Pince. At the wave of outrage, he had simply smiled and said that her being there would most assuredly increase the amount of time that most of the male students spent in the library and that couldn’t be considered a bad thing, could it? She quickly adopted her now customary plain attire, in an attempt to cut back on the number of boys who injured themselves tripping over the stacks while watching her instead of their feet, and soon became an important part of the faculty with her quick intelligence and love of research.

“Well, ya see...” It was her smile, however, that still caused problems. As long as she kept a serious demeanor she was a great asset but as soon as she opened the door and let out her veela charm all hope of making any progress was usually lost. Harry stammered and couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was he was trying to do. Fleur quickly realized what had happened and with a slight giggle let her glasses slip down her nose a tad. She looked at him over the tops of the frames and sternly repeated her question.

“Ahem. What I was looking to do was to trace the history of a couple of prominent wizarding families. Search through their ancestors and such.”

“Ah, genealogy is a very complex and difficult thing. Particularly, ‘ere at ‘ogwarts. You see our library is structured around magical research and history but not necessarily ze detailed records you will be needing.” She nibbled on the end of a quill for a moment and Harry had to shake himself to keep his concentration. “Ze Ministry would be a better place for zis type of research. Zay will have ze birth and death records zat you will be needing.”

“But you see, I can’t go to the Ministry. I want to keep this sort of quiet and there are too many people there who might overhear.”

“Ah, a secret” Fleur smiled quickly before returning to business. “You might be able to get what you need by using our records of ze Daily Prophet. It will be slow progress but it may ‘elp you if you only need to go back two or zree generations.”

“No” Harry said dejectedly. “I’m going to need to go back at least several hundred years to get where I need to go.”

“Oh. C’est impossible. We simply do not have ze resources ‘ere to do zat level of research. I’m sorry ‘arry.” Even her frown was enchanting. She thought for another moment before speaking again. “Zere is one possible way.”

“What’s that?”

“Zee new professor of ‘istory, Professor Fez. He is a devotee of genealogy and quite well known for his skill as a researcher. Perhaps ‘e can ‘elp you?”

Harry’s mind quickly flashed to his brief encounter with Professor Fez the night before and again he wondered what the two men had been really discussing. “I’ll have to have a talk with him” he said mildly. “Maybe he can help me.”

“Marvelous” Fleur said and smiled widely again. “I’m glad I was of some assistance after all.”

Harry was about to turn to leave when Fleur pointed to another chair near her desk. Harry spun the chair around and straddled it backwards, using the back of the chair to rest his forearms then put his chin on top of them.

“What is it, Fleur?”

“Oh, nothing. I am just a little lonely and want to... ‘ow you say... chat? Zere is no one ‘ere today and I am bored.” Harry knew something was up and waited for the other shoe to drop.

“So, ‘ow are you, ‘arry? ‘ow do you like teaching?” Her voice was mild and she made no attempt to turn on the veela charm, perhaps she was just bored. Harry looked around. The library was completely empty. Even the prospect of being in the same room as a quarter-veela was not enough to keep the students inside on a day like this.

“Oh, it’s OK I guess. I’ve only done it for two days and Remus will be back on Monday.”

“Ah yes, Professor Loopin” Fleur had worked very hard on her English over the past few years and it now held only the accent that she wished to maintain. Enough to make a young man’s heart skip a beat but not enough to keep her from being understood. “’e is a werewolf, no?” Harry just nodded. “I ‘ave never met such a civilized one before. Usually they are very...primitif.”

“Well, Remus is anything but primitive” Harry said, “and he’s the best DADA teacher I’ve ever seen. And we’ve gone through quite a few of them here.” They both smiled.

“You two are very close, no?”

“Yes, I guess Remus and Sirius are the closest thing to a family I’ve got.”

She frowned for a moment. “But what about your mother and brother?”

Harry was completely taken aback by this and his face must have shown it. Fleur immediately flushed with discomfort.

“My real family was killed when I was a baby.” was all Harry could say.

“Yes, I know. But I assumed you were adopted by relatives.”

“I was raised by my Uncle and Aunt but I would hardly call them family. We never see each other anymore.”

Fleur seemed surprised at this. “At zee tournament... when our families came to visit before the second task... You were visited by a woman and a young man. You seemed quite close zen? I assumed zis was your family?”

Now Harry understood, during the Tri-Wizard Tournament the champions, Fleur being the champion from Beauxbatons and Harry one of the Hogwarts champions, were visited by their families just before the second challenge. Harry had been surprised when Mrs. Weasley and her eldest son Bill had arrived as his.

“Oh no, they weren’t my family.” He explained, “That was Mrs. Weasley and Bill. They’re Ron’s family but Dumbledore let them come visit me.”

“Weasley? You mean ze Minister’s family?”

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley sort of adopted me when I started at Hogwarts and she knew my Aunt would NEVER come to visit me, so she came.”

“And ze young man wiz her, it was her son?”

“Yes, Bill. He’s their oldest. He went to Hogwarts too, all their children did. Bill was Head Boy, in fact.”

“Oh?” she said with interest. “He is tres dashing, his wife must be very careful.”

“Oh, Bill’s not married” Harry said, “as far as I know he isn’t even seeing anyone.”

“I find zat very hard to believe, an attractive and intelligent man like zat, all alone.”

“Well, he works for Gringotts, in Egypt. He’s one of their top curse breakers.”

“How dangerous, and exciting. He must attract ze women like moths to a flame.”

“Actually,” Harry said, finally catching on to her, “I think he’s rather lonely. Working everyday surrounded by Goblins” he smiled to himself as Fleur gave a slight shudder, “and all alone in the middle of the desert at night.”

Harry paused for a moment than added, “perhaps you should write him a letter? I know he’d really appreciate it.”

“Non, zat would be out of ze question.” Fleur sat up straight in her feigned indignation. “It is not proper for a lady to write to a man. Very unseemly.”

“Oh, I understand.” Harry said, thinking quickly, “but I was speaking in a professional sense.” Fleur raised one eyebrow quizzically. “I mean someone from the school ought to write him about the mistake, but I’m only an assistant teacher, it’s not my place.”

“What mistake is zat?” He had her interest now and Harry sent a silent prayer to Bill Weasley for forgiveness for what he was about to do.

“The plaque in the Trophy Room, the one with the names of all the former Head Boys on it.”

“Yes, what about it?”

“His name, it’s spelled wrong.”

”No!” Fleur seemed truly shocked at this news. “Someone ought to correct zis grievous error.”

“Yes, perhaps someone ought to contact Bill and ask him exactly how he would like the plaque to read. You know...Bill, or perhaps William?”

“Indeed, yes,” her brows furrowed in thought, “and perhaps as ze librarian, I should take responsibility for seeing to zis correction of our records.”

“If you think it best...”

“Yes, in my official capacity it is my duty to write to Monsieur Bill Weasley and see to zis matter.” She picked up a quill and drew a piece of parchment towards her. “I shall draft a notice immediately and send it by owl tonight.”

Harry stood up. “Well, I guess I should leave you to your work then. So long, Fleur.”

“Au revoir, ‘arry.” Fleur said over her shoulder as she bent to her task.

Harry smiled as he left the library and wondered just how he should go about altering the inscription on that plaque. However, as he headed down towards Professor Fez’s office he started to doubt the wisdom of approaching him. After all, what were Fez and the Minister talking about last night that they needed to keep secret? Maybe Harry should investigate that before approaching either of the men about anything. Harry shook his head, those years of worrying about Voldemort had made him paranoid. It didn’t concern him what Professor Fez and Arthur Weasley were discussing. Mr. Weasley was one of the good guys, right? Maybe it was just something personal that they didn’t want to get overheard. Maybe even, they were just talking about flying carpets and Harry was just looking for mysteries where none existed. Either way, it didn’t matter. He needed to find out something and Fez was the best source. He stood in front of the door and, dismissing a last hesitation, knocked.

Harry was surprised that the professor was actually in his office and entered. The room was cluttered with boxes and Professor Fez was in one up to his elbows.

“Hallo, Harry, please pardon the mess, but as you can see I haven’t finished unpacking yet. Here, could you take this for me?”

Harry reached out and Fez dropped something dry and papery into his hands. Curious, Harry glanced down and saw it was a mummified human hand, still wrapped in its bandages. Shocked, Harry took a step back and stumbled over an empty box on the floor.

“Oooh, you’ll want to have a care with that. Wouldn’t do to drop it.”

“Why?” asked Harry, not wanting to hear the answer.

“It will try to get away, of course.” Replied the professor, “Last time I lost track of it took me most of a fortnight to find it again. Crawled into a fireplace and was halfway up the flue.”

Harry looked down and saw that the fingers of the hand were starting to twitch slightly. Harry spun around, looking for a place to toss the misshapen thing when Fez appeared with a large glass jar.

“Here, just drop old Tetanrah back in here.” Harry was delighted to comply and Fez sealed the top. “A gift from my mentor, unfortunately I haven’t gotten the foggiest notion of what it’s good for.”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“Well, it seemed rude at the moment and now so much time has passed, I’m rather afraid he wouldn’t remember. Ah well, I’ll just keep him around until I figure it out.” Fez placed the jar atop a high set of shelves and took a seat behind his desk leaning his chair back. “So, to what do I owe this pleasure? I’m sure you didn’t come down here just to help me unpack.”

“Well, Professor, actually no. I’ve heard that you’re knowledgeable in genealogy and I was hoping that you could give me some advice.”

“Genealogy, eh? Absolutely fascinating subject, so much of our history is tied up in the dynamics and relationships of our families. Don’t you agree?”

“Well personally,” Harry hesitated, “I haven’t got a whole lot of experience there.”

“Not a lot of experience!” Professor Fez sat forward with a thud. “My boy, don’t you know?” At the shake of Harry’s head he went on in amazement. “Why the Potter family has been involved in the battle against dark magic for centuries. But I assume that is why you came. Believe it or not, I’ve already done a bit of work on your family, for a book I am writing. Here let me see if I can find my notes...” He began to rummage in a pile of parchments littering his desk.

Harry managed to interrupt, “But Professor, it’s not my family I’m interested in.”

“No?” this baffled Fez. “Then why the interest in genealogy if not in researching your own family?”

“I’m interested in tracing two other families. To see if there are any shared ancestors.”

”Ahh, which families would you be talking about then?” Harry told him.

“Hmm, both fairly prominent Wizarding families to be sure. Both pure blood” he gave Harry a look from under his brows, “that will make it easier to trace. All the needed information will be kept in the wizarding records. It’s much harder if you have to start searching both muggle and magical records, going back and forth, such a bother. But I have to ask, why the interest, since it is of no direct impact on you?”

“That could take some time to explain.” Harry said.

“Time is what I deal in, Mr. Potter.” So again, Harry told him.

Ali ban Fez looked at Harry doubtfully, “It seems like rather a small matter for so much effort. After all...”

"Excuse me, Professor but I don't feel that happiness, anyone's happiness, is a small matter."

"Indeed, point well made, Mr. Potter. I'll tell you what, how about a bargain? You give me the afternoon, helping to sort through all this" he waved his hand at the piles of boxes and trunks around the room, "and I'll look into the matter for you?"

Harry thought for a moment and replied, "You don't have the rest of that mummy hiding in one of these crates, do you?"

"Ever cautious, eh?" Professor Fez smiled, "No, I don't believe so, or at least I don't remember packing any more of him."

"Then it's a deal."

* * *

The next Saturday dawned cool and with dark clouds promising rain at sometime during the day. Sam sat cross-legged on her bed with a book propped on her knees. She had given up trying to study in the common room, everyone there seemed to be discussing nothing but the upcoming Quidditch tryouts and the noise made concentration impossible. Shannon North, who was evidently the captain of the team, was trying to keep everyone enthusiastic about the tryouts.

"Don't worry about the weather!" she had been telling them, "A little water won't hurt ya. It's not like your gonna melt or something, right?" Sam hadn't bothered to answer, she just picked up her books and went up to her dorm room.

A boy whose name Sam didn’t know said, "Come’ on you, your name's Sam right? Your that new Transfiguration Professor's kid, right? I've heard you really know how to fly. Why don't you try out?" He was in her classes so she assumed he was also a fourth year but so far hadn't bothered to learn his name. "I'm gonna be. Quidditch is great, best game there is!"

"Yeah, if you like flying around in circles." She said over her shoulder and continued up the stairs.

"Don't mind her everybody. She's just a twiggy old knob, no wonder nobody likes her." said Shannon. She continued her exultation but now Sam was out of earshot.

“A twiggy old knob am I?” Sam thought. She slammed her book closed and wiped the back of one hand across her eyes. “Well, who’d want a bunch of slack-jawed morons like them for friends anyway? It’s not like they actually understood the least little thing about why a broom flies anyway. A bunch of stuck-up British ...” She couldn’t think of a word nasty enough to describe them but whatever it was that’s what they were. Flying around some stupid little field trying to get some balls to go through a hoop. What kind of a game is that anyway? She’d show them. They thought they knew how to fly, she’d show them what flying really was.

She went over to where her trunk sat against the wall and reached behind it taking out a rather long case and flipping the latches. It looked somewhat like an electric guitar case but it held something that made much sweeter music to her, it held her broom. She removed it and gave it a close examination, her own form of a pre-flight checklist. The handle was smooth and without the slightest sign of stress cracking, the bundle of straw lashed to the stern was solid without gaps or stray twigs. She took the broom over to the window, which was large enough to permit owls easy access, and swung the glass open as far as the hinges would permit. Carefully stepping out onto the ledge, she grasped the broom firmly with both hands and leapt.

The sensation of free fall lasted only a second or so as she swung the broom between her legs and pulled back on the handles. Responding as if it were part of her, the broom pulled out of the plunge and raced off towards the lake and the forest beyond. The sensations of flight, of being free from the bonds that tied her while earthbound, liberated Sam's mind, all her concerns vanished, blown away by the wind that whistled through her hair. Carving a wide and graceful turn over the Forbidden Forest she looked over her shoulder and saw the Whomping Willow, a grin split her face as she pulled the broom tighter into the turn and aimed straight towards the tree. Running low, her feet scant inches above the turf, she hauled the broom around the tree. She knew this was dangerous and if her mother, or any other of the professors, happened to see her she would be in big trouble, but she didn’t care. She flew so close to the tree that she could have reached out and snatched a handful of leaves. The angry tree tried to lash out at her but by the time it sensed her presence and began to flail branches at her she had already flown by and was safely out of reach. She was fully possessed by the speed now, not seeing her surroundings except as obstacles to be avoided. She lay against the shaft of her broom to minimize her drag, both hands tightly gripping the handles to stay onboard. Laughing she turned the nose of the broom practically straight up and began a long ballistic climb. She couldn’t see the ground now, only the clouds then, as she passed into lowest level of them, nothing but a heavy gray wetness. At last, the broom began to lose its battle with gravity, it slowed and finally stalled. Sam pulled back hard on the handles as she began to slide backwards. Executing a near perfect hammerhead stall, she flipped the broom around until she was once again facing towards the earth directly beneath her. The ground came into view as she burst out of the cloud cover. She was over the lake now and gaining speed fast. The wind tore at her robes and chilled her skin. She squinted her eyes almost shut against it. Pulling out of her dive she began a clockwise spiral. Slowly her speed began to lessen as her spirals continued. Sitting up on the broom a little she began to gain altitude again. She did a series of barrel rolls, then a Split S.

Once again she was several hundred feet above the ground, she looked over and noticed the Quidditch pitch. there were a number of people milling about and several hovering on brooms. THE TRYOUTS! She had forgotten about them in the thrill of her flight. Well, that teacher Potter had said something about stirring things up...

* * *

Harry was sitting in the stands of the Quidditch pitch, center field and the top row, the seats gave the best vantage, aside from riding a broom that is, to watch the action as it moved up and down the pitch. Beside him sat Shannon North, she was a sixth year and captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Flying in front of them were three other people wearing the scarlet and gold robes of the Gryffindor team and about a dozen others in plain black school robes. Shannon scanned the piece of parchment in her hands, which held the list of names of people trying out.

“ALL RIGHT PEOPLE, LET’S GET ORGANIZED HERE” she shouted, her voice magically amplified to carry the breadth of the pitch. “BRADLEY, YOU MAN THE GOALS AND WE’LL RUN SOME CHASER DRILLS FIRST.”

One of the figures in the team robes flew down and began to hover before one set of goals. In Quidditch, each goal area consisted of three hoops suspended atop pikes at varying heights above the ground, the keeper protected the goals. Chasers, there were three on each team, would handle the Quaffle, a ball roughly the size of a soccer ball, and attempt to throw it past the keeper and through the hoops to score ten points.

“How many chasers do you need?” Harry asked.

“JUST ONE...” realizing that her voice was amplified even when she didn’t need it, Shannon blushed and held up one finger.

“EVERYONE WHO WANTS TO TRYOUT FOR THE CHASER POSITION PLEASE GATHER AT THE MIDFIELD LINE. THE REST OF YOU PLEASE STAY ON THE GROUND NEAR THE STANDS AND WE’LL COVER THE BEATER AND SEEKER POSITIONS LATER.”

Five people hovered near the center of the field and a team member flew over to join them. The rest took seats on the ground to watch.

“THIS IS GWENDELYN LEE, SHE IS ONE OF OUR CHASERS, I AM THE OTHER RETURNING CHASER. GWEN WILL TAKE YOU ONE AT A TIME DOWN THE FIELD PASSING THE QUAFFLE BACK AND FORTH UNTIL YOU NEAR THE GOALS. WHEN YOU FEEL YOU ARE NEAR ENOUGH TO SCORE YOU CAN TAKE YOUR BEST SHOT AND BRAD WILL TRY TO BLOCK IT. NEXT WE’LL RUN YOU IN PAIRS TO SEE HOW YOU FLY AS PART OF A GROUP.”

Harry watched as the perspective players took turns passing the quaffle and trying to score. Most did passably well but one poor lad was so nervous that he threw way too early and the quaffle landed in the sand a good ten yards in front of the goal as the watching crowd broke out in howls of laughter.

“GO AHEAD” Shannon called to them, “LAUGH WHILE YOU CAN ‘CAUSE WE’LL ALL GET OUR CHANCES TO LAUGH AT YOU LATER.” The butt of this laughter hung his head but Harry noticed that he stayed with the group and didn’t give up.

Next, the new players were taken in pairs and Gwen ran them down the field tossing the quaffle to them and seeing how they did.

“ALL RIGHT, NOW LET’S DO SOME PENALTY SHOTS. YOU’LL EACH GET THREE SHOTS TO SEE IF YOU CAN GET ANY PAST OUR KEEPER.”

Harry noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Something was flying out over the Forbidden Forest. He watched as it sailed nearly straight up into a cloud. It had to be someone on a broom he thought, no birds go straight up like that. After about 20 seconds the figure reappeared, traveling almost too fast to follow. It had to be Sam, Harry thought. No one else flew like that. Out over the lake she circled several times as she gained altitude. He watched amazed as she did aerobatic maneuvers that he didn’t even know the names of. Evidently he wasn’t the only one who was watching. Play on the field had come to a stop as everyone turned and pointed at her. Evidently Sam must have felt the crowd watching her because she suddenly turned and flew straight at the pitch. She was going incredibly fast and Harry winced as she ducked down low on her broom and flew straight through the center hoop of the goal. Dropping down to ground level she skidded her broom almost to a stop at the far end and spiraled up the shaft of that goal like the stripe on a barber pole. Harry climbed down from the stands and ran to the center of the pitch just as Sam landed there and the crowd burst into applause. Sam’s face was glowing as she struggled to catch her breath. Shannon was right behind him and she held her wand to her throat and whispered “Quietus”.

“WOW, that was incredible.” Shannon said. “I didn’t even think you were trying out for the team. You didn’t sign up or anything but the way you fly! Well, all I can say is WOW!”

Sam looked at her and the joy left her face, replaced by the cold apathy that was her usual mask.

“Well, for your information, I wasn’t trying...”

Sam was abruptly cut off when the Headmistress shouldered her way through the crowd. Harry didn’t even see her come down from the castle, so involved was he in watching Sam.

“And just what did you think you were doing, Miss Stevens. Even you should know that the Forbidden Forest is just that...FORBIDDEN! And that includes the air above the forest. Do you have any idea how badly you could have been injured. Leaping out of a window like that! Even if you did think you knew what you were doing, you practically scared poor Professor Vector to death plunging past her window as if you were trying to... Well, enough of that, your behavior was reckless to say the least.”

“Reckless??” Sam sputtered back. “I’ll have you know that I’m quite capable of performing those maneuvers and many more. I will fly whenever and wherever I see fit.”

Minerva McGonagall was struck speechless, never had a student dared to talk back to her like that. Harry took advantage of his chance and stepped into the breach.

“Excuse me, Headmistress, but Gryffindor is holding tryouts for the house team. I’m afraid that I told Sam about it and mentioned that she might want to show her fellow students how well she can fly. It’s all my fault really and I take full responsibility.” Minerva had stopped trying to speak and was considering what Harry had said so he turned to Sam and continued. “And Sam, just because I told you to show your stuff here that doesn’t grant you permission to ride roughshod over the rules. You never should have gone out over the forest like that. There are creatures there that might have felt threatened by you and lashed out to try to protect themselves. You have no idea the harm you might have caused. That will be twenty-five points from Gryffindor for your recklessness.”

Sam was furious. “But I...You didn’t...I have no intention...”

Harry looked at Sam and he could see that she was about ready to explode. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Think about it this way, Sam. You’re about to get a year’s worth of detentions no matter what, so you can say that you weren’t trying out for the team and spend them polishing plaques and cups in the trophy room, and having your broom confiscated to boot, or you can spend them RIDING your broom as a part of the team.”

Harry could see her mind spinning, weighing her choices. He was beginning to worry that he had misjudged her reactions. By this time the Headmistress had regained her composure and was patting the young lady on the back to try to calm her.

“There there dear, I know how exciting these things can be. Since you were trying out for your house team and it is at least partially Mr. Potter’s fault, then I can overlook your breach of the rules. There will be no house points taken, THIS TIME.”

Sam bent her head towards the ground and spoke in the mildest voice he had ever heard her use, “Yes, Ma’am. I’m sorry for breaking the rules. I just wanted to be...”

Com’ on Sam, Harry thought, you can do it.

“...a part of the team.”

“Well, in that case,” Minerva continued, “I’ll just say ‘Congratulations’. I assume that Gryffindor has found its new seeker. But let’s not let this happen again.”

As the headmistress turned away to walk back to the castle, Shannon stepped forward once again. “Well, unless anyone else would like to try out for the seeker position...” No one volunteered. “we still have a new beater to pick. Greg, why don’t you gather up all the candidates and I’ll fetch the bludgers.”

Harry couldn’t keep himself from grinning as he watched Sam look around in a daze. How had she managed to get herself into THIS? She shook her head and stalked off to find a seat in the stands. She sat there, in the first row near the end with her broom in her lap. She knew, she just KNEW, that she had been set up but she couldn’t figure out how, or how to get out of it. She was idly checking her broom, making sure that no damage was done, stress cracks could show up almost anytime and if you didn’t catch them right away... A voice behind her startled her.

“My, my, aren’t we just the Ra-Ra, Go Team, princess.”

The voice fairly dripped with sarcasm and Sam turned to look at the speaker. It was a girl in plain black robes. Her black hair was stringy and hung about her face. She wore large silver earrings and her fingernails were lacquered a glossy black.

“Bite me.” Sam countered.

“Aren’t we the witty one.” Her alter ego replied. “Pretty soon you’ll have your hair in a cute little pony tail and be wearing saddle shoes.”

“Get lost! If you think for one minute that I WANTED to join that dorky team you’re out of your mind.”

“Either way, you sure did a job of getting on it, didn’t you?”

Sam couldn’t think of an adequate response to that so she just sat there.

“You’d almost think that you secretly wanted to be a part of the ‘in’ crowd.”

“GET OUT!" Sam snapped, "I hate that stuff. It was either join them or get pinched for breaking some idiotic school rules and get detention until I’m thirty.”

“So you joined up rather than risk getting in a little trouble. How brave.”

“Heh! What do you know about anything? Besides, I’m not going to take this lying down. They haven’t seen the last of me yet. I’ll get even.”

“Oh yeah? How?”

“Well, I don’t know yet but I’ll think of something.”

The other girl chuckled. “You know what might be fun? Nah, you wouldn’t go for it.”

“Go for what? Come on, give.”

The girl looked around and nodded her head away from the crowd. “Come on, I’ve got an idea.”

* * *

It seemed like all of Gryffindor was crowded into the common room, Shannon was gathering the team around her to introduce the new members when she noticed that Sam was missing.

"Hey," she said "where's Sam? Anyone see where she went?"

"She's probably up in her lair sulking." came a voice from the crowd.

"Hey! That's my seeker your talking about there. Sure she might dress a bit...peculiar, but gawd she can fly! Personally if everyone here could fly like that I wouldn't care if you all dressed like Gilbert and Sullivan characters! Somebody go up and get her down here...Not you Pitt, I meant one of the girls!"

The crowd tittered appreciably while one of the other girls ran up to the fourth year dorms.

"Sam! You in there! Shannon wants you to come on down to the common room."

Sam considered telling this twit where she could stick her common room but thought better of it. She'd better go along, at least for a little while. So, once again she closed her book and left her bedroom, by the door this time. The common room was jammed with people and Shannon waved Sam to the center of the group. When she got there, Shannon raised her hands for silence and began:

"My fellow Gryffindors, I know that last year was a hard one for us all. There was a war to be fought, the Dark Lord to overcome, and most horrid of all there was...Quidditch."

The crowd moaned at the memory of last year's disastrous season, after winning the Quidditch Cup for six years running, Gryffindor had come in dead last in the race. They had lost every single match.

"But this is the start of a new year and with hard work and a little luck this year's Cup will be right back where it belongs...AT GRYFFINDOR!!!"

The room erupted in cheers and in spite of her best efforts Sam found herself smiling.

"And so it is my great pleasure to introduce you all to the team to beat this year. Playing keeper we have Bradley Pitt!" Sam recognized the boy who had been trying to guard the hoops when she decided to fly through them from the wrong side. "Flying as beaters we have Greggory Lee returning and a new member of the team GEORGE LEE!"

"Oh no," a voice piped up, "not another one! What was their mother thinking. the room burst into loud gaffaws but Sam couldn't understand the joke. Sure they had the same family name but Greggory Lee was short, muscular with dirty blonde hair and George Lee was...well, George Lee was Chinese.

Shannon raised her voice again, "We also have a new chaser on the team this year, my fellow Gryffindors, I say ye, JON DICKENSON!" There was another round of applause and then she continued, "Returning as chasers we also have Gwendelyn Lee" Gwendelyn Lee was obviously Greg's sister and not George's, she had the same dirty blonde hair but she was tall and slim. Willowy was a good word for her Sam thought. "and of course myself, your humble Shannon North, who is also the Captain of this year's team. Then, last but not least, we have our new seeker, and I assume that those of you who were unfortunate enough to miss her flying exhibition this afternoon have heard what an incredible flyer she is, SAMANTHA STEVENS!" There was another round of applause here and Sam felt herself flushing at it. She hated to be in the center of things like this. It always felt like some kind of a trap. From somewhere, somebody produced some bottles of butterbeer and them a tray of food came through the room. Sam felt very uncomfortable, like she didn't really belong here, and as soon as she could she slipped away and went back up to her room.

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Chapter 10 - Another Tomorrow

October had brought a chill to the air of Little Hangleton. A small man wearing hat, gloves, and a Mac walked slowly to the bench by the bus stop and sat down. Drawing the lapels of his coat tighter against the wind, he sat and waited. In a few minutes, a bus pulled up to the stop and opened its doors. After a few seconds the doors closed again and the bus drove off, once again leaving the little man’s view of the Laundromat across the road unobstructed. He pointlessly tugged the glove on his right hand snug and resumed his observations.

Through the window, he could see that Halloween decorations had been put up. At least a dozen carved pumpkins had been hung from the ceiling on thin, almost invisible, strings, and the light from the candles they contained flickered across the carved faces eerily. A swarm of black construction paper bats hung near the door to be blown into a lifelike flitting swarm every time someone entered. Black and orange streamers decked the window frames and the black silhouette of a cat, sitting rather stiffly the man thought, was pasted onto the glass of the front door. The people in the laundry were gaily going about their tasks, bright smiles shone out to him and he could also hear their laughing voices.

Memories flew back to him unbidden and he was helpless to stop them. The Great Hall of the castle was brimming with students sitting under grinning jack-o-lanterns. At one table sat five people, four boys and a girl, a girl with fiery red hair and emerald eyes.

“Are you sure you pulled it off, Wormtail?” said the memory of a boy with messy black hair.

“Yes, I’m sure. Just like Sirius told me to,” he had replied.

“But you got it into their jugs? You’re sure?” said another black-haired ghost.

“Of course he’s sure, Padfoot, and besides it’s not like one of you three could have managed it,” said the girl quickly. Lily coming to his defense had made him blush then and even now, so many years later, he could feel his cheeks warm again.

“Yeah, and after last year, not only did they post guards at the fruit bowl, but they actually had some of their thugs trailing you two about just to make sure,” said the last boy, his chestnut brown hair already starting to lighten slightly at the temples.

“But old Wormtail managed to get past ‘em, didn’t cha?”

“Yes, James. Using your cloak I got right past them and into the kitchens...”

“And all the while the three of us were in plain sight in the Library so no accusations can fall upon us!” Sirius’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “The suspicious prats.”

“As if you haven’t given them good reason to be,” said Lily. “Remember last year? You four managed to turn all their Prefects into Jack-o-Lanterns for the night? I’m surprised they didn’t just put you all in hospital to make sure you didn’t cause any more trouble this year.”

“You know,” Remus paused to reflect, “maybe they should have. Oh well, there’s always next year.”

“But we won’t be here year next year,” began James, “At least Lily and I won’t. Now, Padfoot, given your recent marks in History of Magic, they might just ask you to stick around for another year or two, just to see if you’ll ever actually learn anything. And Moony? Well, you’re just too cute to let go.”

“Oh yeah, like they’d actually WANT me to hang about here after what's going to happen.”

“Now all we have to do is to wait for it,” said James with a grin.

“But James, what if they don’t?” spoke the smallest of them, the one who would grow to become the man sitting on the cold bench.

“Bah, they always do, the smarmy gits. Every feast they do it, led by that slime-ball Snape.” The hatred in Padfoot’s tone was clear to all, although Wormtail didn’t really understand the cause of it.

The group didn’t have long to wait either, for at that moment, a tall young man with long black hair hanging over his face rose to his feet. Taking his goblet in his hand, he gave a toast: “My fellow Slytherins, I give you our house’s founder, Salazar!” With that he raised his cup and drained it dry, everyone else at the table doing likewise, almost chanting “To Salazar Slytherin!”

The group of young lions could hardly choke back their laughter as they waited. The rest of the students at the table soon picked up that something was going to happen and the tension of waiting was almost palatable. Luckily, they didn’t have to wait long, for the tall boy who had led the toast looked over at them with a sneer and said, “Quack!”

With a sharp popping noise, almost drowned out by hoots of laughter, the boy turned into a duck. More pops followed as each and every person sitting at the Slytherin table was transformed into waterfowl of one form or another. There were many ducks, some geese, and one tall, proud swan seated at the far end of the table. Squawks and honks filled the room as several teachers rushed to the table to try to undo the enchantment. Seeing discretion as the better part of valor, the five of them, as quickly and as quietly as they could, left the table and exited the room from the far end, but not before Padfoot managed to grab a pitcher of pumpkin juice, Moony and Prongs some glasses, and Wormtail a tray of pastries.

As the group raced towards the rear doors of the hall, Peter stopped and looked over his shoulder. The Great Hall was alight with the glow of the floating decorations and the students’ laughter. He thought he could stand there all night and just watch, but a hand slapped down on his shoulder. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt but it was enough that Peter knew, without a doubt, that the other boy was larger, stronger and better than he was.

Sirius Black looked down at him with a broad smile on his face. “Peter, old mate,” he said “let’s get while the getting’s good.”

Turning on their heels, the two boys followed their friends out into the hall and up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room, the sounds of their laughter echoing behind them.

His heart swelled with the joy of belonging. He was a part of something, not alone as he had been so often when he was younger. He had friends, true friends who would do anything for him, as he would do anything for them.

“That was brilliant!” James exclaimed. “Just ruddy brilliant.” He collapsed onto a sofa near the fire. Lily plopped down next to him, and Sirius and Remus took chairs on the opposite side of a low table. Peter, as usual the last one through the portrait hole, set the tray of food down on the table and stood, fairly hopping from one foot to the other.

“Wormtail, how did you manage it? How did you figure out how to get that concoction into their juice?” James asked.

“Well...” Peter began cautiously.

“’Cause he’s a Marauder, of course!” interrupted Black. “Of course he could pull it off. He’s learned from the best. Namely...US!” He stood and raised his glass pompously. “Gentlemen, let us give a toast.” They all stood and raised their cups. “I give ye Slippery Salazar Slytherin, the founder of the feast and the bringer of such joy to everyone!”

“To Slippery Salazar!” Remus and James intoned. Peter had raised his glass but at the start of the toast he began to stammer. Lily just stood and waited.

Sirius drained his glass of pumpkin juice and tossed the empty glass into the fireplace, to be quickly followed by James and Remus. Lily still calmly waited and Peter still sputtered. James looked at the two of them and asked, “Honk?”

Lily’s howls of laughter drowned out the sounds of the James, Sirius and Remus transforming respectively into a drake, a gander, and, Peter believed, an albatross. Lily had collapsed back onto the sofa and Peter was blushing furiously. The gander that was Sirius Black waddled over to Peter and began to nip at the hem of his robes. Peter recoiled as if he were being attacked by a cobra.

“It’s not my fault, Sirius!” he cried. “How was I supposed to know you fellows would say that?”

Lily wiped tears from her eyes and once again came to Wormtail’s rescue. “It’s your own fault, you silly goose. You’re the one who said, and I quote, ‘Only a slimy Slytherin would toast that git.’ So you have no one to blame for this but yourself.”

“Yeah, Padfoot,” Peter pleaded, “there was no way to tell which houses would get which pitchers so I just added the potion to all of them. I never thought that you blokes would actually make that toast, so it wouldn’t matter if you drank the potion. Besides, the effects will where off soon..." he looked at Sirius hopefully, "won’t they?”

Sirius pecked again at Peter’s robes and then quacked. After a moment he quacked again, then again. Soon James and Remus joined in and the common room was filled with the sound of the three birds honking their laughter. Peter sat on a chair, relieved, and Lily just smiled broadly at them all, occasionally wiping at her eyes.

“You three had better watch out, or Filch will gladly roast one of you for his Christmas dinner," she said and then fell into laughter herself, and Peter followed. It was the best Halloween ever and the happiest he had ever felt. It was also the last time he had been happy. The very last time. It was only a few weeks later that Albus Dumbledore had begun his plot to break up the Marauders, to take away the only friends that Peter had ever had.

Across the street, in the Laundromat, Miranda Cross was doodling on a sketchpad while Granger folded towels. There were a lot of towels to be folded, and both girls were enjoying the company.

“So, what are you drawing, Miranda?” the older girl asked.

“Not much,” came the answer from the younger, “just stuff.”

“What kind of stuff, may I ask?”

“Dunno, just stuff.” Miranda was very defensive about her drawing. Although she was quite talented, she was reluctant to let others see her work.

Granger finished with the towel she was folding and placed it on top of a pile she had built in one of the Laundromat's rolling hampers. She stepped behind the young girl and peered over her shoulder. On the page, rendered in shades of number 2 pencil gray, was a quite realistic knight on horseback facing a raging dragon.

“Hmm,” was the only comment Granger made.

“It’s St. George,” supplied Miranda to the unasked question. “He’s fighting a dragon.”

“I can see that,” said Granger. “It’s a Common Welsh Green too, but I always thought that St. George fought a Hebridean Black.”

“Hebridean Black?” Miranda asked.

“Yes,” replied Granger revving up into full lecture mode. “You’ve drawn it as a Welsh Green. You see the stout body and short neck,” she pointed out these features on the drawing but quickly drew her fingers back, noticing how they smudged the drawing. “I’m sorry; I hope I haven’t ruined it.”

“No problem, Granger,” said Miranda easily, picking up a rubber. “I can fix it. Tell me more about dragons. Please?”

"Well," said Granger as she reached her finger forward again for an instant before snapping it back. "Hang on a sec," she said as she dug into her carryall. After a moment’s rummaging she withdrew the wooden pointer that she had been carrying around for no particular reason, other than she didn't know what it was. Using the pointer to indicate portions of the drawing, she continued, "As you've drawn here, the Welsh Green has a stout body and a short neck when compared to other species of dragons."

As Granger pointed, Miranda was astounded to see the rough lines of her drawing smooth out and the color shift to a bright green, shading to black around the wings. The dragon stretched out its neck at the knight, whose horse shied out from under him, knocking him to the ground.

"Now the Hebridean Black is, as its name implies, much darker in color." At a poke from the stick the colors immediately shifted to an almost uniform black.

Miranda was speechless, frozen by the wonder that she was seeing, but Granger seemed to take this miracle as simply a matter of course.

"The neck is also somewhat longer, and the tail considerably so." The picture morphed to match her description. "The head of the Black is quite square with a short horn growing upwards from the tip of the snout and rigid fringe bordering the face."

As the rest of the drawing had, the face of the dragon changed to match its description and then snapped forward towards the prone knight, this time causing the horse to bolt off the edge of the paper. Miranda was astounded.

"Are there other kinds of dragons, Granger?" she asked, hoping that there were.

"Oh yes, several," came the welcome reply.

"I'll bet the English dragons are the largest and the fiercest," Miranda said with pride.

"Actually, no, in fact English dragons, as a class, are some of the smallest."

"The smallest?" Miranda's wounded national pride was evident.

"Well, not THE smallest," Granger replied soothingly. "The Swedish Short Snout is about the same size as the Welsh, and the Norwegian Blue is smaller by far, but has beautiful plumage." Miranda seemed to brighten somewhat at this.

"What's the biggest one then?"

Granger tapped the drawing and the dragon evolved a long snake-like body and changed to a red-gold coloration, the face pushed in, like a pug dog, and fringe surrounded it like a bushy beard. "Well, the Chinese Fireball is the longest, with some recorded specimens approaching 100 feet in length. You'll notice the uniformly thick body and small wings. The Chinese Fireball is not noted for its flying ability, but it is extremely lithe and can tie itself into knots quite easily."

Miranda was watching the show on her drawing pad, as the dragon twisted into complex shapes and caused the poor knight to cower in fear.

"Wow," was all she could say.

"However, the title of largest dragon must go to a New World dragon, the American Silvertip." With another tap of her wand the dragon changed again. In form it was similar to the others but it was almost twice the size of the Hebridean Black. Its skin took on a dark brown color that lightened to an almost silver tint along the spine. Seeing this, the knight just dropped his sword and fainted dead away. "Although topping out at about 85 to 90 feet, it is not as long as some Fireballs, the Silvertip has a broad body with large wings. It is a powerful flyer and can shoot its flames almost 75 feet. Luckily, the Silvertip is also rather docile by dragon standards. However, when a female is guarding its clutch, it can become easily enraged. One time, in the 1980's I believe, some ignorant fool in Wyoming - that's in the western region of the United States - attempted to steal an egg from a Silvertip. The resulting fires burned an area of forest half again the size of Wales!"

"Gawd!" Miranda gasped. "What could be meaner than that?"

"Well, the dubious honor of being the fiercest dragon of all the known species," Granger continued, "definitely belongs to the Hungarian Horntail." Again the drawing changed, this time the dragon was smaller, although still larger than the English dragons, with a lizard-like body uniformly black in color, but it was the tail of the dragon that drew Miranda’s attention. At its tip, like some dinosaur, grew a nest of sharp horns that the dragon whipped back and forth. "As you can see, not only is the head of this species dangerous but its tail is capable of delivery devastating attacks as well." Miranda watched as the Horntail snarled and snapped at the newly awakened knight and drove him entirely off the sheet of paper.

Miranda was awed. "How could anyone fight that?"

"Indeed, you would have to be very brave to try to face one. You would have to be quick, fearless, and patient. Waiting for just the right time to make your move." As Granger spoke, Miranda watched as a small figure cloaked in black flew onto the page from where the knight had fled, he appeared to be riding some sort of stick - no, it was a broom she realized - and teased the dragon into raising high on its hind legs before he dove underneath it and scooped something up, flying off the other side of the page.

"And just what are you two talking about?"

It was Abigail. Granger started and turned towards her, dropping the pointer on the table next to Miranda's pad as she did so.

"Oh, it was just some girl talk, you know how it is," Granger said guiltily.

"Mama!" Miranda piped in. "Granger was just telling me about dragons! She knows all about them. There's a Welsh Green and a black one and a Horntail, that's the meanest one. Granger made my picture move, Mama! It was like magic."

"Miranda," Abigail practically shouted, "how many times have I told you, there is no such thing as magic! Your drawings don’t move, your stuffed animals don’t fly about your room at night, and the only way that your green beans can turn into licorice is if you swap them. Now gather up your things, and get yourself upstairs, and get ready for dinner. Now!"

Granger recoiled under the force of Abigail's words. "I'm sorry, Abigail. I was just talking, I didn't mean to do anything to upset you."

"Oh, it's all right, Granger," she said with an exasperated sigh. "It's just that I want Miranda to keep her feet on the ground and not get caught up in a lot of hocus-pocus nonsense. The world is a harsh place and, if we’re to have any hope in making it a better one, we all need to have our feet firmly planted on the ground and not soaring off in some daydream of magic and dragons and such."

Miranda tuned out her mother's words; she had heard them all before. She reached out and picked up the wooden stick that Granger had used and pointed it at her picture. She prodded the flat dragon with the tip. A few small sparks flew and the dragon raised its head up off of the page and snapped at Miranda's hand. She snatched back her hand as if she had been burned, and dropped the pointer. The dragon immediately lowered its head back to the page and returned to being just a flat picture. Hastily, Miranda slammed the sketchbook closed and piled her other books on top of it. As her mother and Granger discussed the next week’s work schedule, she dashed up the stairs and into her bedroom, slamming the door closed.

Outside the shop, the little man in the Mac still sat on the bus stop bench while dusk gathered around him and the streetlight overhead winked into life. It had been in mid-November that it had begun, he remembered. It was during Transfiguration, their last class of the day, and Professor McGonagall had told James to stay after the rest of the class had left. Peter, Remus, Sirius and Lily all looked at him questioningly. Had he done something wrong? More importantly, had he done it without them? James just shook his head and said that he would catch them up at dinner and to save him a seat, as if they wouldn't have anyway. But James didn't come to dinner. It was hours later, nearly curfew, when he came back into the common room; his friends immediately swarmed around him asking what had happened, but James begged them all off and went straight to his room.

The next day, he was still quiet but he made as if nothing was wrong. It went on like that for several days, everyone knew something wasn’t right but, whenever the topic was broached, James would simply deny it and change subjects. Then, just after the full moon, Remus was called out of breakfast and didn’t return until lunch. His face was haggard, as it usually was after his transformations, but his eyes danced about, never resting, as if he had somewhere to go and just had to wait for the signal to leave. Little Peter noticed whispered conversations between his two soon-to-be-lost friends, but as soon as he approached, they would abruptly end. Peter had hoped that things would improve after the Holidays. When he left on the Hogwarts Express the day after the term ended, he was filled with anticipation - not of going home but of returning to school, and to his friends. He was to be disappointed.

Upon returning at the beginning of the new term, he had seen them all together in the common room. Their lively chatter warmed his heart but, as he approached, he heard the change. The talking stopped, as if someone had slammed a door between them; him on one side and the rest of them on the other. They tried to be friendly with him, he saw them try, but something had come between them and he no longer belonged. Their conversations would end as he approached and restart on a new topic. Their midnight pranks became a thing of the past as new pursuits took their fancy. When he had asked what had happened, they had laughed and said it was his imagination. But it wasn’t, he knew something had changed. He would come down to the common room and they would be gone. No one knew where they were or even when they had left; the Marauders were always good at making their escape unseen. They were simply nowhere to be found. Then they would return, sometimes alone or sometimes in pairs, but always, within an hour of the first one showing up, they would all be back, laughing as if nothing had happened.

He knew he had to find out what it was, what had taken his friends away from him, and so he planned. He couldn’t follow them; James had his invisibility cloak and, anyway, they had the map. The map that Peter had helped create but was no longer allowed to see, and with it they could see if he was after them. So, how to do it? How do you follow someone without actually following them? How do you listen in on a conversation without being there? The answer came to him one day in the library. He was doing research for a class when he came upon a small, almost offhand reference to a potion, Exactio Animus, a potion that aided Astral Projection. In fact, in large enough doses, it could actually force the spirit out of the body permanently. It was a simple matter of telling that bug Trelawney that he wanted to mix his interest in Divination, as if he had any, with a project from Potions class. That would get him access to the Restricted Section to find the potion’s formula, and then he could tell the Potions Master that he had an extra-credit project for Divination to obtain the ingredients. With the potion, brewed during one of their evenings without him, he could follow them and learn their secrets, all the while his body, the Marauder’s Map would show, was lying in bed. All he needed to do now was wait until they disappeared again and follow them.

His chance came in early March, on a fine Saturday morning. After Quidditch practice, James didn’t return to the common room. Peter watched his friends closely, and when Remus and Lily excused themselves to go to the Library, Peter knew it was only minutes until Sirius would also disappear. Peter excused himself, saying he needed a nap, and bolted to their dorm. Snatching a small vial from the bottom of his trunk, he downed the contents and lay down on his bed, curling into a ball to appear asleep. He waited - it seemed like hours - for something to happen, but nothing did. He began to wonder if something had gone wrong with the potion and it hadn’t worked. Finally, he heard a noise and Sirius came into the room. Peter saw him peek through the curtains to see if he was asleep. With a silent nod Sirius let the curtains fall back and moved over to his own bed. Drawing a book from beneath his mattress he left the room as quietly as he had entered. Peter floated after him and it wasn’t until he was halfway down the staircase to the common room that he realized that the potion had actually worked.

Sirius left through the portrait hole, with Peter floating behind, and began to run through the castle: up two flights of stairs, down a long corridor, then down three flights, around a corner, up to the base of the south tower. Here, he opened a door and passed through, closing the door behind him and locking it with an intricate charm that Peter didn’t recognize. Then he began to climb the steps of the tower, Peter easily floating alongside until they had gained the top. A series of knocks opened the door and the two boys, one seen and one not, moved out onto the open battlement. Peter looked around and was sick to see his fears realized. They were all here: Padfoot, Moony, Prongs, and Lily. Deep in his heart he had hoped it was all his own paranoia but here was incontrovertible proof. They had all abandoned him.

“Are you sure you weren’t followed, Padfoot?” Moony asked.

“Nah, I would have noticed.”

“What about Peter?”

“The little bloke’s taking a nap. I looked in on him myself before I left. I almost tucked him in, he looked so knackered.”

“What’s he got to be knackered about?” said Prongs. “I’m the one who has been flying about, chasing a Quaffle for hours. I deserve a nap, not him!”

“Oh, do be quiet, James.” Lily said. “I almost feel bad for him. He has to have noticed how things have changed.”

“Oh, I doubt it, Lily. We all try to keep time with him, it’s not like he’s being ignored.”

“But James, couldn’t we...”

“No,” said James with a finality that brooked no argument. “You heard what Dumbledore said. We have to keep this strictly hush-hush. If he wanted us to involve Peter, he would say so.”

“That didn’t stop you from involving me,” she snapped.

“But that was different. You’re...well, it was different.”

Lily turned away from the group and made a point of scanning the skies. Peter wanted to go to her, to thank her for her loyalty. Of all the Marauders, it was Lily who always looked out for him. Even though she wasn’t technically one of them, she was the best of them. But he couldn’t. They had done it. Dumbledore had told them to exclude him, and they had done it. It was Dumbledore who had cast him out.

“Here they come!” Lily was pointing out over the Forbidden Forest and all of them turned to look. There, skimming the tops of the trees, just barely visible, came two figures on brooms. Once in sight, they made the grounds of the castle quickly and flew straight to the top of the tower. Two men in rough cloaks stained with mud and grass. They had the look of men who have lived out of doors for quite some time. One of them held out his hand and Sirius slapped the book into it.

“It takes four of ye to deliver one book, does it?” the first man asked, tucking the book into his waistband.

“We’re a package deal,” replied James, “if you get one of us, you get us all.”

“All for one and one for all, eh?”

“Yes,” said Lily, “Just call us the fi...four Musketeers.” She flushed and turned away from them.

“We’ll be out there soon, with you,” Remus said. “Term’s almost over.”

“Anxious to join the fightin’ are ye?” came the response from the second man. His tone was surly and told them that he didn’t think much of who he was speaking to.

“Yeah,” said James defensively. “We know what’s going on and we want to help, to do our part.”

“You want to do your part,” he mocked. “You think you're brave enough to fight, do ye?”

“We’re brave enough,” said Sirius, looking like he was ready to fight right now.

“But are you smart enough?” said the first again, trying to regain control of the situation.

“If they were smart, they’d be back inside hoping that things end before they get a chance to fight,” number two answered, turning and looking at the horizon, “instead of looking to stick their noses inta places where it might get bit.”

Sirius stepped forward as if to challenge the man but James put up his arm to block his way. “Now’s not the time,” was all he said.

“No, it’s not. There’ll be plenty of time for fighting, believe me, and if you want your share you’ll get it and more.” Number one reached into a pocket of his cloak and withdrew a rolled parchment, closed with a blob of red wax and sealed with the image of a Phoenix. Handing it to James, he said “Give this to Albus, he’s been waiting on it, and tell him we’ll be in touch.”

With that, the two men mounted their brooms and flew off, back over the forest to wherever their camp was. The four students looked after their retreating forms until they could no longer be seen, then returned to the castle. Peter stayed where he was, looking after his departed friends.

‘So it was the Headmaster,' he thought. Obviously, old Dumbledore was leading some sort of resistance movement, separate from the Aurors, in the fight against You-Know-Who. Just as obviously, he had recruited James, Sirius, Remus, and even Lily, one way or another, to join his ranks, but not him. Not little Peter Pettigrew. No, Dumbledore didn’t think he was brave enough to fight alongside his friends. Well, what did Dumbledore know? He was just as brave, just as smart, just as good as any of them. Didn’t he go through the animagus transformation, just like they had? So what if his form wasn’t as big or as fast as the others? What good would all their size and strength do if they couldn’t get into the tree? No, they needed him; they needed Wormtail to make things work. He was just as good as they were and he would prove it to Dumbledore and to all of them. He would prove he was brave.

But how? If he was no longer a part of the group, how would he ever prove he was good enough to be a part? It came to him in a flash. He would become a spy. He would find a way to join the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and he would funnel information to Dumbledore’s resistance. He would prove to them all how brave he was. He might not be the largest or the most powerful, but he would prove that he was just as good as any of them.

The little man rubbed his eyes with his left hand and lowered his head. Being a spy was not as simple as he had thought. Finding the Death Eaters had been easy enough, even joining them had been easy. That was, until the initiation. He never imagined pain like that could exist. He had experienced pain, had his share of childhood injuries and even the pain of his first animagus transformations. He had thought that was the worst agony possible, having your body, your very bones, shift and change shape, but he didn’t know what real agony was. He learned. When the Dark Lord had placed him under the Cruciatus, he learned. It felt as if the very air was eating into his flesh; the consuming agony had filled every cell of his being. He had screamed, screamed until he no longer had breath to scream with, and he had... Then the curse was lifted, the end of the torment was like being plunged into cool water. The simple relief was joy, until he heard their laughter. The Death Eaters had gathered to watch his torment and they pointed to the spreading stain on his robes and laughed. The humiliation was somehow worse than the pain. He screamed at them to stop, to stop laughing at him, but they didn’t.

“Let me kill this one now, Master,” one of them had called. “He is not worthy of even your curses. He will be of no use to us.”

“I will be the one to decide who is and is not useful, Lucius,” the Dark One had answered. “This one may be weak, but he has powerful friends. He may be of use yet.”

Then the Dark Lord, his Master, had grabbed his arm and pushed up the sleeve of his robes. With the tip of his wand, he touched the crook of his elbow and again the world exploded in pain. It began where the wand touched him and ensnared his nerves, insinuating itself into his body. It crept up his arm and through his chest until it wound itself around his heart.

“You are mine now, Peter,” the voice was soft, almost a caress after his cruelty, “mine forever.”

The small man wrapped his arms around his stomach and rocked forward. Even today, the hurt was like a physical thing. He had tried; he had truly tried to be brave. He had joined them intent on gathering information, but how could he have known? How could he have possibly known that the Dark Lord had such power? There were no secrets from him. He knew immediately what Wormtail had planned, and he let him live. Peter’s life was a torment, knowing that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would know the second he tried to betray him. Peter also knew what the punishment for his betrayal would be. The most horrible of deaths would be better, for his Master would not let him die.

Not knowing what else to do, Peter went back to his old life. School was almost over and he lost himself in revising for his exams. He tried to ignore the mark on his arm, tried to pretend that night had never happened and, except for the nightmares, it was as if it hadn't. His mark didn't burn, even when he knew that Death Eaters were attacking somewhere. He never received a summons and soon he was able to convince himself that something had gone wrong. Perhaps the spell that had burned the mark into his arm hadn't worked, enough of his own spells didn't work that he could persuade himself that this one hadn't as well. Perhaps, since his own commitment had been false, the spell had failed. He hoped these things but, in his heart, he knew he wasn't that fortunate.

After he left Hogwarts, he apprenticed himself to an apothecary near his family home. Remus, Sirius, and James all became Aurors, and Lily began to teach at a wizarding primary school. In a year, she and James announced their engagement. It came as a complete surprise to no one, except James that is. Peter had gone to the wedding and the five of them laughed as if they were still in Hogwarts tormenting the Slytherins. Peter tried to ignore it when the three of them would discuss the fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He didn't want to know anything about the war, for that might bring a summons from Him. After two years, he still remembered their last meeting all too clearly, especially in his nightmares. Peter was quite happy being ignored by the Dark Lord and only peripherally involved with his friends.

A year and a half later, Harry was born. By this time, the three Marauders were a famous Auror team, hunting down Death Eaters as fast as the Evil One could recruit them. They were well known by the forces of the light and well hated by the forces of darkness. When a large bounty was placed on their lives, they decided to go underground. Remus and Sirius, being unattached, continued to fight, but Lily convinced James that it was time for him to quit, to place his family first. Dumbledore recommended using the Fidelis charm to conceal their location and even volunteered himself to be the secret keeper. James was honored but, since the Headmaster was a larger and far more visible target than even James was, he said no. Instead, they chose Sirius to be their secret keeper. He also had a price on his head, but he was Harry's godfather and no one could be stronger. Peter didn't know these things, however, this was all a secret from him, until he received an owl from James and Lily inviting him to dinner. Sirius was there and they told him of their plans to have HIM be their secret keeper. He had tried to say no. He told them he was no Auror, that he was not brave enough to be their secret keeper. Lily and James were about to agree, but Sirius became adamant. He forced them to see that he was in danger as much as they were, and if he got caught by Voldemort then they would be lost as well. No one would suspect little Peter, he claimed. Peter was no threat to You-Know-Who, and so was in no danger. Peter fought to say no but, when Lily asked him why, he had no answer. He couldn't tell her that he bore the mark. He couldn't admit that, and so he had just nodded his head. He could never deny her anything. They had performed the spell, and the welfare of James, Lily and little Harry Potter was entrusted to the servant of their enemy.

What could he do? The Dark Lord would know. He would know that Peter had suddenly become valuable. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would learn the secret. Where could he go? There was only one place, one hope. He had to go to Dumbledore. As much as Peter hated Dumbledore for taking his friends, as much as he feared Dumbledore for knowing him for the coward he was, and as much as he would have done anything before he chose to confide in the man, Dumbledore was his only hope. He would go back to Hogwarts and confess. He would confess that they had been right all along and that Peter was nothing but a weakling. Dumbledore would understand, he might not forgive him, but he would give him sanctuary. Peter would be safe from the Dark Lord and so James and Lily would be safe. He would go that very night.

But it was already too late. The Lord of all that is Evil already knew that his weakest servant held his greatest secret. The summons came less than an hour after Peter had left Godric's Hollow. His arm began to burn. The mark called to him. It commanded him to seek out his Master and betray his friends, still Peter tried to fight it. He tried to Apparate but could not find the concentration. He tried to call the Knight's Bus, to have it take him where he was too weak to go himself, but his wand fell from his trembling fingers. He collapsed by the side of the road, his arm on fire and his body too weak to move. He lay there, quivering, while tears streamed down his face, and then they came for him. It was Lucius, the one who had wanted to kill him the night of his initiation, and now Peter wished he had. It was he who came, a laughing sneer on his face as he pushed his wand into the mark on Peter's arm and, in a nauseating flash, they disappeared.

Peter was so frightened and so weak that he would have told them anything without even being asked, but Lucius would have none of it. Lucius wanted the torture, as a dying man craves a peaceful passing, he craved torture and Peter gave him his chance. Once again, they all stood around him, laughing, when He appeared. With a mere pointing of His wand the torture stopped, and Peter was raised to stand before Him.

"You have something to tell me, rat?" but there was nothing of a question in his words.

Peter wanted to fight, he wanted to endure torture beyond all human imagination for his friends. He wanted to, but he couldn't. He told them everything.

Afterwards, they left him there. He knew the attack would come immediately, and he fled. Not from the Death Eaters, for they were done with him, but from his friends. Sirius would know that Peter had betrayed his secret, and nothing would stop him from seeking vengeance. Even Dumbledore could not save Peter now. His only chance was to flee. He returned to his home, to gather what few things he couldn't leave behind, and then he would disappear. But again, there was no time. Sirius found him in the street outside the flat he rented. Insatiable fury burned in Sirius's eyes and Peter saw his own death in them.

"Why, Peter? Just tell me why, before I kill you." The snarl on Sirius's face spoke of his canine core. His teeth were bared and his voice was a barely human growl.

"I didn't want to... They made me."

"But how did they know it was you?"

"Please, Padfoot, please, you have to understand. I didn't mean for it to happen."

"How can you say that?" he hurled at Peter. "Barely an hour passed between when we performed the charm and when you sold them to Voldemort."

Peter cringed at the sound of the name.

"What? Afraid to hear the name of the bastard you sold Lily and James to? I hope he paid you well, even though you'll never live to spend any of it."

"Please," he begged, his fear and shame building like static electricity within him, "you must listen to me."

"Why? So you can sell me out as well? Are they coming here to meet you?" Padfoot's hatred was boiling and added its heat to the terror Peter felt.

"No..." Peter felt the magic charge building.

"Liar!'

"NO!" He didn't think he could stand much more.

"Coward!"

"YES!" Peter screamed, the pain of the magic building around him was worse than the Cruciatus. "I am a coward! You all knew that! That's why you left me! That's why you didn't want me to be a part of you anymore!"

"Liar!"

"No!"

"Weakling!"

"YES! I am weak!" Sparks danced on Peter's skin. "I was too weak to bear the burden you forced on me! But YOU are the coward!" Sirius stopped dead in his tracks at this accusation. "COWARD!" Magic shone all around Peter, so bright Sirius couldn't bear to look straight at it. "I'm a coward! I admit it! And I'm weak. I was too weak to carry that weight, but you were too much of a coward to even try!" Sirius collapsed into the street from the force of the words. "You knew I was too weak to keep their secret, but you were too afraid to even try. You knew I would fail, but you were too much of a coward to do it yourself! That's why you forced them to choose me, because you were afraid!"

"No..." Sirius's voice was a mere whisper, "It was the smart choice..."

"Liar!" Peter screamed.

"no..."

"Coward!" Peter felt that he was about to explode.

"No, that's not true." Sirius scrambled back, away from Peter until his back was pressed against a building. People, both Magic and Muggle, had gathered on the sidewalk.

"COWARD!" Peter shrieked at him. "The brave and famous Sirius Black is nothing more than a coward!"

"No," Sirius stood shakily.

“It was James and Lily, Sirius. Why did you do it?”

"I am not a coward." Sirius regained his feet and stood shakily.

"Prove it!" Peter said. His eyes were alight with defiance and Padfoot’s with anger.

"You’re going to die, Wormtail!"

"I WANT TO DIE!"

Sirius fired the Killing Curse at the glowing form of his friend, and the world exploded in a fireball.

top

Chapter 11 - Pitch and Toss

The sun shone brightly as Harry fairly ran down the steps of the castle entrance. The air was crisp, but not cold enough to make people want to stay indoors. Small white clouds scuttled across the sky in the face of a light breeze. It was picture perfect Quidditch weather and no one could have asked for better conditions for Gryffindor to play its first match of the year. They were playing against Hufflepuff and both teams had quite a few new players, so it promised to be an interesting match. Harry smiled to himself as he took to the road leading to Hogsmeade; it was going to be a banner day for a number of reasons.

He paused as he passed out of the gates of the castle grounds, amazed to feel excitement fluttering in his stomach like so many butterflies. He was actually nervous, but he was also surprised to find that he was enjoying the feeling. Usually when he felt nervous, it was mixed with dread because someone was trying to kill him. This was so much better, this nervousness was mixed with anticipation. Ginny had said she would Floo to The Three Broomsticks and meet him there for breakfast before the match. She had actually said she would come to the match. With HIM! Even if it had been pitch black outside he could have seen his way perfectly by the light of his broad, shining smile.

As he walked on, he remembered sitting next to the fireplace in his rooms – Could it have been just three days ago? - and tossing a pinch of Floo powder into the fire. It had taken him most of an afternoon to get up the nerve to actually do it. Not wanting to lose his nerve, he quickly stuck his face into the flames and hollered "Ginny Weasley!" before he realized that they hadn't turned green! Poppy gave him quite a scowl when he told her some story about slipping while turning one of the logs in his fire and nearly falling in, but she still healed the burns without any more questions.

When he got back to his rooms, he called the Burrow instead, after making doubly sure that the Floo powder actually made it into the fire this time. Molly Weasley told him that Ginny had moved into her own flat over a month ago. She had let a small Muggle flat outside London, and she wasn't connected to the Floo network. Her flat didn't even have a fireplace; it had a tef-alone, as Mrs. Weasley called it. Well, Harry had gotten her "tef-alone" number and then left school so he could Apparate all the way to London to find a call box. There were none in the castle, nor any in Hogsmeade, so he reckoned he might as well go to London as anywhere. Outside The Leaky Cauldron he had spent several frustrating minutes looking for a working telephone booth. Lots of folks on the street were talking into mobiles but Harry couldn't ask a perfect stranger to use his phone, especially not to call up a girl and ask for a date. He finally found one on a corner by a bus stop. He had let the phone ring for almost a full minute when he realized it was only 4 o'clock and Ginny probably wasn’t even through with work yet. He spent two long hours pacing up and down the street before he dared ring her back. She had seemed honestly glad to hear from him, and he managed to stammer out that Gryffindor was playing in the first Quidditch match of the year, if she would like to come and see it. She had said “Yes” straight away, and Harry still couldn’t believe it.

Harry reached The Three Broomsticks, and he walked in and sat at a table.

The young waitress came up to him and asked if he wanted to order. Harry was hungry and thought about ordering a nice, big breakfast, but then he remembered how nervous he was and he wasn’t sure he would be able to eat a thing. But maybe Ginny would be hungry and it would be nice to have a good spread waiting for her when she got here, so maybe he should order? But what if she was late? The food would be cold, but she’d still feel obligated to eat some because he had gotten it, and that wouldn’t be any good. Besides, what if she didn’t like what he ordered? Maybe he should just wait until she got there and ask her if she wanted something? But he said he would meet her for breakfast and didn’t that mean she would be expecting to eat? Harry’s mind whirled and suddenly he wasn’t so sure this type of nervousness was so much fun after all.

“How about I just bring you a pot of tea?” the waitress finally said.

Harry was relieved that somebody could make a decision. “Yes, please. And maybe some toast?”

“OK. Marmalade?”

Harry’s eyes started spinning again and the waitress looked like she was beginning to think that she ought to call somebody from St. Mungo’s when Harry finally stammered out, “Yes, I think that would be nice. Thank you.”

She walked away before he could say anything else, and Harry spent the next couple of minutes trying to remember what Ginny used to eat for breakfast when they both were still in school. The tea and toast came, and Harry spilled more tea onto the table than he got into his cup when he tried to pour it. He managed to add some milk and sugar without mishap, though, and he took a sip. The tea calmed him a bit as he sat to wait for his date to arrive.

He had just taken a big bite of toast when someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was Ginny. Harry jumped to his feet and sprayed marmalade-laden crumbs all down the front of his cloak as he tried to sputter a greeting.

Ginny eyes shone with amusement as she said, “Goodness, Harry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, no, Ginny, you didn’t startle me,” he finally managed to say. “I guess you just startled me a bit.”

“Oh, OK. As long as I didn’t startle you then.” Her grin was as infectious as the twins’ and Harry couldn’t help but smile.

“I guess I’m just a little nervous.” Ginny’s ears flushed as red as Harry's did at this.

“May I sit down?” she asked.

“Oh, of course. Yes, please sit. Here, let me get that chair for you.” Harry fumbled with the chair and Ginny graciously waited until he had pulled it out before she sat down. “Are you hungry, Gin? Would you like some breakfast?”

“Well, yes. I haven’t had anything yet, so I could do with a bite.” She was reaching for a piece of toast when the waitress reappeared. She set down another place setting for Ginny and then, with a wave of her wand, a platter of eggs, sausages, and bacon landed on the table between them.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I went ahead and ordered you something,” Harry said. “Do you like it?”

Harry looked so sweet, like a puppy waiting to be patted. “Yes, this is just fine,” she said, just as the waitress returned again, this time with a plate of kippers.

“I didn’t know what you would want...” Harry began as a bowl of porridge came drifting in and shoved the kippers aside. When a plate of scones arrived, Harry grinned, “Maybe I ordered a bit too much?”

“That depends,” Ginny laughed, “on how large the army is that you’re planning on feeding.”

As the two ate, and invited several other people around them to join in, Harry slowly calmed down. Finally, it came time to head back up to the castle and find seats for the match. Harry held out his arm to Ginny. She slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow and they headed off.

The streets of the little village were quiet and the couple strolled peacefully through them towards the wrought iron gates of the castle. They stayed comfortably silent for a time until Harry cleared his throat.

“You know, Gin,” he began, “I never got a chance to thank you for the gift you gave me.”

She gave his arm an encouraging squeeze.

“It really was nice of you and I’ve spent a lot of time looking at it.”

“Well,” Ginny blushed, “Colin took a lot of the pictures.”

“Yeah, I think Colin took most of everyone’s pictures.” They both grinned. “Do you ever want to go back?” he blurted out.

“Back where?” came Ginny’s puzzled response.

“To Hogwarts.”

“I thought that’s where we were going?”

“No... I mean yes, that’s where we’re going, but that’s not what I meant. Do you ever wish you could go back to being a student, to the way it was?”

“Harry, you’re a bit young to be getting nostalgic, aren’t you?” She lightly ran her fingers over the sleeve of his cloak, as if, right now, there was nowhere else on earth she could dream of being.

“No, it’s not like that.” Harry halted, trying to find a way to put his feelings into words. “It’s just that, looking at those pictures, I just realized how much I missed.” He raised his head and looked at the towers of the castle peeking over the trees.

“How much you missed?” Ginny gaped at him. “Your time at Hogwarts was about as full as a person could make it, what with classes, and Quidditch, and... all those other things.” She didn’t want to mention the Tri-Wizard Tournament, or even his having rescued her from the Chamber of Secrets, afraid they might trigger unhappy memories for him.

“It’s not those things I’m talking about,” Harry continued. “It’s not the big things I think I missed. It’s the little ones.”

“Like what?”

“Well, like growing up.”

“Growing up? You call that a little thing? Besides, I hardly think that is something you could have missed.” Harry was amazed at how her eyes could twinkle like that, and the adorable way they crinkled around the corners when she smiled.

“No,” he began, “I didn’t exactly miss it but somehow I think I ought to remember it better. It seems like just a little while ago I was getting on the train for the first time.”

“You mean, AFTER you found your way onto the platform?” She grinned at him again and Harry’s heart did a flip in his chest. He gave a short laugh.

“I was this skinny little eleven-year old kid, and somehow, I just don’t feel that different now. I look at those pictures and I see myself growing up, but I just don’t remember it happening. Sometimes I still feel like that kid, no place to go, no place I really belong.”

Ginny gave his arm a fierce hug. “Harry! You belong here. You belong with... with us. I mean, you’re practically a Weasley. You’ve certainly got the jumpers to prove it.”

Harry laughed softly while his mind raced. Did he hear her correctly? Was she about to say ‘with me’? “Yeah, your mum's really something. I’d only spoken a couple of words to her on the platform and, still, she sends me a Christmas present." He paused for a moment. "It was really sweet.”

She looked up at him and saw his eyes shining slightly. She shook her head, so Ron had been right that first year. She remembered how she had missed Ron when he went off to school, and how she had looked forward to his coming home for holiday, even if he did have to bring the twins with him. She also remembered the owl he had sent Mum, where he said that Harry was going to stay at school for the holiday because he had nowhere else to go so, maybe, he had asked, he could stay too? He also wrote how he thought no one was going to give Harry any gifts. No one give THE Harry Potter any Christmas presents? It wasn't possible, she didn’t believe it, she didn’t want to believe it, but her mother had sat right down and started knitting him a jumper. Ginny remembered all the stories they used to tell in the Gryffindor common room about how horrible his Muggle relations were, but she always thought they were just stories, exaggerations to make folks laugh. She shook her head again and wondered, as the two of them walked on in silence once again.

When they reached the gates, Ginny decided she had had enough of silence from Harry.

“So, Harry,” she asked, “how do like being a teacher?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I reckon it’s all right. Somehow, I don’t think I’m that good at it though.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, it’s just a feeling.” He was quiet for another moment, surrounded by his thoughts, then continued, “You remember what Remus was like as a teacher?”

“Oh yes,” Ginny answered, “Professor Lupin was the best teacher I had at Hogwarts, smart, exciting and interested in his students as well as his subject.”

“Well, he’s still just as good. He stands up in front of the class and it seems like he was born there. He’s a natural.”

“And you’re not?”

“It just doesn’t feel like I belong there, is all.”

“Then where do you belong, Harry?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know.” He looked up at the castle that now dominated their view. “Hogwarts is the only real home I ever knew... well, except for the Burrow, that is, and I can hardly move in there now, can I?”

“I dunno, since I moved out, there is an empty room,” Ginny hinted teasingly, “and Mum would surely love the company.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry looked hopeful and then creased his face in mock concern. “But then again your dad might start getting jealous. Besides, who knows, your folks just might decide to have another baby.”

”HARRY POTTER!” Ginny shrieked. “Don’t you even think that! They’ve already had seven! Not to mention they’re so... well, they’re old aren’t they?”

Harry smiled at how flushed her cheeks had gotten. “I dunno, they’re not THAT old really. And the kids they have had all turned out rather well, so why not?”

Ginny swatted him on the chest with her free hand and said; “Don’t you ever let me catch you saying that around Mum! I mean, she might just take you seriously and then...” She sputtered trying to come up with the right words. “Well, I’m just too old to be a sister, that’s all.”

Harry gawped at her for a moment. “You know, don’t you, that that made absolutely no sense at all?”

“Well, never mind.” She wagged a finger in his face. “You just remember what I said.”

“Yes, dear,” Harry replied dryly.

Ginny smiled to herself, ‘Yes, dear’, she liked the sound of that.

The stands surrounding the Quidditch pitch were beginning to fill with students and Ginny began to scan the faces present for someone familiar to sit near. She was about to head up a staircase when Harry gave her arm a tug.

"This way," he said. "We'll be sitting in the staff section."

"Eew," Ginny said through a smile, "I've never sat there before."

"Well, you'll get used to it."

"Have you?"

"Not yet,” Harry replied with a grin, “but I'm working on it."

Harry led her to the bench at the top of the stands. There were a pair of seats next to Professor Lupin and a woman Ginny didn't know. Ginny looked at her curiously as she moved over to her seat.

"Professor Lupin!" she exclaimed when she caught his eye. "It's so good to see you again."

"Hello, Ginny. It's good to see you too, but please call me Remus, after all, you're not a student here any longer."

Ginny blushed and Harry couldn't take his eyes off of her. "I don't know," she said, "I don't think I'd be comfortable calling you by your first name."

"Well, how about Moony then?" he said with a smirk.

"Moony?” Ginny looked shocked. “That's even worse. I think I'll just try Remus for a bit."

"Moony?" this came from the woman sitting beside Professor Lu... Remus. "Is that some kind of a nickname?"

Remus smiled at her and Ginny could have sworn she sensed something in it. “Yes, my friends used to call me that when I went to school here."

"Some friends," the woman said grimacing.

"Yes indeed," Remus answered with a broad smile, "the very best."

"Something tells me there's a story there somewhere," she added.

"A lot more than one," Harry injected, "but there's not enough time to even begin. Professor Stevens, allow me to introduce you to Miss Virginia Weasley." He bowed formally and was rewarded by another grin from Ginny. "Ginny this is the new Professor of Transfiguration, Tabitha Stevens."

"Please, call me Tabitha."

"All right, but only if you call me Ginny."

The two women shook hands, then returned to their seats. Tabitha glanced from Harry to Ginny and gave Remus a questioning look, but he was oblivious. At this point, the Headmistress arrived and sat in the row in front of them. She turned and nodded at the people behind her, until she recognized Ginny and then her face held a wide, warm smile.

"Miss Weasley! It's so good to see you. Come to cheer on your old house team?" Ginny nodded in response and Minerva continued, "As headmistress, I naturally can't show any house a preference, but I must admit I am curious to see how the new Gryffindor team shapes up. In particular, the new seeker."

"Who is it?" Ginny asked. "Anyone I'd recognize?"

"I don't thinks so," Harry said, "it's Sam Stevens"

"Sam Stevens? The name sounds familiar but I don't recall... Oh, is he your son, Professor?"

"My daughter, actually," Tabitha replied. "She transferred here when I took the job teaching Transfiguration, and I have to admit, I'm a little concerned about her joining this team."

"Oh pshaw!" said Remus. "I've heard about the way she flies. She should do fine."

Down in the Gryffindor changing rooms people were not so confident. Shannon North was trying to get the team's spirit up for the game and she was beginning to turn the team’s nervousness into enthusiasm, with one notable exception. Sam sat by herself in a corner of the room, fumbling with the many pads and guards that were a part of the normal Quidditch kit. This morning her hair was straight, lank and jet black, she wore her usual heavy makeup around her eyes and a purple lipstick so dark that it might as well have been black. She fumbled with a buckle on a leather guard that she thought should cover her right forearm, but she wasn't quite sure. Frustrated, she threw the guard to the floor, intending to just go without.

"Here, let me help you with that," said one of the girls, Sam thought her name was Wendy.

"Don't bother," snapped Sam, "I'll just leave it off. I don't see why we need to wear all this stuff anyway."

"Trust me, Sam," said Shannon, coming over. "When they start hitting Bludgers at you, you'll be glad for every pad you can get!"

"Yuck! I hate this stuff! How can you expect to fly in a straight line with all this junk on? Not to mention the fact that it absolutely ruins your aerodynamics."

"Well, I don't know much about aerodynamics," Shannon said wagging the stray pad at Sam, "and it's a rare occasion when we get to fly in a straight line for more than a heartbeat, but I do know Quidditch and YOU WILL WEAR THESE PADS!"

In a huff, Sam snatched the pad away from her and Wendy helped her strap it on.

"Now," continued Shannon, "we're going to have quite a crowd out there today. Some of them will be rooting for us and some of them will be rooting against us, but they've all come out to see if Gryffindor can field a winning team this year, and I for one intend to prove that we have! What do you say?"

"Yeah!" the rest of the team shouted, except for Sam who twirled her finger in the air and muttered "Hoorah". She hated all this rah-rah, go-team garbage. Why did she have to be here at all? She never wanted to be on any house team and she had never wanted to play Quidditch. All she wanted to do was to fly her brooms. She couldn't really remember how she had managed to get herself roped into joining the team in the first place. With all those practices and drills, she probably would have been better off just taking the detentions!

Then she remembered Gene, the girl she had met coming off the field just after the try-outs. Gene thought all this stuff was just as ridiculous as Sam did and she said she had a plan to show everyone at this lousy school just what they could do with their Quidditch pitch. The two of them had spent a lot of time together on weekends, they shared none of the same classes so weekends were the only time they could get together, and had come up with a great joke to play on the whole school. Gene said she knew a charm that would cause the balls to explode as soon as somebody touched them, she just didn't know how to get into the equipment shed to hex them. Well, as a member of the team, Sam was given the password to the locker rooms and that gave her access to the equipment shed. So, just a little exchange of information was all it took. Sam grinned maliciously. She couldn't wait to see their faces when the balls went off! That'll teach them a lesson for trapping her here.

Shannon was just wrapping up her pep talk, "Now let's go out there and show them what REAL Gryffindors are made of!" or something like that, and Sam stood with the rest of the team and began to file out of the locker room and onto the pitch. The team mounted their brooms and flew a lap around the stands.

Alighting at the center of the pitch, the two teams faced off against each other. The captains shook hands and Madam Hooch, the school's flying instructor and Quidditch referee, kicked open a wooden chest to release the balls. Sam got just a glimpse of a small golden thing flitting past her head and then it was gone. Nothing to worry about, she thought, once the balls blow up the game will be called and she'll be able to go back to her room in peace. The teams straddled their brooms, all except Sam who calmly held her broom at her side, and, on Madam Hooch's whistle, they kicked off.

Sam held her broom tightly with both hands and as everyone else kicked off she twisted the twin handles of her broom. It streaked off into the sky, pulling her along with it. The broom went ballistic, shooting straight up into the air. Sam, with skill born of much practice, wrapped her legs around the shaft, getting a good, steady seat. She pulled easily out of the climb and looked at the field below her. Turning a lazy circle, she watched as one of the girls, she thought her name was Gwen, grabbed the Quaffle. She instinctively winced, expecting a thunderous boom, but nothing happened. Sam looked down again and saw the red ball being passed back and forth between the players. What happened? Had Gene’s spell somehow gone wrong? Sam ducked as a black ball zoomed past her head, just barely missing her, and dropped down closer to the ground. The game was going normally, the Quaffle was moving back and forth, the beaters were smacking at the Bludgers with their bats, and nothing was exploding. Blast! The hex must have gone bad or something. She did a turn around the stands, looking for Gene. There she was, sitting with a bunch of girls in her house's section and laughing. Sam stopped some distance off and gave her a questioning look. Gene looked her dead in the eyes with this innocent look plastered across her face and mouthed the word “What?” back at her. Sam was about to scream back at her when something hit her hard in the back. The impact knocked her forward and completely off her broom. Luckily, she was used to hard rides and maintained her grip, hanging from the handles by both hands. With a twist of her wrists the broom lunged straight up, and Sam easily regained her seat.

Leveling out once again high above the action of the game, Sam paused to try to think things out. Gene didn’t seem the least bit worried that things weren’t going according to plan. In fact, she was laughing, so that meant that things were going as she planned them. ...as SHE planned them. Sam had just begun to digest this when Shannon pulled her broom up alongside her.

“Are you OK, Sam?” she asked. “That Bludger gave you quite a whack.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I’m just trying to figure something out.”

“Don’t worry. First match is always the hardest. We’re doing well though, the chasers are working together well, and our beaters have gotten control of the Bludgers, so hopefully none of them will be coming your way for a while. Now all you have to do is concentrate on finding that Snitch!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it,” Sam answered distractedly.

“What the...” Shannon began. “Sam, what kind of robes are you wearing?”

Distracted from her thoughts, Sam looked at Shannon and saw her staring back with her mouth wide open. She looked around to see if something was wrong when she noticed her clothes were changing colors. When she put them on her robes had been scarlet with gold accents and trim but now they were turning... green.

“Damn slithering BASTARDS!” Shannon yelled and zoomed back down to the ground.

Sam now noticed that howls of laughter were coming from the stands, particularly the stands where Gene and her friends were sitting, the stands decked out in green and silver bunting. Madam Hooch blew the whistle signaling a time out and both teams dropped down to the ground. The Gryffindor team looked furious as they clustered around Shannon. Their red robes all turning green and silver trim replacing the gold.

“Those stinking, low life, rotten, sodding bastards!” Shannon screamed. “How did they manage to get their hands on our robes to hex them?”

The rest of the team was muttering the sorts of things that would turn a mother's hair white and Sam took the moment to sneak a look into the stands. Everyone in the Slytherin stands was rolling with laughter. Sam managed to spot Gene in the crowd and saw that she was laughing harder than the rest and pointing straight at her. Sam’s face grew hot as it dawned on her that she had been had, royally had. She had been used from the start. Sam dashed hot tears from her eyes. She had been played for a fool; no, she had been a fool.

“What are we going to do, Shan?” said Greg Lee. “We can’t play the match dressed like this!”

“No, I mean, look at us! We look like a bunch a Slytherins!” said George.

At this point Madam Hooch broke in. “All right, Gryffindor, what are you going to do? Your time out is almost up.”

“But Madam Hooch, we can’t play in these robes!” Shannon pleaded. “You have to let us go and change.”

“There’s no time and, besides, you don’t have another set of uniforms, do you?”

“No,” Shannon answered dejectedly, “but we could just wear our school robes. It will only take us a few minutes to get them on.” The rest of the team was nodding their agreement but Madam Hooch just shook her head.

“There’s no time. You know the rules, North. You’re time out is now up, get back in the air or forfeit the match.”

“Forfeit? We can’t forfeit! We’ll be out of the running for the cup from the beginning!”

“Those are the rules,” came the cold reply. “Now get back in the air or forfeit.”

“All right, all right. Everyone get back on your brooms. We’ve got a game to win.” With that Shannon pulled the green cloaks over her head and threw it on the ground. The rest of the team did the same, leaving their cloaks in piles on the ground. Sam followed suit and as the rest of the team took off, she mounted her broom to follow.

“Stevens!” Sam turned at the shout and saw Bradley Pitt, their keeper, hovering a few feet in the air and looking straight at her. “You just make sure you catch that bloody Snitch in a hurry so we can all get out of these disgusting clothes.” Sam nodded and flew off.

Sam took up position again and began circling the pitch, her eyes squinting to see the first sign of shimmering gold. Every so often a Bludger would be sent her way and, as focused as she was, she barely had a thought to duck out of their way. Soon, she noticed, the other seeker took up a position just behind and to the inside of her, tailing her and hoping to see the Snitch first. Sam ignored him and continued her search. So focused was she, that she didn’t even hear the cheers from the stands beneath her as the game went on. She didn’t know what the score was, nor did she care. The game wasn’t important, all that mattered was that she get that Snitch and show them that she wasn’t a complete idiot.

Her eyes ached with the effort of squinting into the light and, just as she took a hand off her broom the rub them, the other seeker dove ahead of her. Flashing her hand back down to the broom’s handle, she struggled to remain upright and looked where her companion had gone. He was in a sloping dive and Sam dropped to follow. Laying low along the shaft, she hugged the broom to minimize her drag and shot off in pursuit. He must have seen the Snitch and she just had to beat him to it. She urged her broom to its full acceleration and quickly caught up. Straining to see where the Snitch was, she missed the other seeker pulling up sharply and turning off to the side. Too late she saw the ground rising up towards her. She pulled back as hard as she could on the handles, bending the shaft of the broom like a bow, but she knew it was too late. In a desperate attempt to avoid crashing, she twisted onto her side and slued the broom around. She struck the grass of the pitch at a terrific speed, but a sharp angle. Her body skidded along the grass for ten yards as she struggled with the broom. Finally, just as she thought she was going to make it, the toe of one shoe stuck in the turf and she was thrown tumbling onto the grass.

A gasp rose up from the stands, and everyone in the Gryffindor section rose to their feet. Professor Stevens, one hand clutched to her throat, moved through the stands to reach the pitch, Harry just leapt over the railings and landed on the grass first. His ears caught the trill sound of Madam Hooch’s whistle, but Harry was caught off guard when instead of hearing a time out called he heard the amplified voice of the announcer shout out over the crowd, “Randolph catches the Snitch! Hufflepuff wins over Gryffindor by a score of 190 – 60!”

Harry reached Sam just as she gained her feet. He reached out a hand to steady her, but it was slapped away as she stomped off the find her broom. The crowd was pouring out of the stands now, surrounding the victorious Hufflepuff team and cheering. The Gryffindor team had landed and formed a glum cluster around their captain, as Shannon walked over to where Sam was standing, examining her broom for damage, her face a study in cold apathy.

“Sam, are you alright? Did you get hurt?” Tabitha had reached her daughter, with Remus Lupin close behind her, looking concerned. Which witch he was concerned about, Harry wasn’t sure of, since, at this moment, Tabitha looked a good deal more upset than Sam. She reached out a hand to touch her daughter’s shoulder, but Sam just shook it off.

“Sam, are you hurt?” Tabitha pleaded.

“I’m fine, Mother,” came the stony reply as Sam turned away. “Just leave me alone.”

“Sam,” she said to her back, then almost in a whisper, “Please? I’m your mother.”

As if this statement flicked a switch inside her somewhere, Sam spun back towards the older woman. “Are you?” she snapped, anger burning in her eyes. Harry couldn’t help but take a step away from the pair. “Do you see anyone else’s mommies coming out to see if they’re alright? Does anyone else out here want to wipe my nose for me?” A gleam of triumph came into her eyes as Tabitha shrank away from the onslaught. Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she continued, “Why don’t you just go and find someone else to smother, Mother? I don’t need you to take care of me, I can take care of myself, thank you very much. From now on, why don’t you try to treat me like any other student and stop trying to mother me? Just be my teacher from now on, why don’t you? Maybe then you can be fair!” With this, Sam turned back away from the little group and stormed off towards the rest of the Gryffindor team. They opened their ranks to let her join them, but she just plowed on through and headed straight for the castle, limping slightly.

“I’m... I’m sorry about that,” Tabitha said, her voice meek. “She’s just upset. Sam hates to lose. She’s angry, that’s all.”

“Yes, she’s angry, all right,” said Remus. “The question is why, and at whom.”

The group all looked at each other and then at Tabitha, who just looked at the ground.

“Come on,” Remus finally said, to put an end to the silence. “Let’s see what we have for lunch?”

Determined not to allow the results of the match put a damper on the whole day, Ginny skipped forward to walk beside Professor Lupin and slipped an arm through his. “So tell me, Professor Lupin,” she said brightly, “how do you like being back at Hogwarts?”

Remus took her up on her gambit. “It feels just fine, but I’m afraid if you call me ‘Professor’ one more time, Ginny, I’m going to have to take away some house points for impersonating a student.” He gave her a pointed look. She blushed bright red and giggled.

“Oh, all right, Remus, but only to save Gryffindor from losing the house cup this year.” She turned towards Tabitha and stuck out her other arm. “And what about you, Tabitha, how do you like Scotland?”

Accepting the offer, Tabitha linked arms with Ginny and replied, “I must admit to being shocked at how beautiful it is. I always thought New England was lovely, especially in the fall, but this,” she waved her other arm to indicate the lake, castle and surrounding country, “puts it all to shame. It’s all quite breathtaking.”

“Yes,” agreed Remus. “Growing up here, I guess we tend to take it for granted, but, once you’ve traveled a bit and seen some things, you come to realize: there’s no place like home.”

“Oh, have you traveled much, Remus?” Tabitha asked.

“Just a bit, in my younger days.”

“Oh, don’t let him tell you that,” Ginny interrupted. “Our Remus is quite the world traveller. Why, before he became a Professor here, he was known all around the world as a catcher of dark creatures. He was quite famous, I’m surprised you haven’t heard of him.”

“Now, Ginny, “ Remus blushed, and Harry was just a bit jealous that Ginny could have that effect on him. “Don’t go making it sound like all that big of a deal. Really, Tabitha, all I was, was a bit of a vagabond, earning my keep here and there helping people get rid of trolls or vampires or... whatever.”

“Sounds terribly exciting,” Ginny gushed.

“Hardly,” Remus answered, “mostly it’s just dirty and dangerous. Not to mention paying badly.”

“Really?” Tabitha asked. “I would have thought that most people would pay just about anything to get rid of horrible creatures like that.” She looked at Remus and then, realizing what she had just said and to whom, she looked away in embarrassment. Remus continued on as if he nothing untoward had been said.

“Oh, they’re willing to promise you anything all right, but after the creature is caught and it's time to actually get paid, you find that most of their promises were just that, promises, and you’re lucky to get any payment at all.”

“That’s not fair!” Ginny retorted. “They promised payment and you took all those risks, and then they just don’t pay you? I wouldn’t have stood for it!”

“Oh yes?” Remus snapped at her. “What would you have done, eh? Put the troll back? Taken the stake OUT of the vampire? They were just poor villagers, trying to stay alive. Would you have done any differently if it had been you? They paid me what they could and I was grateful for it.”

One look at Ginny’s crushed face and Remus regretted his harsh words. She was only trying to make conversation and he shouldn’t have rounded on her like that. She just didn’t know what it was like then, and now, hopefully, she'd never have to learn. To try to change the mood around, Remus looked over his shoulder at Harry, who was following a couple of paces behind them, then turned to the two women.

"We have a serious injustice going on right here under our very noses, you know," he said loudly. The three just looked at him. "This worn-out old fuddy-duddy of a Professor gets TWO lovely young ladies, while his handsome young associate gets none. It's just not right!"

He turned a baleful eye onto the two women, who were having a hard time keeping straight faces, and said, "Ladies, I demand you make your choices right now. Who is it going to be, me," then indicating Harry with a jerk of his thumb, "or him?"

Ginny looked from one man to the other and back again finally she turned to Tabitha.

"I just don't know what to do, won't you please help me, Tabitha? Remus is just so dashing..." On hearing this, Remus made a point of straightening his robes and smoothing his hair.

"But on the other hand, Harry has those devastating green eyes. Couldn't you just melt right into them?" Harry got into the spirit of it now and raised his nose in the air and sniffed at his competition.

Tabitha giggled deliciously, then stopped to consider the question. "I hadn't really thought about it, Harry is cute, no doubt about that, but a woman's got to take the long view of things and Remus does have the better paying job."

Ginny looked at her appraisingly and nodded. "You do have a point there." Harry cast his eyes downwards and looked glumly at the grass.

"But Harry does have some excellent prospects," Tabitha continued. "Tell you what I'll do. Since Harry is so much younger than I am - I won't say I'm old enough to be his mother because I'm not, but it’s close - we might make a bit of an odd-looking pair. I'll take Remus here, and you can have Harry. Then, at the end of the day, we'll compare notes and if we want, we can switch 'em then. How's that sound?"

Tabitha moved over and Remus held out his arm in triumph. She took his arm and fell easily into step beside him. Ginny took Harry's arm, and the two pairs resumed their trek back to the castle, their moods considerably lighter.

After a moment, and being too foolish to let well enough alone, Harry spoke up. "Wait a sec. That means Remus and I get to 'compare notes' as well. Maybe we'll want to..." He stopped abruptly as Ginny's boot came down hard on his foot. "Never mind," he winced, "bad idea."

The rest of the day passed easily as the four swapped stories, mostly of Harry's escapades in school, although it turned out that Tabitha had not been the total innocent during her own school days. After a raucous dinner in Tabitha's suite - her rooms were much larger than either Harry's or Remus's, and even included a small eat-in kitchen - Harry and Ginny said their farewells and began the hike back to Hogsmeade, so Ginny could Floo home.

"You know, Gin," Harry said, "wouldn't it be a lot easier if you just apparated to your flat? I mean, your mum said you don't have a fireplace at your flat, so you can't Floo straight there, right?"

"No, I can't, but I just got my Apparating license a few months ago and it's a little farther than I'm comfortable going, just yet. So, I'll just Floo from Hogsmeade to The Leaky Cauldron in London, and from there I'll Apparate to my flat. It's a lot closer. I'm quite a talented witch, if I do say so myself, but I'm not The Great Harry Potter. I can't just go Apparating halfway 'round the globe like that." She gave her fingers a snap and looked at Harry. His face had a pink tinge around the ears. "You've done it, haven't you?" she asked, her eyes going wide as saucers.

"Done what?"

"Apparated halfway around the world in one jump."

Harry blushed a little deeper. "Well, not quite halfway, only from Egypt to China, but that was only because I was in a hurry," he said it almost as if it was an excuse for some type of misdeed and not a feat most people in the wizarding world would call impossible.

Ginny gaped at him. "All the way from Egypt... to China... in one go? How did you manage that without splinching yourself?"

"I just closed my eyes and did it," Harry answered with a shrug. "It's not like I had a lot of choice. How else was I going to get there? Besides, I'd already been Apparating for a few years by then."

"You were barely 19 then Harry, you couldn't have had your license for much more than a year by that time."

"Well," Harry said sheepishly. "I really started Apparating a bit earlier than that..."

"Oh," Ginny's hands were on her hips and she started sounding remarkably like her mother giving the twins a lecture, "and just when DID you start Apparating, young man?"

"Fifth year," came the soft reply.

"Fifth? Why... When... How did you manage..." Ginny couldn't seem to find a proper place to start but she settled on, "How did Professor Dumbledore ever convince the Ministry to give a 15 year old boy an Apparating license?"

"They didn't, really," Harry said sheepishly. "I reckon one of these days I really ought to go down and get one."

"YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THAT YOU GO APPARATING ALL AROUND THE COUNTRY AND YOU’RE NOT EVEN LICENSED!!!"

"Not actually," then Harry added hopefully, "but I'm pretty sure I could pass the test."

Ginny just sputtered for a moment and then burst out laughing. Harry grinned back at her and then decided the time wasn't going to get any better.

"Ah, Gin? Could I ask you something?"

"Sure, Harry," she looked at him, her eyes narrowed.

"Well... ya see... they're having a dance... up at the school... on Halloween... and I was just... wondering... if you didn't have anything better to do that is... ifyoudliketogowithme?"

Ginny smiled broadly at his discomfort. "Harry! Are you asking me to go to the school dance with you?" Ginny's heart bloomed, this moment might be coming a few years later than she had hoped, but it was still everything she had wished it to be.

"Well," Harry replied, "I reckon I am."

"I'd love to."

"That's great." Harry let go of a huge breath in relief. "I could come by your flat and pick you up? Around six?"

"That would be great, Harry." She couldn't seem to stop smiling. "Well, here we are."

Harry looked up and saw that they were standing outside The Three Broomsticks. The two of them entered the noisy pub and walked over to the fireplace.

"Well," Harry said nervously, "I reckon this is goodnight."

"Yes," Ginny replied equally nervous. "Until the dance that is."

"Yeah, until the dance. I'll come for you at six?" Harry was examining a spot on the floor halfway between his shoes and Ginny's.

"That should be fine." Ginny was also finding this spot extremely interesting.

Harry finally managed to raise his eyes to look at Ginny. She was looking at him with what Harry hoped was expectation. Harry began to lean in and Ginny closed her eyes waiting. Suddenly, with a roar, the fire blazed a bright green and a ragged figure fell out of it. He was an old man, the hair that showed through the grime and soot he was covered with was snow white. His robes were in tatters. He stood shakily and just had time to look into their faces before he collapsed in a dead faint. Ginny looked down into the filthy face resting in her lap, her eyes wide in shocked recognition.

"Harry, it's..."

top

Chapter 12 - Tomorrow Is Another Day

Ron Weasley sat on the bole of a fallen tree and looked across the sun-dappled valley below him. Trees, at the height of their autumn color, circled the scene; brilliant reds vied with soft golds and browns in the slanting sunlight, and formed a beautiful wreath surrounding the small valley. The floor of the valley was covered with lightly rolling mists that curled around the trunks of the isolated trees and the scattered stones of the ruined castle. It should have been a picture postcard just waiting for the warmth of the morning sun to dispel the mists, but Ron knew that this was no postcard. Rather than being a scene of idyllic beauty, the vision below sent cold shivers of fear down his spine, for the mists were not waiting for the morning sun to burn them off. It was already mid-afternoon and the mists still clung to the vale below. They were not mists at all, but people. Well, no longer living people, but the essence of them. They were souls.

The destruction of the Dementors had released the tortured souls of their victims back into the physical world, but lacking bodies, they had nowhere to go. Vague white shapes, they hovered in the valley below, as if drawn by some unseen force and held there. They wouldn’t disperse with the sun and no wind could blow them away. They haunted the ground upon which they were released and would stay there forever. This thought sent another chill down his spine and he pulled his cloak tighter around him.

He had spend the previous week searching the hills and forests around the ruins of the Beauxbatons Acadamie de Magic, searching for surviving Death Eaters who might be in hiding, searching for clues of what might have happened to Hermione.. What he had found was no one and nothing. He was beginning to lose hope. Perhaps, he thought, people had been right all along when they said he was a fool to keep hoping. Hermione had been gone for months now, and there was not the least bit of evidence to believe she was still alive. He pulled his cloak still tighter and stared at the roiling mists below him. Could she be there? Had she been portkeyed here only to die, lost and alone? Or worse, to be found helpless by a Dementor that had slipped through the net cast by Sirius and the giants? Was her soul at this very minute hovering down in the hollow, waiting for someone to come and claim it? He tried to hold them back but his fears still came to haunt him.

“Why, Ron? Why did you leave me here?” It was Hermione’s voice echoing in his mind. “You left me alone and now I’m lost.”

He tried to shake off the feeling of dread, but it crept into his bones, just as the cold was doing now. Seeping into the very marrow of him and draining away the life.

“It’s all your fault,” the voice said. “Your fault I’m lost, your fault.”

“No,” Ron tried to say. “I did everything I could. I couldn’t stop it.”

“If you were braver you could have. If you had been strong, like Harry, you would have been able to save me. I’m lost because of you, Ron, because of you.”

“No, that’s not true. Harry was there, too. He couldn’t save you, so how could I have?”

“But Harry was fighting Voldemort, wasn’t he?” the voice insisted. “It was your job to keep me safe. It was your job to look out for me just as it was your job to look out for Ginny when she came to Hogwarts, and you’ve failed again.” Ron couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through him. The world was growing dark around him, and the cold was now a physical thing, overpowering him.

“I’m gone, and it’s your fault.” Ron knew, deep in his heart that the voice was right. He had failed. He failed to protect Ginny from Tom Riddle’s diary during her first year, and now he had failed to protect Hermione. He felt her voice call out to him from mists below. She was there. She was cursed to remain there forever and it was his fault.

In his mind’s eye he remembered, they were standing in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, curses were flashing all around them. He saw Wormtail aim his wand at her, and saw the red fire stream towards its target. He watched as she fell, her limbs contorted in agony as she screamed for help. Ron wanted to move, to strike at Wormtail and cut off the curse. He wanted to, but he didn’t. He seemed frozen in place, helpless to do anything but watch as she was tortured. In agonizing slowness, he watched her fall, striking against the jagged stones that had already fallen about them in the battle. He willed his body to move, his arm to raise his wand, but before it could, Harry stepped in. He watched as Harry flung a spell at Wormtail. He saw rather than heard the cry of “Expelliarmus” come from Harry’s lips as Pettigrew’s wand flew into the air and Hermione was released. Harry had saved her when he failed to act. Hermione stood, barely able to keep her feet under her, blood running from a gash on her head, one arm clutched to her side, but she would not stop. She flung herself at Voldemort, intent on grasping the wand from his hand. Ron stood immobile as the two struggled. Limbs tangled, as one strove for movement and the other for life. Then suddenly, she was gone. The cold was almost unbearable and Ron felt his vision beginning to fade. His head sunk down and the last thing he was able to see was a shadow on the grass beneath him. It was a long shadow, like a skeletal arm, with long scratching fingers reaching out to him.

With the very last of his strength, Ron flung himself forward and down the hill. He felt the sloping ground hit him in the face and then his body begin to tumble. His head spun as he flipped end over end until he came up hard against a rock, and stars flew around his vision, but the shock and the pain cleared his thoughts. A Dementor! In flashes, he saw it gliding down the hill, following him as he continued to spill towards the valley. A tree limb snagged his cloak and brought him to a stop, but Ron tore away from it and dove back down the hill, desperate to put as much distance between himself and the black shape as he could.

Finally, he reached the bottom. He stood dizzily and the world swam around him. He clung to a tree and searched for the Dementor. There! There it was, still gliding downhill but off to his right. Stumbling, he moved left, needing a few more precious seconds to clear his head. The Dementor had now reached the bottom of the slope and began to approach him. Ron staggered backwards; keeping his eyes on the floating black shape as his steps slowly became steadier. Ron slid his wand out of his belt and held it behind him as he whispered "Ferrum". The sudden pull of weight in his hand felt reassuring and Ron felt the fear beginning to recede from his thoughts. In one corner of his mind, he wondered if there wasn't some Viking blood in his family, if somewhere, hundreds of years ago, there wasn't some redheaded berserker who invaded England and began the Weasley clan. The cold began to give way to a burning fury that seemed to spread its way upwards from his hand. He kept his hand hidden behind him as he continued backing away from the Dementor, when suddenly a fresh wave of cold washed over him from behind. In a flash, he realized that he had been trapped! The Dementor had herded him forward, keeping his attention fixed while behind him...

Ron spun as quickly as he could. In the space right behind him was a second Dementor, its hand already reaching towards his shoulder. He swung with all his might and the heavy battleaxe he now held with both hands bit into the monster with a thud. Ron pulled his weapon free as steam began to hiss from the Dementor. With a quick scan around him, Ron saw that there were three Dementors in all. One had pushed him into the trap where two lay in waiting. Ron swung again, and the axe sliced into the third Dementor, cutting deep into its shoulder. The monster let out a great roar as it crumbled and this sound mixed with the screams of the souls being released from its core. The first Dementor was only yards away from him now, with its long arm extended. Ron knew that he dare not let the arm reach him, one touch from it and he would be frozen in place, helpless. Dodging between two trees, Ron circled around until he was behind the wounded Dementor. It stood shaking, its souls seeping out of the wound Ron had inflicted. Using it as a shield, Ron looked about and found that the first Dementor had stopped its advance, as if waiting, pondering its next move. Bringing his axe over his head, Ron swung down as hard as he could at the wounded Dementor in front of him. His blow struck at the stricken monster's crown and cleaved through into its chest. Flailing, it collapsed, and in falling it wrenched the axe from Ron's hands.

Seeing its victim defenseless, the remaining Dementor began to move in. Ron could feel the cold panic returning to him. In his mind, he heard a high, cold laugh. Was it Voldemort or this thing in front of him? He sank to his knees as the Dementor loomed over him. He could barely think as he watched it bend over, reaching down for his chin.

At the last second, Ron dived forward, under the outstretched arms of the Dementor. He scrambled on his hands and knees to escape. The Dementor slowly rose and turned towards where Ron had fled. It began its chase again, as Ron ducked under a low-hanging branch and into the trees. The Dementor followed, but found its path so obstructed by the underbrush that Ron began to gain distance. Cutting back around in a wide circle, Ron returned to the clearing where the trap had been sprung. He flung himself on the body of the fallen Dementor and grasped his axe. He pulled hard but it held fast.

"Finite Incantatum" he whispered. His wand came easily out of the corpse now and Ron moved off. His eyes roamed the trees around him to locate the last Dementor, but he could not. Anxious, he moved towards the valley of lost souls, away from the trees and possible ambush. Ron took a deep breath to try to clear his thoughts. It was the Giants who learned how to destroy the Dementors. Powerfully Dark creatures, they were immune to almost all magics, the Patronus charm could drive them away, but it could not destroy them. However, they were physically weak, and they could be crushed by physical attacks. The problem was getting close enough to hit them. As they closed in on a human, the person were overwhelmed by his own fears and terrors. One touch would immobilize the victim, allowing the Dementor to use its most horrific weapon, its Kiss, to suck out their soul. Ron shivered at the thought of one of them getting Hermione. He could see her lying there, frozen in terror, as the Dementor lowered its hood and brought its mouth down to hers. He saw the image of its gray scabby tongue snaking out and into her mouth, snaking its way down her throat to tear her soul away from her. The image brought back the cold, and the fear.

The Dementor! It was back. Ron turned to see it gliding along the grass, curls of mist around the hems of its robe as it edged along. Ron backed away as quickly as he could.

It was Sirius who developed the Ferrum charm, that transformed a wizard's wand into a weapon. Just as each Patronus was unique to its wizard, so each Ferrum sword was as well. And, again like a Patronus, it helped block the Dementor's primary weapon: fear. Sirius' wand transformed into a broad-bladed Claymore, complete with basket hilt and tassel, Harry's, of course, became the Sword of Gryffindor, and Ron's - with a flick of his wrist and a whispered "Ferrum" - Ron's wand became his battle-axe and he turned on his attacker.

Seeing him re-armed, the Dementor turned and began to flee. The hunter had become the hunted, and Ron ran in pursuit. Moving much faster then the Dementor over the broken ground, Ron closed quickly. Not wanting to give the horror a chance to turn and attack again, Ron leapt over a fallen tree and bought his axe down into the creatures back. There was a sickening crunch as its ribs cracked under the blow. The Dementor fell to the ground as Ron withdrew his axe and brought it down again...and again...and again.

Screams filled the air as souls flew around him, but Ron neither heard nor cared. The lust for battle was fully upon him now, as he hacked at the fallen corpse. Mists from the valley surrounded him as souls newly released joined them. Ron didn't know how long he stood there, hacking, but eventually his arms grew heavy;, they slowed and then stopped. Gasping for breath he watched as the last of the freed souls swirled and joined the others. He backed away from this scene and collapsed onto the grass. Dropping his wand, he fumbled in his pack until he found some Chocolate Frogs. Tearing the first one open, he stuffed it into his mouth and began to chew as his hand absently turned over the Wizard trading card. It was some ancient Chinese dark wizard that he had never heard of. Tucking the card into a corner of his pack, he dug out another frog and ate that as well. Looking at this second card, he couldn't help but grin because it was Harry. Actually, it was just a drawing of a black-haired baby wrapped in a blanket - Harry had absolutely refused to pose for a picture - but the lightning bolt scar was clearly shown. Maybe he should get Harry to sign it for him, Ron thought. Harry hated that sort of thing, and it would be good for a laugh just to see his expression, especially if he managed to ask him when they were both out in public, or better yet in front of some students. The chocolate’s warmth spread throughout his body.

Ron sat there, eating his chocolate and watching the mists crawl and swirl just meters away. Was Hermione in there, or had it all been a trick of his imagination brought on by the Dementors? There was only one way to find out. He stood and dusted off his knees. He didn't want to do this, but he knew of no other way to go but straight ahead. With a determined look on his face, he strode up to the edge of the mists and then in.

From the outside, the mists had looked to be a solid mass, like a bank of fog rolling across the ground, but as Ron penetrated the mists, he saw that it was not. Instead of one uniform mist, he could see that it was a conglomeration of individual wisps. Each soul had maintained its integrity, even as they huddled together. As he began to walk, he could see the individual mists swirl and pull away from him, as if his possession of a physical body somehow threatened them. A damp fear began to creep into his chest, but it was different than what was caused by the Dementors. He felt as if he was intruding into a space where no mortal being was meant to be. He was an invader in an ethereal world where his presence was not wanted. He tried to call out to them, to tell them he meant them no harm, but words would not come. So, he just walked among them. Searching for something that he could recognize and hoping he wouldn’t find it.

Looking over his shoulder at the way he had come, he saw nothing. The mists had surrounded him and circled like scavengers. He existed in a shadowy gray sphere where light and darkness, life and death had been suspended.

“What are you doing here?” The challenge was not real; he had heard nothing, yet it echoed in his mind as if rising up from a deep cave.

Ron spun back and saw it. A single mist, a single soul, had separated from the others and rose up before him. It took on the shape of a man, its mass of hair just a slightly darker shade of gray than its face. Its shadow lips moved and again the voice surfaced within him.

“Why are you here?”

A tremor ran up Ron’s spine as he struggled to answer, “I’ve come looking for someone.”

“Found someone you have, but I doubt it is whom you seek.” Ron felt the threat behind the thoughts and didn’t know how, or if, he could combat it.

“I’m looking for a girl, a young woman actually,” Ron said.

“Man or woman, it matters no more to us, and we are all old.” The shape drew closer and Ron took an involuntary step back to maintain his distance. He didn’t know what would happen should this being try to attack, or even touch him, but he knew he didn’t want to find out.

“What is your name?” the question came and Ron answered without thinking.

“Ron Weasley.”

“Weasley? I knew you. Who are you seeking?”

“You knew me? Who are you? Were we friends?” Ron stared at the misty shape in front of him. That it had been a man he could tell, and not an old one, although older than he was, but he could make out no features and the face was an alien one.

“What my name was is no longer important.”

“Please,” desperation rose into Ron’s voice and the shape again drew closer, “I’m looking for Hermione Granger. Is she here?”

“Who is she? Was she Kissed?”

“I... I don’t know. She might’ve been. Please, I need to know if she’s here.”

“She is.”

The shock of it sucked the breath from his lungs. She was here, worse than dead. The weight of it hit his chest and he thought it would crush his heart.

The thing reached out to Ron. Like a tendril of vine, it wrapped itself around him until its face was next to his ear. “She is with us now, and you can never get her back.”

“NO! That can’t be. Where is she? I’ve got to find her.” He pulled himself away from the mist that surrounded him, but instead of parting for his physical presence; it just passed through him like a ghost, only worse. Touching a ghost left you cold, but this thing that passed through his chest left him bereft. It was as if it sucked the very life from him. Ron was forced to his knees, but struggled up again and lunged forward, away from the specter and further into the mists.

“HERMIONE!”

“You will never find her, and you can never save her. She is ours now and will stay here forever.” The words echoed in his head and in his heart. “You will never find her and you can never save her.”

Ron drove ever deeper into the mist, screaming her name, but the beings there just retreated from him. None approached and no more would speak to him. Had that been the only one who could communicate, was it somehow the guardian? And who had he been? Ron didn’t know. He only knew that he had to try to find Hermione. Wherever she was, he had to find her, even if he couldn’t help her.

Stumbling over the broken stone of the field, Ron tried to keep his feet as the mists swirled around him. Always keeping their distance but, likewise, always blocking his view. He did not know how long he walked in this netherworld. There was no daylight, yet there was no darkness, only the soft glow coming from the surrounding souls. At one point, he came upon a boulder half sunk into the sod. On it sat the spectre of a young woman, she looked about his age, but something told him it was not Hermione. He approached.

“Excuse me,” Ron said hesitantly. “Can you speak?”

The image half turned towards him and Ron saw that it was a mother cradling her infant to her breast, wrapped in a misty cloak. Once again, Ron saw an image of a mouth move and words welled up within him.

“My baby is hungry,” it said sadly. “I must feed him.”

Heartened by this scene of warmth, Ron took a step forward and said, “I’m looking for someone. Can you help me?”

“It has been so long since he has eaten, I must feed him.” The voice rang within his mind.

Ron came around in front of the young mother, and knelt on the grass before her. “I know, you must care for your child, but have you seen another woman, about your age?”

The phantom turned its visage to face Ron and he could see the gray tracks of tears running down her cheeks. Her eyes...her eyes held a sadness so deep, so unfathomable, that Ron almost turned away from it.

“My baby is hungry, I must feed it.” It was almost a moan and Ron felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

Her robes fell open slightly and Ron was unable to turn his eyes aside, as the wraith moved the suckling baby away from her breast. The child turned its head towards Ron and smiled. Inside its mouth were rows of pointed fangs and the dark image of gore ringed its lips and ran down its chin. Turning back towards its mother, the thing opened its mouth wide and tore into the flesh of its mother’s breast.

Ron tore his eyes away and fell backwards onto the grass. On hands and knees, he scrambled away from the sight while his stomach heaved.

“I must feed him... I must.”

Blindly, Ron stood and began to run. Whether he ran into or out of the mists, he did not know. He just ran as panic rode him, whipping at his sides, spurring him on past endurance. Time ceased to flow, and reality itself faded. There was nothing but the burning stitch in his side, and the need to flee. His breath came in gasps as his legs finally gave out beneath him. He lay there on the ground where he collapsed, dew and sweat mixing and soaking into his clothes, trying to regain his senses as the mists began to close in on him. Feeling his weakness, the swirls grew closer, tugging at the edges of his robes, passing over his feet. A dark cold swept through him at their touch. They covered him, and he welcomed their darkness if it would bring him peace.

“My baby is hungry...”

“You will never find her...”

Suddenly, Ron knew that there was no peace here. These spirits would drive him to madness, but they would not give him peace. Ron drew on the last of his will and surged to his feet. Not willing to surrender so easily, the mists clung to him, draining his life away from him, freezing his heart.

“Noooo!” he screamed and began to run again. The mists fell away slightly, as if they were surprised he could still move. Ron blundered on, using all his strength to just remain upright and move one foot in front of the other.

Finally, he came upon the broken remains of a wall, its stark stones rising above him and rising above the mists. Ron’s fingers clawed at the stone, finding handholds in the jagged seams. He inched his way up. The mists swirled at his ankles, unwilling to give up their pursuit, as slowly he managed to climb higher up the battered stones. At last, the dark night sky was visible above him. He struggled on, at last reaching the peak of the ruins, stars glinted in the inky black and the mists retreated to the ground, leaving him alone, suspended between life and death, sanity and madness.

Like a wolf, Ron raised his head to the moon and howled, “HERMIONEEEE!”

* * * * *

Miles away, across a channel, in a small room at the top of an old house, a young woman sat up in bed. “Ron?” she called, but no one answered. Wiping her hands across her face, Granger looked around her and took in her surroundings. The dream already fading from her memories.

She lay back down, hoping sleep would quickly return to claim her, when another voice brought her fully awake.

“So, having another dream, eh?”

Granger sat up in bed and looked at the old man sitting in the one chair in her room.

“You again?” she asked the phantom. “Won’t you ever leave me alone?”

“Thought you might like to take a bit of a walk with me,” he answered calmly.

“No, I most definitely would not.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the old man said quietly, as he slowly rose from his seat and turned away.

The cool night air brought a chill to Granger’s skin and she hugged the thin cotton shift close. The grass was damp with dew and the bright moon shone down upon her. ‘It will be full in just a few more days’ she thought to herself for some unknown reason. The old man was about 10 yards in front of her, slowly hobbling his way down a slight slope and towards a grove of trees.

“The least you could have done was let me grab a shawl or something. It’s cold out here.”

“Not to worry, lass, we won’t be out that long.”

He made his way towards the small gardener’s cottage that Granger had used when she first appeared. Not waiting for her to catch up, he entered. Disliking his company, but hating to be alone, Granger broke into a trot and entered the cottage a few seconds behind him. The old man was standing in the small bedroom and Granger joined him there. He pointed to the narrow cot with one finger, the arthritic knuckle standing out like a knot on a tree limb.

“Under the bed you’ll find one of the floor boards is loose.”

“So?”

“Got a present for ya under there.”

Granger thought about arguing that she wanted no ‘present’ from him, but she knew it would do no good. So she knelt and shoved hard at the cot, hoping that it would hit the old man in the legs and maybe knock him down. The wooden bed chattered across the floorboards and struck the apparition in the shins. It simply passed through, so that it appeared as if the old man grew up from out of the torn mattress.

“It’s the wide board just out from the wall. Pull it up and take out what’s underneath,” he said.

Granger clawed for a moment at the boards until one came up with a creak. Under it, she saw a small parcel wrapped in oilcloth and tied with string. This she took out and dropped onto the bed.

“Go on girl, open it.”

Her fingers fumbled with the knot for a moment. She removed the twine and unwrapped the parcel. The thing sat in her hand, as heavy as death.

“It’s me old Webley,” the ghost said. “It got me out of a couple of hard scrapes in North Africa and I figured it may come in handy again, so I snuck it home in me kit.”

Granger stared at the revolver in her hands. She thought she had never seen anything so ugly in her life. It was black and covered in grease, all odd angles and edges.

“I treated it well with cosmolene before I packed it away. So mind, you be careful to clean it well or it’ll stain through your clothes.”

“I don’t want it,” Granger said firmly.

“Don’t blame ya fer that, but anyway, it may come in useful.”

“I don’t like guns, and I don’t like what they stand for.”

“Dearie, a gun don’t stand for nothing; it’s a tool like any other. It’s up to the person usin’ it to decide what he stands for. Or stands against.”

“I don’t care,” she said firmly. “I don’t want it.”

“Suit yerself.”

* * * * *

Ginny looked down into the filthy face resting in her lap, her eyes wide in shocked recognition.

"Harry, it's... Ron.”

“Merlin, what happened to him?” The crowd at the pub began to close in around them, and Harry knew he had to get Ron out of here and to some help.

“Ginny,” he commanded, “help me get him outside, where we'll have some room.” Taking him under his arms, Harry and Ginny managed to get Ron through the staring bystanders and out onto the street. Once clear of the crowded room, Harry raised his wand and pointed it towards the castle.

“Accio Firebolt!” he called, and then, with his left hand held outstretched, he waved his wand with his right. He conjured a stretcher, and floated Ron onto it.

Harry’s broomstick zipped down the street and came neatly to rest in Harry’s outstretched hand.

“You don’t intend to FLY anywhere with him like this, do you?” Ginny was shocked at the very idea.

“I’ll be able to get him up to the castle much faster that way than by walking, and Ron needs to get to Madam Pomfrey as quick as possible. Ginny, forget going home,” the tone of his voice left no room for discussion, and Ginny just looked at him. “Floo straight to the Burrow and tell your folks what’s happened. I reckon they’ll want to come straight down. You’ll also need to tell Herm...” Harry slapped his thigh hard and then turned away, mounting the broom.

“But Harry...” Ginny began.

“No buts, just do as I say.” Ginny should have been angry, but Harry’s tone was not harsh, just hard. It was the voice of someone used to giving commands in hard times, someone who brooked no arguments. She had never seen him like this before. She nodded, and turned back towards the door to the pub.

“Gin, wait,” Harry called and she turned to face him again. Harry leaned over and gave her a quick kiss, “Hurry, but more than that, be careful.”

With that, Harry turned his broom and, flying just above the grass, he headed off towards the castle with Ron securely in tow behind him. Ginny stood and looked after them. Her fingers came up and lightly brushed her lips. Their first kiss, and it had come from a Harry she had never met before.

* * * * *

Ginny ran up the path leading from Hogsmeade to the castle gates, a bundle of clothes in her arms. When she had arrived at the Burrow, both her parents were sitting in the kitchen in their bedclothes, having a cup of hot chocolate before retiring. As soon as Ginny told them the news, they had immediately Apparated. Ginny cursed herself for not being able to Apparate over such a distance, but decided to make use of the delay to gather some decent robes for her parents. After doing so, she Flooed back to Hogsmeade and, ignoring the questions from Madam Rosmerta, ran straight out the door and up to the castle.

Gasping for breath and clutching at a stitch in her side with her free hand, Ginny rounded the last corner before the Hospital Wing. She saw Harry outside the doors pacing nervously back and forth. As she approached, he turned to meet her.

“Your folks are with him now. He’s asleep, but Poppy says he’s going to be fine.”

Relief washed over Ginny's face. “But what happened? What about his hair?” she gasped.

“Don’t know. It’ll have to wait till morning when we can talk to him. She’s given him a sleeping draught, and he won’t wake up till then.”

They stood silently, side by side, for a moment, then Harry pointed to the bundle Ginny still carried and raised an eyebrow.

“I stopped to gather up some clothes for Mum and Dad. I figure, once they stop worrying, they’ll be wanting to change,” she answered.

Harry smiled a bit. “Yeah, I doubt they’ve even stopped to realize they’re still in their pajamas. Maybe we ought to go in and remind them?”

Ginny grinned a little too at the thought of her mother’s face would look like when she realized that she’d been running half-way across England in her nightdress. “So, Ron’s going to be OK?”

“Yeah, I think so. Poppy says she couldn’t find any injuries, and he is resting comfortably, so he should be fine.” He reached out with his left hand and took the bundle from her. With his right hand he grasped hers and said, “Let’s just look in on them for a minute.”

Together, they entered the Hospital Wing and walked past the rows of empty beds, heading towards one that had curtains pulled around it. As they passed, they saw Ron asleep in the bed with Mrs. Weasley sitting on one side, holding his hand, and Mr. Weasley standing on the other side, looking down at them. They both nodded briefly to the young couple; if they noticed that they were holding hands, they said nothing about it.

“Madam Pomfrey says he’ll be able to talk in the morning. Maybe he’ll be able to tell us what happened,” Mr. Weasley said, taking the bundle of robes from Harry.

“He just looks so old, Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley said, worry still creasing her brow. “Why, he could pass for his own grandfather.” Turning to look at Harry, she asked, “Do you have any idea what could have done this?”

Harry just shook his head. She turned to face her husband and noticed for the first time the bundle he was now holding. She looked at him curiously and unconsciously ran a hand over her own clothes. Harry couldn’t help but grin as she turned a bright shade of red and snatched the robes from his hands. She quickly stood and, with a murmured “Won’t be a sec,” she practically ran from the room.

Arthur Weasley was grinning, too. He pulled his nightcap off his balding head and said, “Reckon I ought to go next.”

"Is he going to be all right?" Ginny asked nervously.

"Yes, he should be, child." Madam Pomfrey has rejoined the group. "He has had quite a shock, but I can't find any lasting injuries."

"But his hair?" Ginny commented.

"As I said, quite a shock, but any explanations from him will have to wait until morning."

The doors to the Hospital Wing swung open, allowing Remus and Professor McGonagall in. Molly Weasley, who had just left Poppy’s office where she had changed, joined them and they approached the bed.

Molly spoke first. "Arthur, please! Put on some decent robes. Think of your position. Imagine if the Daily Prophet managed to get a photo of the Minister of Magic standing about in his nightshirt!"

Molly tsked loudly as Arthur took the bundle of clothes from her and, with a wink and grin to Harry and Ginny, excused himself.

Harry turned to Minerva and Remus, and began to tell them what had happened. Ginny took a half step backwards as the group closed in to deal with the issue. She watched for a moment before she turned back to Ron lying in the bed. She sat in the one chair and took his hand in hers, but try as she might, she couldn’t stop thinking about Harry. Just this morning, he had spoken about how he still felt like an eleven year old boy coming to Hogwarts for the first time. Yet here he was, just hours later, speaking with the Headmistress and one of his fellow teachers, and they accepted him as one of their own. She just didn’t understand it. Ron rolled his head on the pillow, a soft groan escaping his lips. Chagrined at her foolishness, Ginny leaned closer and murmured soothing words to her brother.

A few moments later the group broke up. Ginny turned and saw that her father had joined them at one point. They gathered around the bed.

“There’s really no point in our going home tonight,” said her father. “We wouldn’t get a wink of sleep, and we’ll just be popping back here first thing tomorrow anyway.”

“Indeed not,” replied the Headmistress, “but there’s no point in all of us staying here at his bedside, either. Mr. Weasley needs quiet and rest now, more than anything.”

“Is there a room available for us here?” asked Molly.

“Oh my, yes,” came the answer. “I’ll have one of the guest suites readied for you immediately. Remus, would you please take the minister and his wife to their rooms, so they can try to rest? And first thing in the morning, we’ll see how young Ronald is doing?”

“What about Ginny?” Molly asked.

“Oh, no problem,” Harry said casually. “She can sleep in my bed.” Every pair of eyes in the room turned towards him with expressions ranging from amusement in Remus’s case to horror in Molly’s. Harry began to stutter, “W... what I... I meant... was that she... she could use my room and I would kip in with Remus. That is... if it’s all right with you?” He looked at Remus pleadingly and was answered with a broad smile.

“Of course, Harry. We all knew that was what you meant, and of course you can use my couch for the night.” Mrs. Weasley didn't look convinced, but Minerva looked on with amusement.

“Still,” began Molly, “I’m not so sure it would be appropriate for a young lady to...” Ginny gave her mother a hard stare and her father jumped in to prevent an argument from erupting. It all had the feeling of a well-worn script to Harry, one that everyone knew by heart but no one enjoyed.

“Oh, I’m sure everything will be just fine, my dear. Harry’s a good lad and, since he will be sleeping in Remus’ room tonight, I’m sure things will be just fine.”

Ginny stood with a bit of a huff and turned to Harry before her mother could find another reason to object.

“Yes, it will be fine, just fine. Harry, why don’t you escort me to your bedroom? I’m rather tired from all this running about and I think I could do with a bit of a lie down.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to do, looking from one face to another, but, when Ginny grabbed his arm and fairly pulled him from the room, all he could do was mutter, “Oh, OK, I’ll just do that then.”

Ginny led the way down the stairs and away from the Hospital Wing with Harry in tow. The whole way, she was muttering things like ‘she always treats me like a child’ and ‘that’s why I was in such a hurry to move out in the first place’. It wasn’t until she had made a turn towards the Great Hall, but away from the most direct path to Harry’s rooms, that he even tried to get a word in.

“Um, Ginny?”

“What is it Harry?” Ginny snapped.

Pointing in the opposite direction, he said, “I think my rooms are this way?”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” She turned on her heels and headed off in the new direction. “After all, you’re the one who’s supposed to be showing me.” She had begun muttering again when Harry came to a stop. She turned to look at him. Harry took her hand off his elbow, where she had been pulling him along, and held it in his.

“Listen, I don’t think she means to do things like that. It’s just that she’s worried about Ron and can’t show it since there's nothing to be done. So it just sort of comes out at you. Don’t be angry with her, she’s just trying to take care of her children.”

“I know, but it’s just so annoying. And it wasn't just tonight. For the longest time, Mum and I have been having these fights. She just refuses to admit that I've grown up. She thinks that if she treats me like a child, then I'll stay one. You don’t know what it’s like having parents doting over you all the time.”

“No, I don’t,” he answered calmly and realization made her stop and think for a moment how fortunate she was, just to have parents to be annoyed with. “So, let’s just forget about it for now, all right, and I’ll just show you up to my room, so you can get some sleep?”

“OK,” she said quietly and they were off again, at a slower pace this time, and with Harry in the lead. After a few minutes, they stood before a painting of a Quidditch pitch.

“Gryffindor scores,” Harry said to the players flitting about the frame.

One of the chasers hovered at the center of the picture and gave Ginny an appraising look.

“Indeed, he does. Indeed, he does,” he said cheekily.

One of the other flyers joined him. “And quite a lovely little score she is, if I may be so bold as to venture an opinion.”

“No, you may not!” Ginny glowered at the pair and drew her wand. “And, if either of you ventures any more opinions, you’ll find yourselves hexed all the way down to the dungeons, where the only flying you’ll do is around the Slytherin dormitories. Now open up!”

“All right, Miss, all right, we was goin’ to. No need to get upset.” The painting began to roll up with the flyers still muttering. “Just trying to have a bit o’ fun. Just passin’ t’ time o’ day...”

“Sorry about that, Gin,” Harry apologized. “They’re not usually that way.”

“Oh? And how many other girls have you brought up here, that they can even have a usual way of behaving?”

“Well, none... actually,” Harry started, “you’re the only girl... I mean, they’ve never seen any...”

“Oh, quit your stammering, Harry,” Ginny relented, seeing how uncomfortable he was. “I wasn’t really offended. I just didn’t want them to think they could get away with speaking to women like that. You men have to be trained, you know. That’s what Mum always says, you have to train a man up, if you want him to treat you right.”

Harry led her up the tight staircase and into his rooms. She looked appreciatively around his sitting room and then followed him into the bedroom.

"Very nice, Harry,” she said. “A flat like this would cost you a pretty penny in Muggle London.”

"Well, we're not in London, are we? We're up in the highlands of Scotland and there's a bit more room here. Besides, it's not all that much." Ginny grinned at him and sat on the edge of the bed. He didn't know why, but for some reason Harry got very nervous at the sight of her sitting on his bed and turned away.

"I reckon you'll need some pajamas," he said.

"Well, I could sleep in..." Ginny began, teasingly, but Harry cut her off before he acquired any dangerous mental images.

"Here," he said, tossing her a t-shirt. "I'm afraid I don't have any real pajamas. I usually just sleep in a t-shirt and my boxers."

"Oh?" Ginny blushed, now it was Ginny's turn to fight off mental images. She looked at the shirt in her hands; it was gray with 'Puddlemere United' emblazoned on it. "Puddlemere? You mean you're not a Cannons fan anymore?"

"Wood sent me that a month or so ago," Harry answered, "along with a note saying that he had gotten a promotion on the team."

"Is he the first string Keeper now?" Ginny asked brightly.

"No, he's still a reserve, but they made him one of the trainers. He always was a maniac about holding practices. Getting the team up before dawn, in all kinds of weather." Harry smiled. Ginny thought of asking him if Oliver had mentioned anything about United needed a Seeker, but Harry continued on before she could bring it up. "Anyway, you can wear that to bed. That's what I've been doing with it. Those orange Cannons shirts tend to keep me awake, they're so bright."

"Yes, they are that,” Ginny agreed. “I've often wondered how Ron ever gets to sleep at all, the way his room glows Chudley orange." Harry stood next to his wardrobe, still smiling. "Well, it's late and I am rather tired," Ginny hinted, but Harry still stood there. After a bit, Ginny continued, "If you like, I could just change right now?" She dropped a hand to the hem of her jumper and Harry blushed brightly.

"Oh... OH! I'm sorry,” he managed to say. “You have to change and I'm just hanging about. I'm sorry, Gin. I'll just leave you alone, shall I? And, uh, I'll see you in the morning. I mean, at breakfast." Harry turned and practically fled the room, but Ginny stopped him with a call.

"Oh Harry!" He turned back and looked at her. "Good night." Harry beamed at her and nodded as he closed the door.

Harry went down the stairs and along the halls until he came to a junction. To the left was the stairs that led down to Remus’s quarters. After a moments pause, he continued straight ahead, following the path that would lead him back to the Hospital Wing, where Ron lay.

When he got there, he quietly eased open the large double doors, so as not to disturb Poppy, and passed through. Quietly, he went up to the bed where his friend lay sleeping and sat in the hard wooden chair next to the bed. Looking down at the now-peaceful face resting under the shock of white hair, Harry sat and worried. Poppy had said that he wasn’t injured, that all he needed was rest, and she certainly was one who would know, but still Harry felt uneasy. The minutes crept into hours as Harry stood watch. He wasn’t used to this. Usually, he was the one who was unconscious. He was the one who would wake up to find his friends sitting by his side, waiting for him. It was much easier being the one who was hurt than the one who had to watch, Harry realized. He never appreciated before how hard it was to just sit here and do nothing. How hard it was to know that there was nothing you could do.

top

Chapter 13 - Have a Ball

At some point Harry must have dozed because the next thing he realized someone was calling his name. His head jerked up from his chest and he winced as his nerves protested his awkward position.

“Harry? Is that you?” Ron said groggily.

“Yeah, mate, it’s me.”

“Then I guess I made it back.”

“Reckon so,” then Harry followed with “back from where?”

“Beauxbatons,” came the small answer. “Was that Ginny I fell onto?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered “I was just about to see her back home when you popped out of the fire and right into her lap.”

Ron managed a weak grin. “You were seeing her home, eh? What? Were the two of you on some kind of a date?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” Harry felt himself blush. “Where did you Floo in from anyway?”

“That little wizarding pub near the school, Le Quasimodo, I think it’s called. I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?” The conversation was definitely cheering Ron up and he sat up in his bed.

“Actually, you did. But it was just the topper to an overall horrible date. I doubt you’ll ever get the chance to interrupt us again.”

“That bad, huh?” Harry nodded in response. “Where did you take her?”

“Well, yesterday was Gryffindor’s first Quidditch match of the year and so I thought...”

“How’d we do?”

“The usual.”

“That bad?”

“Well, it was a close game, that is until Sam fell for an obvious Wronski feint and got herself ploughed. Hufflepuff caught the snitch and that was it.” Harry decided to try to bring the conversation back on topic, “What happened in France?”

Ron just shook his head a little and continued, “How did Sam do? Is she taking to the game?”

“Not really,” Harry said, understanding that Ron would talk when he was ready. “She just doesn’t seem to have a feel for it.”

“Well, who’s teaching her?”

“Shannon North, I reckon. She is the captain, after all.”

“Yeah, but is she a Seeker?” Ron asked.

Harry turned and looked out of the window. It was still hours before dawn, and there was nothing to be seen except for the reflection of the single candle burning on the table next to the bed.

“Wood spent a lot of time teaching me how to play,” he said at last.

“And Sam hasn’t grown up with the game like most of us,” Ron finished his thought.

“Yeah,” Harry said, “and since I’m the one who tricked her into joining the team in the first place, I reckon I ought to see that she knows how to play.”

Ron nodded. “I ran into some Dementors.” Harry looked at his friend. “There was only three of ‘em but I figure at least one of them had to be real powerful.” He paused for a second, and Harry was tempted to prod him into talking further when Ron shifted topics again. “So what about this date? Am I going to have to remind you that Ginny is not only MY little sister, but she also has five other older brothers who care very much for her?”

“No, you definitively don’t have to remind me of that. Besides your mum did a fairly good job of seeing to that all by herself.”

“Mum? How did she get involved?”

“Well, after you showed up, I sent Ginny to fetch your mum and dad. All three of them came back together and your mum was kinda worked up...”

Ron again finished the sentence “and she and Ginny got into another row?” Harry grinned and nodded. “I swear those two fight more than Mum fought with all the rest of us put together, even the twins.”

“Ginny’s the youngest and the only daughter so I reckon it’s only natural that your folks try to protect her.”

“Yeah, but Ginny doesn’t have to rise to the bait all the time.” Ron paused and then went on, “They set a trap for me. It almost worked too.”

This time Harry shifted the topic. “Remus came to the game, too. He came with Tabitha.”

“Sam’s mum?” Ron thought about this for a moment with his head bobbing. “How’d they get on?”

“Pretty good, I think Tabitha fancies him a bit, or would, if he’d just let her.”

“It’s gotta be tough on him. How can he expect any girl to get to like him once they find out what he is?”

“He ought to at least give her a chance, and not just assume that she’s gonna think he’s a monster.”

“I think he’s the one who thinks he’s a monster,” Ron said. “You know, I reckon he might have been right.”

“About what?” Harry asked; he knew Ron didn’t mean that Remus was right about being a monster.

“His idea that Dementors are somehow related to Boggarts.”

“How so?”

“One of the ones I met,” Ron spoke slowly. “It didn’t just make me remember things. It knew what I was afraid of and used it to change my memories.”

Harry sat quietly for a moment, thinking. Remus had come up with the theory that Dementors might be some more powerful species of Boggart, both creatures could somehow tap into your feelings and uncover what made you afraid, and if a strong enough Dementor could actually alter your memories to build on your fears, it would be that much more dangerous.

“Is that how it happened?” Harry asked.

“What?”

“Your hair.”

Ron answered by changing subjects. “So, you gonna ask her out again?”

And so the conversation continued, bouncing like a ball around the room and occasionally hitting on the topic of what Ron had gone through. As the sun began to shine through the windows Madam Pomfrey appeared, she checked Ron over, summoned up a huge tray of breakfast for the two of them, and left. An hour later, the breakfast and the conversation was over, the empty tray sat on the floor, and Ron was again sound asleep. Harry rose to leave and encountered Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, as well as Remus and Professor McGonagall, as they entered the room. Molly gave Harry a piercing look and brushed past him to go to Ron’s bed. Harry looked after her for a moment before turning to the rest of the group. Mr. Weasley looked concerned and Remus was trying, unsuccessfully, to hide a smirk.

“He’s asleep again. I don’t think we ought to wake him, so why don’t we go to the staff room, and I’ll give all of you a debriefing.” Harry said.

“You spoke with him?” Mr. Weasley asked anxiously. “Did he tell you what happened?”

Harry put his hand on the older man’s arm to calm him and to hold him in place. “We spoke for a while, and then he had some breakfast. Poppy looked at him again and he’s fine, just tired. He needs rest.” Arthur nodded his head in understanding and went to fetch his wife.

They left the hospital wing and began to walk down the corridor.

“Where’s Ginny?” Harry asked. “I figured she would have joined you by now.” Remus choked on a snigger, while Molly turned on him like a bulldog.

“That’s exactly what WE’D like to know, young man. Where is my daughter?”

“Harry, we know you didn’t spend the night in Remus’ room,” Mr. Weasley said firmly.

Harry looked at Remus. Remus’ face was flushed a bright red and his lips were forced together in a tight line to prevent any sound from escaping, he just shrugged his shoulders in a gesture that said ‘Leave me out of this’.

“You mean she didn’t come down... Wait a minute, is that what you lot are thinking? That Ginny and I spent the night... That we...”

“Well, you have to admit Harry, it looks that way,” Mr. Weasley said trying to be reasonable.

Molly on the other hand wasn’t trying in the least. “If you’ve so much as harmed one hair on my child’s head, young man, I’ll...”

Harry cut her off. “Listen to me, the both of you! NO, make that the three of you.” He said taking Remus in. “Both Ginny and I are adults. Fully capable of leading our own lives and making our own decisions.” Molly’s face was turning a bright red. Arthur and Remus both backed up a step to be clear of any explosions, but Harry ploughed on.

“Besides,” Harry reached down and took both of Molly’s hands in his, this gesture seemed to be the last thing she was expecting and it disarmed her for the moment. When he spoke again, it was calmly and earnestly. “Mrs. Weasley, did you know that you were the first witch I ever met? The very first one?" Molly shook her head dumbly. "And you are the standard by which I’ve judged every other witch I’ve ever met?” The angry flush in Molly’s cheeks began to change into a blush. Harry looked her straight in the eyes and continued, “And your family was the first family I ever knew? You took me in when I was a stranger to everything and everybody. Do you really think I could do anything... ANYTHING to hurt one of you? Do you really trust me so little?”

“Harry dear, of course we trust you,” Molly said with a tremor in her voice.

“And Ginny’s your daughter, you’ve raised her well, do you trust her?”

“Of course, Harry. But...”

“No buts. Have confidence in your daughter and in yourself. Trust her to do the right thing, because you’ve both taught her to.”

Molly quietly nodded, and Remus and Arthur exchanged the awed looks of men who had just been missed by a tornado and couldn’t believe their luck. Harry let go of one of Molly’s hands and tucked the other one into his elbow and led them off.

“After we left you last night, I showed Ginny up to my rooms. I lent her a shirt to wear to bed and then I left. No, I didn’t go to Remus’ to sleep; I came back here to sit with Ron.” He felt Molly begin to say something but again he cut her off before she could start. “How often has Ron sat by my bed in there? How often have the three of you? Did you really expect that I could do any less?”

“So that’s where you were,” Remus said, his forehead furrowed in thought.

“Yes,” Harry raised a hand to rub his sore neck, “and we’ve got to get Poppy some more comfortable chairs.”

Just then Ginny came flying around the corner. “Oh, there you all are. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Ginny dear.” Molly stepped forward and gave her daughter a huge hug and a kiss on each cheek. “Did you sleep well?”

Ginny looked stunned. “Yeah, I reckon,” she shook her head to gather her wits, “but how’s Ron? Have you already been up to see him?”

“Harry spent the night with him, dear,” Molly crooned, “but he’s asleep again now, so Harry here is going to let us all know what happened. Now come along, and we’ll all have a nice cuppa and chat.”

By the time Harry had finished bringing them all up to speed and the Weasleys returned to the Hospital Wing, Ron was awake again. The headmistress had a lunch brought up for them, and afterwards Poppy, reluctantly as always, agreed to allow Ron to return to the Burrow. Harry asked Ginny if he could see her home to her flat, and she agreed.

The following Tuesday, Halloween, found Harry standing in front of the mirror fidgeting with his robes. Not satisfied, but resigned that he couldn’t do anything more about his appearance, he turned and began the trip to pick up Ginny for the dance. As a teacher, or at least a teacher's assistant, he was expected to chaperone the dance but the Headmistress had stated that he didn’t have to do it alone, he could bring a date. So he left the castle and, once outside of the great iron gates, he Apparated to London.

Standing outside the door to Ginny’s flat, Harry felt his nerves flitting inside his stomach. Smiling with an ironic enjoyment of his own unease, he knocked loudly. After a few moments, the door swung open, but Harry’s greeting died on his lips as he saw no one standing there. Instantly on guard, Harry put a hand on his wand and entered the flat, ears tuned for any sound. He relaxed again when he heard Ginny call out from behind a closed door.

“Harry, is that you?” she called.

“Yeah Gin, it’s me,” he answered.

“Good, right on time. I’ll be out in a sec. Why don’t you just relax, and I’ll be finished in a bit.”

Harry looked around. The room was a medium sized sitting room. Ginny’s voice had come from behind a door to his right, Harry assumed it led to the loo. Behind a folding screen Harry found a small kitchenette. He saw a pair of large wardrobes standing against one wall. Curiousity fought with guilt in his mind, as he wondered if he dared peek inside one. If Ginny caught him, it would be embarrassing, at least, and more likely it would lead to a huge fight.

“Comfy?” Ginny called.

“Yes, quite,” Harry replied a bit too quickly. ‘Better safe than sorry’, he figured and took a seat on the sofa. “This is a really nice flat. How did you ever find it?”

“Well, actually Dad asked some folks in the muggle ministry to help me locate it, but don’t tell Mum, she thinks that he's just as upset as she was to see me move out.”

“You mean he wasn’t?” went Harry's puzzled response.

“Well, he was, sort of, but I think he realized that I had to. Mum and I had been rowing almost non-stop and by helping me, he was able to make sure I got a nice place.” Ginny called after opening the door a crack and sticking her head out.

‘And a safe one’ Harry thought to himself. He wondered how many wards he had passed through on his way into the flat and how many people knew he was here. As Ginny ducked back into the loo, he absently picked up a remote control and turned on the small telly that sat in a corner. It was the news and Harry sat watching, wondering idly what was going on in the muggle world but not interested enough to pay too much attention. The young woman reading the news with over-bright eyes was talking about something that had happened in the North Sea... some sort of accident. A submarine or something had sank.

“The submersible craft, the Ariel,” the woman read, “was doing research for British Petroleum in the deepest part of the North Sea, looking for potential drilling sites, when the accident occurred. Initial impressions indicate that an electrical fault occurred, possibly caused by an animal chewing on some wiring…” Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by Ginny walking into the room. His breath caught as he looked at her. She was wearing a full gown of gold satin, embroidered with beads of pearl, but what really caught his eye was her hair. Her fiery red hair was loosely braided and was draped over her shoulder and along one arm.

“Oh,” she said, “I take it you noticed my hair?”

Notice? How could he not? It had to be at least 12 feet long!

“It took me hours to charm it to grow this long,” Ginny continued.

“You look wonderful,” Harry said, “but why?”

“It’s Halloween! And you said that the dance was a costume ball. Well, I’m Rapunzel.”

“But chaperones don’t have to wear costumes.”

“Just because you don’t have to do something, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. Besides, I love fancy dress parties so… I’m Rapunzel and you are going to be my prince.”

“But I’m not dressed…” Harry’s words were cut off by Ginny waving her wand. Bright silver sparks covered Harry and his skin tingled as his robes were changed into a tunic of deep forest green with black leggings. Harry looked down at his clothes, and then at Ginny and the impish grin that had spread across her face. “I suppose I don’t have much choice, do I?”

“No, so I would suggest we get going. I’ll confess that I’m rather concerned about how my costume will survive going through the Floo.”

Harry looked at Ginny and the beautiful dress she wore. He watched as the light shimmered in her hair. It was absolutely the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

“Not to worry. We’re not taking Floo.”

“How are we going to get there then?”

“We’ll Apparate,” Harry said calmly.

“But Harry,” Ginny said worriedly, “I’ve already told you that I’m not ready to Apparate all the way to Hogwarts from here.”

“Sure you are, Gin. It’ll be easy. We’ll do it together.”

“Tandem Apparation?” Ginny’s jaw dropped at the thought. “That’s supposed to be really complex…”

“Naw, they just like to make it seem that way. It’s really quite easy, Professor Dumbledore showed me how to do it.”

“Just because it was easy for the most powerful…”

“Ginny,” Harry interrupted her, “do you trust me?”

‘With my life’ Ginny thought to herself as she nodded her head to Harry.

“OK then,” Harry held out his hands to her, “just give me your hands.”

She extended her hands and Harry grasped them. Her skin was warm and soft in his hands, and a tingle ran up his spine. Ginny’s eyes were closed and Harry could see anxiety wrinkling the corners of her mouth.

“It’ll be fine, Ginny. Professor Dumbledore taught me how to do this.”

The tension around the corners of Ginny’s mouth eased slightly and Harry was again amazed at just how beautiful this girl was. He squeezed her hands to further reassure her.

“Just concentrate on my hands. Don’t think about where we’re going; I’ll take care of that. You just concentrate on my hands and staying with me. I’ll count back from three and then we’ll Apparate. Just think about our hands and staying with me.”

“Are you sure this will work?”

“It’s simple. Easy to do, but difficult to write down. Trust me, Gin.”

Ginny’s eyes were still closed and Harry saw her lips begin to tremble.

“Harry, I’m scared.” Her voice was small, like a child’s.

Harry looked at her face and couldn’t stop himself. He leaned down and gently pressed his lips to hers. The softness of them was like heaven. “I would never do anything to hurt you,” he whispered.

Ginny blushed. “Was that a part of Dumbledore’s lesson too?”

Harry laughed, “I promised I would never tell.”

Ginny grinned, “I’ll bet his whiskers tickled.”

Harry grinned back. “Just concentrate on my hands and staying with me.” Ginny squeezed Harry’s hands tightly. She could do this, she told herself. She would just stay with Harry. She wouldn’t let him go.

Harry’s calm voice came to her. “Just concentrate on our hands. Don’t let go. I’ll count back from three and then we’ll both Apparate. I’ll go to Hogwarts and you just stay with me.”

“OK,” Ginny answered.

“3… 2… 1…” With a soft POP they were gone. Ginny didn’t even notice the change in her surrounding, so focused was she on keeping hold of Harry’s hands. Harry looked down at her face and saw that her eyes still screwed shut in concentration. “Ah, Gin? We’re here. You can open your eyes now.”

Ginny opened her eyes and looked around in wonder. The stone pillars and wrought iron gates that braced the entrance to Hogwarts stood in front of her.

“We’re here? We did it?”

“Yeah, we’re here. See, I told you it was easy?”

Ginny threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. “I did it. I Apparated all the way to Hogwarts!”

Harry just stared at her, at the way her face glowed with happiness. He wondered what else he could do to make her look that way.

“Do you want to do it again?” he asked.

“Can we?” Ginny giggled. “No wait. Can I do it by myself? Can I Apparate all the way back to my flat by myself?”

“I’m sure you could, but wouldn’t you rather go to the dance first? After all, you’ll be going back to your flat afterwards, right?”

“Where else would I go?” Ginny asked. A moment later, she flushed to the roots of her hair as she realized her options.

Hand in hand, they walked up the path to the doors of the castle. The moon shone down on them and lit the path ahead.

Harry asked, "Gin, you said your Dad got friends in the muggle ministry to help find your flat?"

"Yes," she answered, "since I work with them, they were more than willing to help."

"What exactly is it you do for the Ministry?"

Ginny thought for a second before replying. "Well, technically, I don't work for Dad in the Ministry of Magic. I'm actually an employee of the muggle Ministry."

"You are?"

"Yes, I act as sort of a liaison between the two governments. By title, I am a 'Communications Clerk' but what I really do is monitor messages and such in the muggle ministry, and, if I come across anything that might interest Dad, I let him know about it. He, in turn, gives me status reports that I send forward to the muggle Prime Minister's office."

"So they know you're a witch? The muggles, I mean."

"Oh no, only some top people in the minister's office know about that. The rest of the girls in the office just think I am one of them, just another clerk."

"So, you're paid by the muggle government, in muggle money?"

"Yes, isn't it exciting? I get to live exactly like a muggle. It's such fun."

"It does sound like it." Harry said. By this time they had reached the front steps of the castle, and Harry held open the door for Ginny to pass through. Ginny had just stopped to wait for Harry to join her, when a voice called out.

"Greetings and welcome to Hogwarts." Ginny started and looked around the room trying to place the familiar voice. "It's been a long time, Miss Weasley, I'm so glad you came back for a visit. I do hope you have time for a chat." Ginny finally located the voice and stared up at the portrait in awe.

"Professor Dumbledore!” Ginny said. “I didn't realize that you were here."

"Yes, well the last time you passed by with your parents, you all seemed rather upset and so I thought I'd just hold my tongue until a more appropriate time. How are you doing, my dear?"

"I'm fine, Headmaster. I've come to attend the Halloween dance." She was shocked at how real the portrait was, at how the eyes still twinkled down at her as if the painting knew far more than it was letting on.

"With Harry?" the portrait asked.

"Why yes," Ginny answered staring.

"Then perhaps you had best be on your way. Maybe later you’ll have time to stop by and chat."

"Yes, yes, I'll do that," Ginny stammered as Harry moved past them and towards the Great Hall.

Harry grinned at her. "A bit spooky, isn't it, how it seems so real?"

"Yes, it's uncanny. Do you ever talk to him?"

Harry blushed slightly. "Yeah, sometimes it's just nice to have someone to talk to. To unload your troubles on."

"Does he remember?" Ginny asked.

Harry looked at her and smiled, "Not everything, some of the past, but not really any of the things that have happened recently. I tried asking him about things that happened during the war, and he just doesn't remember. But aside from that, it's still like talking to Dumbledore. The portrait still has his insight and his sense of humor."

"So, you ask him for advice?"

"I tried, but I could never get a straight answer."

Ginny giggled, "Then he IS just like the original."

The Great Hall was more than its usual a sea of activity. The four house tables were jammed with students and heaped with food. Harry noted that most of the older students wore costumes, while the first and second years just concentrated on the food. At the staff table, next to Remus, were two empty seats and Harry guided Ginny toward these. He couldn’t help but notice the many stares that seemed to follow them as they walked by; he hated coming into a room late and having everyone stare at him like this. As they passed the Gryffindor table, Harry noticed Thomas Finney, a first year, lean over and whisper something to his neighbor. Harry stopped and gave him a rather questioning look.

“Yes, Mr. Finney, you had something to say?” Harry said expecting some jibe about his costume.

Thomas flushed red and began to stammer, but his seat mate chimed in, “He was just commenting, Mr. Potter, that your date sure’s a looker.”

Harry gave the young boys his best scowl and replied, “My companion’s name happens to be Miss Virginia Weasley.”

Now both boys began to blush, “You mean the Minister of Magic’s daughter?”

“None other, but if I were you I’d be more worried about her six older brothers, and particularly the two that own the joke shop in Diagon Alley.”

“You mean Weasley Wizard Wheezes?”

“None other, and if they ever got wind of how you were addressing their little sister... Well, I’d hate to think how they might react.”

This idea obviously had an impact, as the two boys’ heads shrank down between their shoulders. “We didn’t mean anything by it. You wouldn’t tell ‘em, would you?”

“Not this time, but I’d advise you to mind your manners in the future.” Both boys nodded vigorously. Harry smiled at them and, just before he turned away, he whispered, “But just between you and me, she is quite the babe, isn’t she?”

Ginny sat down next to Remus, and Harry sat at her right hand. He had begun to pile his plate with food when he noticed that Ginny hadn’t begun to serve herself yet. She was chatting with Remus, and with Tabitha who was seated on the other side of the old marauder. Guiltily, Harry realized his mistake and coughed lightly to get Ginny’s attention.

“Hmm, would you like some potatoes, Gin, and the roast chicken smells great?” he asked.

“Thanks Harry, I would love some. I was just saying ‘hello’ to Tabitha, isn’t her costume wonderful?”

Harry looked past Remus, Professor Stevens was dressed as a Puritan maid with a stiffly starched black dress and bonnet.

“I thought, as the only American, and being from Salem to boot, I’d best dress the part,” she said smiling. “As long as we don’t start up a witch hunt that is.”

“Oh, nothing to worry about on that front, Tabitha,” Remus quipped, “we only light bonfires on Guy Fawkes Day and I hardly think anyone would confuse you with him.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Tabitha smiled.

Harry finished serving Ginny, and the meal passed quickly with the four of them talking animatedly. Harry noticed most of the younger students, and almost all of the ones out of costume, begin to leave the hall as soon as dinner dissappeared, their arms wrapped around hordes of sweets. Finally, the Headmistress stood and coughed, to gain the crowds attention.

“If you would all please stand, we will begin the dance.”

With a wave of her wand the tables slid against the walls and the lights dimmed. Harry couldn’t see any band, but music softly began to rise in the background and the students milled around a large empty area of floor in the center of the hall. They all seemed reluctant to be the first ones to begin dancing, and remembering his experience at the Yule Ball in his fourth year, Harry couldn’t blame them.

“They all seem so uncomfortable,” Tabitha noted, “someone needs to break the ice and be the first to dance.”

Harry was considering making some sort of comment when Remus beat him to it. “Yes, someone has to be first, and, as chaperones, I reckon it’s our responsibility. Would you do me the honor, Tabitha?”

He held out his arm and Tabitha took it as her own, then followed him out onto the dance floor.

“You know something, Harry?” Ginny said in his ear. “They make a nice couple.”

Harry turned towards Ginny to agree with the sentiment, but, when he caught sight of her face with its cascade of golden red hair framing it, he said instead, “Care to join them?”

Ginny smiled a smile that dimmed all the candles floating around them with its brilliance, as she allowed Harry to lead her onto the floor. Luckily for Harry, the song was a slow number, and he managed not to step on Ginny’s feet. He held her tenderly and Ginny snuggled contentedly into his arms, marveling at the warmth of his hand on her waist.

Gazing over at the young couple, Tabitha said lightly, “You know something, Remus? They make a lovely couple.”

“Yes, they do,” he responded. “I just hope Harry’s smart enough to let her into his life.” Tabitha looked into Remus’s eyes questioningly and Remus explained, “Harry sometimes has problems letting people get close to him.”

“He doesn’t seem so very shy to me,” she noted.

“It’s not so much that he’s shy, he’s just been a target for so much of his life that he’s reluctant to get close to people, for fear of putting them in danger.”

“But the war’s over?”

“Yes, but some habits die hard.”

The two couples continued to dance, and slowly students began to join them. Soon, the song ended and another, faster song began. Remus and Tabitha separated and walked off the floor. Looking over his shoulder to find Harry, Remus shook his head and grinned. Harry and Ginny were still dancing.

The couples around them were all twisting and moving to the faster beat, but Harry and Ginny were oblivious. They had drawn closer together and slowly swayed to their own music. Ginny leaned her head on Harry’s chest, her hands held against him. Harry’s right arm was draped around her waist and his left hand rested on top of her right. Some of the boys smirked as they moved past, but the girls looked at them wistfully. A new song began, faster still, and the crowd moved around the couple but never broke into their dance. It seemed that they would be content to dance that way all night. At least until a hand fell hard on Harry’s shoulder.

“Mind if I cut in?”

Harry jerked, and Ginny pulled away from him in surprise.

“Ron!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” he replied with a grin “I heard about the dance tonight, and that the two of you would be here. So, I decided that somebody ought to be chaperoning the chaperones.”

“You mean Mum sent you?” Ginny asked with a glint in her eye.

“No, she didn’t, but she is part of the reason I had to get out of the house. You know what she’s like when somebody’s sick. Always fussing about and not letting you get a moment’s peace.”

Ginny grinned. “So, what was she after you about?”

“She wants me to dye my hair. Then I figured, you know, it is Halloween and with this white hair I might as well make the best of it.”

The three made their way over to one of the small round tables that had appeared about the room while they were dancing.

“I thought about coming as a ghost,” Ron continued, “but somehow that didn’t seem scary enough, and then it hit me.” Ron held out his arms and did a slow twirl. He was wearing a short black cape with tight black trousers and a frilly white shirt. Belted to his waist was a long rapie,r and knee high black boots finished the outfit. He looked at them expectantly. “Well?”

“Just give me a minute, Ron,” Harry said looking him. After some thought, he brightened, “Oh yeah, The Count of Monte Cristo! I get it now. Great costume, Ron.” The Count of Monte Cristo had been one of Hermione’s favorite books and she had read it often.

“Thanks mate, for a second there, I thought I had gone a bit too high brow for you. So, what are you two dressed up as?”

Ginny gave her brother a stern look. “As I’m sure you’ve already guessed, we are Rapunzel and her prince.”

Ron looked her up and down and then over at Harry before speaking. “Oh, I thought there had to be a reason why Harry was wearing his hair like that. But shouldn’t Rapunzel be a girl?” Ginny swatted his arm. “Anyway, I got something for you, Harry.”

Ron looked around the room quickly, then reached into an inner pocket of his cape. He withdrew a small piece of cardboard and laid it on the table. It was a trading card from a Chocolate Frog. Harry no longer collected the cards, but if it was one of the ones missing from his collection, well... He had just bent over to see who it was when Ron spoke out in a loud voice.

“It’s a Harry Potter Wizard Card, and if anybody here has a quill that I could borrow, well, I was hoping that you would autograph it for me?” He half rose to start asking around but was surprised to find that a crowd of students had begun to gather around him. A few of them had quills, but almost all of them were also carrying copies of the trading card.

“I’ve got that card.”

“Could you sign mine, too?”

“Me too, please?”

“Could you sign one for my mum? She, ermm, has the same name as me.”

Ginny looked around at the crowd that had now enveloped their table. Ron was grinning from ear to ear, but she could see that Harry was mortified. His face had gone red and his eyes were stricken. He looked like he wanted the floor to just open up and swallow him. As if he didn’t know what else to do, he began to fumble for one of the quills that now lay on the table.

Thinking fast, Ginny stood up and said in a clear voice to cut through the din, “All right, everyone, just step back. Harry’s not going to be signing anything. This is a dance not a press show.” The crowd took a reluctant step back. “If any of you want his signature, well then you’ll just have to start studying harder. Any time Harry gives full marks to one of his assignments, he also signs his name. That’s just standard form for a Professor, and so, that’s the way you’ll all have to go about getting his signature.”

The crowd groaned but began to return to their dance. Ginny looked down to see how Harry was handling things, but he was gone. She turned her head just in time to see him darting out the doors of the Great Hall. Ginny looked daggers at Ron, who cringed in his seat, before she took off after Harry.

The night air was chilly as Ginny dashed about the gardens looking for Harry. At last, she found him sitting on a stone bench, halfway down to the lake. He sat there, facing out over the water, with his chin in his hands. Slowly, Ginny approached. She didn’t want to startle him. Somehow, she knew that he was vulnerable right now, and any sudden change would cause him to close up again. She reached the bench and took a seat next to him, facing back the way she came.

“My brother can be quite a prat when he wants to be,” she said casually.

“It’s not his fault. He was just looking to have a bit of fun.”

“He shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

Harry glanced her way, then raised his chin out of his hands. “Why should you be sorry? You didn’t do anything.”

“Neither did you.”

“I know,” Harry answered, “that’s the problem.”

She raised her eyebrows at this. “What are you talking about, Harry?”

Harry looked at her for a moment, then glanced over his shoulder towards where the Great Hall stood. “All those people wanting my autograph, and I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

Ginny shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

Harry just gave her a sad little smile and looked back at the lake with his arms crossed over his stomach as if it hurt. He sat so still and so silent that Ginny was thinking he wouldn’t continue. Then he spoke again.

“They all think of me as ‘The Great Harry Potter’, the great hero. They think I’ve done so many brilliant things, and the truth is that I’m nothing. I’m no better than Gilderoy Lockhart.”

”What?” Ginny gasped. “That rotten old fraud?”

“Yeah, him,” Harry nodded, “and I’m just as big a fraud as he ever was.”

“Harry! How can you say that?”

“Because it’s true. I’ve done none of the things I’m famous for. None of them.”

“Yes, you did. You’re The Boy Who Lived. Why, when you were barely a year old you def…”

“NO!” Harry snapped so sharply that Ginny recoiled away from him. “I didn’t do that.”

Harry’s anger collapsed so swiftly that Ginny could almost see him deflate. “That wasn’t me.”

“Then I’d like to know who it was,” Ginny replied. “I’d like to thank him.”

“Do you?” Harry asked. “Do you really want to know?” His eyes shone with unshed tears, whether they were tears of sorrow or shame, Ginny didn’t know, she just nodded.

Harry looked at her sharply then turned back towards the lake. He took a deep breath and said, “It was my mother.”

“I know,” said Ginny. “She gave you the…”

“She gave me nothing!” Harry spat. “It was all her... her, and Voldemort’s own stupid ego that did it.”

Ginny stared at him for a moment, then placed a hand gently on his arm. Harry looked at it and covered it with his own.

Harry spoke softer now. “Do you really want to know what happened, 18 years ago tonight?”

Ginny could just nod.

“The only memories I have of that night are the ones I get from the Dementors. Whenever they get close to me, I hear it in my mind. I worked out the rest over the years. My parents were home with me that night. They had just performed the Fidelis Charm with Peter Pettigrew as the Secret Keeper. They thought they were safe, but Wormtail ran right to Voldemort and sold them out. He came for them immediately.

“My father tried to hold him off. He told my mother to get me and leave. She ran into my bedroom but, before she had a chance to Apparate, Voldemort was there.”

Ginny saw a silent tear trace its way down Harry’s cheek and she had to wipe at her own eyes, listening to him tell the tale. She had read about it of course, but to hear Harry tell it… She knew she had to remain quiet. She knew she had to let him tell this his way.

“She begged him,” Harry continued. “She begged him to leave us alone. But he just laughed at her.” Harry took a deep and ragged breath. “She offered up her own life. She was willing to die, if Voldemort would just let me live. Then he murdered her.”

Ginny could not longer stop herself. She wrapped her arms around Harry, to try to give him some measure of solace, but he only shrugged her off.

“Then he tried to kill me too, but the spell backfired. Do you know why?”

“The magic of your mother’s love,” Ginny said by rote. It was the story she had heard more times than she could count as a child: A mother’s love, combined with her own sacrifice, gave her child a special protection.

Harry gave a snort. “Bah! It was nothing so miraculous. It was simple contractual magic. Nothing we didn’t learn all about in school. Voldemort just thought that he was above it all, that he was too powerful to be concerned about it. He was a fool and it nearly got him killed.”

“But, Harry, I don’t understand.”

Harry looked at her coldly. “My mother offered Voldemort a bargain. He could take her life, if he let me live. He killed her. By doing that, he accepted the deal. Then, seconds later, when he tried to kill me, he broke that deal. He violated a magical contract that he had just made. Of course his spell backfired! What else did he think would happen? I didn’t do anything, I could have been a goldfish for all the part I played.”

“But, Harry,” she tried, “you’re still…”

“Still what? The Boy Who Just Laid There? The Lucky Runt That Didn’t Do a Damned Thing?” Harry’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I haven’t done any of the things that everyone thinks I did. I AM a fraud.”

“That’s not true, Harry,” Ginny insisted. “In your first year, you beat Voldemort and recovered the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“I did it? You think that I did that alone?” Harry turned and gazed back over the lake. “It was Hermione who saved us from the Devil’s Snare, and solved Snape’s logic puzzle. I never could have done that. It was Ron who fought the giant chess set, and sacrificed himself. He was willing to die to get me through, but does HE get any credit? Does anyone ask HIM for his autograph? Has anyone put HIM on a card?” Harry dashed his hand across his eyes. “And what about Hermione? What did she get for all of it? She got...”, but Harry couldn’t finish.

“But you’re the one who fought Voldemort,” Ginny said earnestly.

“I didn’t fight him,” Harry answered. “He tried to kill me, and all I did was hold on. How much credit do I deserve for just being too stubborn to let go?”

“Harry...”

“No, Ginny, answer my question. Why should I get all the glory when it was others who did most of the work? ...who made most of the sacrifices? ...who died in my place?”

The self-loathing in his voice made Ginny want to scream. So, they were back to this? Again, it all came down to Harry’s guilt complex for not dying, for being able to survive. Half of her wanted to comfort him, but her other half just wanted to shake him until he saw sense. IT WASN’T HIS FAULT. WHY COULDN’T HE SEE THAT? She wanted so badly to help Harry. Suddenly, she knew what she had to do, but did she have the strength to do it? Could she hurt him so badly, even if it was to help him?

“Dam that bastard!” she spat into the night. Harry’s soft assent was almost too low to be heard. “It’s all his fault.” Harry nodded mutely. “If he had just done his job in the first place then none of this would have happened!” Harry looked at her bewildered.

“W-who are you talking about?”

“Why, your father, of course.”

* * * * *

Sam paused in front of the doors to the Great Hall, she smoothed the front of her robes and took a deep breath before pushing open the doors and entering. She walked into the party like she was walking onto a yacht. The crowd seemed to part in front of her as she made her way across the room. One student in particular, dressed as Medusa, complete with a head-full of writhing vipers that looked as if they could be real, marked her passage.

At the other side of the hall a small group of students were chatting when they noticed Sam’s entrance.

“Who’s that?” said Shannon North.

“I don’t know, she looks a bit familiar but I can’t put a name on her. Then again, she’s in Slytherin robes and I try not to know as many of them as I can,” said one of her companions.

“But it seems that I ought to recognize her, is she on their house team?”

“Nah, there’s only one of them that even looks like a girl and that’s Gene Fox.”

Shannon scolded him, “Tom, there are THREE girls on the Slytherin team, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh, I know all right, but I said that there is only one that LOOKS like a girl, and I stand by that statement.”

Shannon was about to continue her reprimand when something suddenly struck her. “Wait a minute, I know who that is! She’s bloody brilliant!”

By this time Sam had joined the group. Shannon just stared at her.

“You might want to close your mouth at some point, Shannon,” Sam said snootily, “or else an owl is likely to take up residence.” Shannon snapped her mouth shut. “Not that it wouldn’t, at least, be putting that empty shell you call your head to a useful purpose.”

“Excellent costume, Sam,” Shannon managed to say, “and you’ve got her attitude down pat.”

“Attitude?” Sam asked with her chin in the air. “I’m surprised someone in your financial position can even afford an attitude.” The group sniggered and one of them pointed over Sam’s shoulder.

“Trying to move up in the world, Stevens?” the new arrival snipped. “Or at least, pretending you belong in a respectable house?”

Sam turned to face the newcomer.

“Nice hair, Genie. What, did you forget your brush?”

The girl unconsciously raised a hand towards her hair but snatched it back when one of the vipers snapped at it. “Oh, quite funny, Stevens, but you did know that this was supposed to be a fancy dress ball, didn’t you?”

“But of course, and since it is Halloween, I came as the ugliest creature I could think of... I came as you.” Sam waved her hands across her costume with a flourish, and the surrounding girls all laughed.

“Why you filthy little...” Gene shoved at Sam but she had been expecting it. Sam shifted lightly to her left and drew back her fist. She had just begun to swing it forward when a hand came from behind her and grabbed her wrist in a fierce hold.

“And just what is going on here?” Tabitha’s voice was cold and commanded instant obedience from the gathered students.

“Miss Stevens was about to strike me, Professor.” Gene said with a sneer.

“WHAT!” Sam’s anger caused her voice to rise to almost a shout. “You started this. You tried to hit me first. It’s not my fault your just as incompetent at...”

“That will be quite enough!” Tabitha commanded. “I did not see Miss Fox ‘attempt’ to strike you, Miss Stevens, but I did witness you attempting to hit her. That will be ten points from Gryffindor.”

“And it would serve you right if it were twenty,” Gene snapped.

Sam lunged at her and, if Shannon hadn’t physically gotten between them, the fight would have begun in earnest.

“That will be quite enough of that, Miss Stevens, unless you do want me to make it twenty points?”

“Yes, listen to your mommy, Sam or else she might...”

“And as for you, Miss Fox, might I suggest you take your unique social skills to another group? I’m sure your housemates miss your company.”

“Yeah, like you miss a toothache,” Sam snapped. Gene stuck out her tongue, and Sam lunged for her once again.

“That’s IT, Sam,” her mother shouted, “one more word from you and it’s a detention.”

“Word.”

“Detention!”

“Fine by me.” Sam turned and stalked out of the hall.

The large twin doors slammed behind her as Sam stormed up the steps. She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew she didn’t want to go back to the dorm with all those kids screaming and having a food fight. She turned away from the Fat Lady and went down three flights of stairs. In the dungeons, at least, she reasoned, the atmosphere would match her mood.

And there she was, skulking through one of the dank corridors, when she heard a strange sound. Moans and groans she had been expecting, but not a whimper. Curious as to what type of creature could be making that sound, she followed it. Turning a corner, she came upon her quarry. It was two small boys, only in their first year by the looks of them, and they were trapped in a corner by a ghost. Sam slowly moved up behind it.

“So,” the eerie spectre said, “thought you’d just waltz down here and cause some trouble, did you?”

Sam recognized the ghost as the Bloody Baron, the ghost of Slytherin House. The two boys were obviously terrified of it. It hung in the air in front of them, glowering. One Slytherin was as good as another to her tonight so she walked right up to, and through it, to reach the boys. Passing through the ghost was like having ice water pumped through her veins. Sam wanted nothing more than to shiver but squashed the urge with her anger. She took a good look at the boys, they were from Gryffindor, she vaguely remembered them from the line of kids waiting to be sorted at the start of the school year, but didn’t know their names. They stared up at her as if she had appeared out of nowhere. Their fright was plainly written on their faces, and, from the paper sacks they both carried, not to mention the reek of dung that surrounded them, they had been caught red-handed trying to pull some kind of prank.

“So, just what are you two doing down here?” she asked.

They stared at her for a moment, they took in the Slytherin crest on her robes with unease.

“We weren’t doin’ nothin’.” the first one said.

“Yeah, we was just trying to find our way back to our own common room,” the second added. “We got turned about somehow and wound up down here. We’re just trying to find our way back.”

“Trying to find some trouble is more like it,” Sam snapped. She tossed a quick wink at them and the boys seemed to catch on.

“No, we swear. We wasn’t looking to cause any trouble.”

“A likely story,” Sam said. “Come on, you two, let’s just take you upstairs and see what the Headmistress has to say about this.” She turned to the Baron’s ghost and continued, “I’ll just take things from here.” She moved as to go but the Baron didn’t.

“And just who are you?” he asked icily. His glare melted the two boys, but Sam met him fire for ice.

“Just who do you think I am?” she said.

“You’re wearing Slytherin robes, but I don’t recognize your face. I know all the live ones in my house and you’re not one of them.”

“Oh yeah, well maybe you’re not as up-to-date as you think you are?” Sam took a step to her left, drawing the ghost with her. The boys saw their chance and tried to steal past the ghost to make their escape, but they were too slow. The Bloody Baron dodged back in front of them, causing the boys to recoil backwards into a wall and fall to the floor.

“Hey! You big bully!” Sam yelled. “Stop trying to scare those kids to death. Just let ‘em go, will ya?”

“Oh, and why, per chance, should I do that?” His voice was icy calm and the darker grey of the blood stains running down the front of his robes seemed to glitter in the torchlight.

Sam stared at him, and the Bloody Baron just stared back. After a full minute, his nerve broke.

“What is it? What are you staring at girl?”

Sam just tilted her head slightly to the right and continued to stare. She slowly stuck out one finger and made as if to poke at the body of the ghost, but he drew back and away from her. The boys, who had been quietly crying on the floor, noticed something was happening and grew quiet.

“Is that?” Sam asked, then shook her head. “No, it can’t be. But it sure looks like it.”

She turned to the two boys and asked them. “Doesn’t it look like it to you?”

“What on earth are you going on about, girl?” the Baron roared.

The boys were much quieter in their response. “Doesn’t what look like which?” they asked.

“The Baron,” was Sam’s odd reply. “Look at him for a moment.” Now, all three of them were staring at the ghost, with unbridled intensity. The ghost began to squirm uncomfortably as it floated in the center of the corridor.

“Can’t you see them?” Sam asked again.

“See what?”

She poked her finger forward again and the Baron flinched as if she were wielding a red-hot poker.

“Right there,” she said. “Doesn’t it look like he’s wearing a pair of frilly lace panties?”

The two boys gaped for a moment before the Baron covered his trousers with his transparent hands and roared, “Why I never!”

“You know,” one of the boys said, “it does sort of look that way. My Gram has a big pair of bloomers with fringe around the legs that looks just like that.”

Sam wasn’t about to ask how he came to see what his grandmother’s underwear looked like, but she was glad he was taking the hint.

“HE IS! HE IS!” the other boy now chorused. “The Bloody Baron wears lady’s knickers!”

The boys began to hoot with laughter as the Baron sputtered.

“Oh, don’t worry, Baron,” Sam cooed soothingly. “It’s no big deal nowadays. Really, it isn’t. I guess lots of men like wearing those things, or at least some.”

“I do not wear female underthings!” The Baron said. He tried to say it with distain but it came out as a whine.

“Is that why you were killed?” Sam asked with glassy-eyed wonder. “Did somebody catch you raiding their wife’s armoire?”

“No, I wasn’t caught...”

“No? Then you were just discovered or something. Did somebody out you?”

The boys were snickering helplessly behind their hands and the Baron looked fit to burst. He puffed out his chest to yell when Sam cut him off.

“I’ll bet they’re pink, aren’t they?”

One boy burst out in laughter while the other squealed, “The Bloody Baron wears frilly, pink knickers!”

Now Sam could no longer control herself, and she, too, collapsed on the floor in rails of laughter. The Baron, seeing no way out of this, turned and fled down the hall.

After a few moments, they began to regain control of their breathing. Sam was the first one to be able to stand and she helped the two boys to their feet. Turning in the opposite direction as the Baron had gone, she pushed the boys ahead of her.

“I think it’s time for us to make as quick and quiet an exit as possible.” The two boys nodded their agreement and moved off.

“Yeah, thanks Sam,” one of the boys said as they broke into a trot. “We owe you one.”

With a grin on her face, Sam followed after them. As she reached the flight of stairs out of the dungeon, she thought, ‘It’s about time I got out from underground, anyways.’

* * * * *

Harry gaped at Ginny. “My...my father?”

“Yes, him!” she snapped back. “This is all his fault.”

Harry was in shock. “How can you say that? He... he died trying to protect me.”

“Well, he didn’t do such a bang-up job of it, did he?” It was hard, but Ginny fought the revulsion in her stomach as she injected sarcasm into her words. “You said it yourself, your father tried to hold Voldemort off. To give your mum a chance to escape. But he didn’t, did he? He failed, and because of that your mum was killed and all this mess happened. If your father had just stopped Voldemort then, none of this would be happening now.”

“Ginny,” tears stood out in Harry’s eyes as he spoke, “he did his very best, it’s not his fault it wasn’t good enough. It’s not his fault he didn’t win...” Harry paused, as if hearing for the first time, the words he had just spoken.

“No, Harry,” Ginny said softly. “It’s not his fault. He did his best, I’m sure he did. It’s just that, sometimes, our best just isn’t enough. It wasn’t his fault then, just as it isn’t your fault now.”

Harry looked into her eyes and Ginny could see the pain he felt mirrored within his. If only he would let go of it.

“But that’s not how it feels,” he tried.

Ginny slid closer to him on the bench and rested her head on his shoulder.

“You know, Harry, for a long time after my first year... after the Chamber,” she began to explain to him and hoped that he would hear her, really hear her. “I felt terribly guilty for the things I did,” - she felt Harry start at this confession – “all the people I hurt.”

“Ginny, that wasn’t your fault, you were being controlled. It wasn’t you that was doing those things.”

“I know that, Harry, but that’s not how it felt.” She snuggled further into his shoulder before continuing. “It took me a long time to realize that there is a difference between guilt and regret.”

Harry pulled away from her slightly and she raised her head to look at him.

“I regret that all those people were hurt. I’m glad no one was killed, but I regret they were hurt at all. I regret that I wasn’t strong enough to resist Tom more than I did.” Harry started to speak but Ginny silenced him by placing her fingers over his lips. “Let me finish, Harry. I was just eleven years old, and Tom was already a very powerful wizard, but still, I regret that I couldn’t fight him more. It’s not my fault, but I still regret it.”

She looked into his eyes again, and saw confusion there, not disbelief but a lack of understanding. It heartened her to see him trying to understand, and it gave her the strength to continue.

“And what I regret most of all, Harry, is that you and Ron and Lockhart – well, to be honest, I don’t regret what happened to Lockhart, he was a git and deserved what he got –“Harry smiled at this, a little, and Ginny couldn’t keep down the small giggle that came from the memory of Gilderoy Lockhart hoisted on his own petard. “I regret that you and Ron had to risk your own lives to save me. I’m grateful for it, Harry. I’m eternally grateful that you saved me, but I regret that you had to do it, that you had to risk your life and almost die because of a foolish little girl.”

Again Harry began to protest but again Ginny stopped him, not with her fingers this time, but by placing the softest of kisses on his lips.

“I was foolish to begin to write in that diary, especially considering that I didn’t know how it came to be in my cauldron in the first place, but I was only eleven and if an eleven year-old girl can’t be foolish, then who can?”

She smiled at Harry and continued, “There’s a difference between guilt and regret, between what we do and what is done to us. I spent a lot of time learning that, and now I really think it’s time you did, too.”

Harry bit his lip as he looked back. She could tell that he was thinking about this, and she dared hope that it would help. His brows furrowed as he chewed on the ideas she had given him.

He looked her straight in the eye and spoke, “I regret that Cedric died. I regret it was because he was standing next to me that Voldemort killed him.” He said these things as if trying them on, checking how they fit. Sitting there together, they let the minutes pass.

Finally, Harry stood and Ginny followed suit. Together, they slowly began to make their way back to the castle. She looked at his face, his brows still knit, and she dared to hope that it meant that he was starting to get past some of the things that had hurt him so badly.

“One more thing, Harry,” she said.

Harry arched his eyebrows at her and she smiled in return.

With a giggle in her voice she continued, “Just one more, I promise.”

“OK”

“It bothers you that people don’t know the truth about the things that have happened.” Harry nodded. “But who’s out there to tell them the truth. You can’t expect anyone else to do it, if you’re not willing to. Harry, if you want people to know the truth, then you’re going to have to tell it.”

Harry nodded again and, a few steps later, took her hand in his.

As they walked back onto the Great Hall, Harry immediately sensed the change in the mood of the crowd. The noise level was significantly lower, and Remus and Tabitha were just sitting down at one of the small round tables. Harry quickly moved to join them. Ginny immediately sensed the change in him. Gone was the vulnerable Harry she had been talking to, the man in front of her was one she had come to call “Crisis Mode Harry”. He was all cool, and all business. No emotions of his own, just concern for everyone else.

“What happened?” he asked, as soon as he was seated. “Nothing good, I’d imagine.”

“It was nothing...” Remus began but Tabitha cut him off.

“Sam came in and started a fight. I had to give her a detention before she would back off,” she said. She was trying to remain calm, but Harry could see that it was a struggle.

Ginny asked, “Who would she start a fight with?”

Harry answered, “Even though I didn’t see it, I’d wager it was a Slytherin, probably a girl named Imogene Fox.”

“Right in one,” Remus said. “But how’d you know?”

“She’s the Slytherin Seeker, and I’m guessing that she’s the one who tricked Sam into giving the Slytherins access to the team’s locker before the last match.” Tabitha raised an eyebrow at him and so he continued with his explanation. “I’ve been chatting a bit with Fleur up in the library.” Ginny gave him a sharp look at this statement but Harry didn’t seem to notice. “It seems that the two of them had been spending a lot of time together up there over the last few weeks... but only late or on weekends when the library was almost deserted.”

“So you think that it was Sam who pulled that prank on the team?” Tabitha asked.

“No, not directly at least, I think she was mad at being forced to join the team and Miss Fox used that anger to pull that stunt. And quite well done it was, too.”

“Why would she want to do that?”

Remus answered this time, “The rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin has been fierce for centuries, at least, and perhaps all the way back to the founding of the school itself.”

“It all seems rather childish to me,” came her response.

“Well, they are children after all, with all the things that go with it.”

Ginny interrupted, “Forgive me for asking, Tabitha, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but has Sam always been this...”

“Difficult?” Tabitha answered with a rueful smile. “No, she hasn’t. She’s always been precocious, but it was only recently that she really became any trouble.”

“Did something happen?” Ginny asked.

“Well,” Tabitha seemed reluctant to answer but, like a trip to the dentist, it was something she had to do, “I think it all goes back to her father.” Tabitha took a deep breath and set her jaw before speaking again. “Sam’s father and I were never married.”

Tabitha looked each of them in turn, her mouth a firm line as if she expected to have to defend herself, but it was Ginny who voiced the group’s opinion.

“And...?” she said.

Tabitha looked a bit confused for a second, as if this was anything but the reaction she had expected, but continued, “My father was a Muggle. He worked very hard and never let my mother use her magic to make things easier for them. He wanted to earn his way through life. My mother loved him very much. He died a little more than a year before Sam was born.

“I guess I wanted the same things in a man that Mom wanted, someone who would love me in spite of my being a witch, and not because of it. Someone who didn’t take the easy way through life, and appreciated what he had. I thought that Ben was someone like that. He worked at Dad’s firm and Dad was actually the one who introduced us. Ben was very ambitious and a very hard worker. He reminded me so much of Dad that I thought he would be the same type of man. We started dating and one thing led to another...”

Tabitha took a quick sip of water from one of the goblets on the table before continuing.

“He never knew I was a witch until after... When I found out I was pregnant with Sam, I finally got up the nerve to tell him about it.”

Remus ventured in, “He didn’t like the fact that you could use magic?”

Harry couldn’t help but think of Tom Riddle and he glanced over at Ginny. One glimpse of her stricken face told him that she was thinking the same thing.

“No, quite the opposite, in fact,” Tabitha said, causing them all to blink at this unexpected turn. “He actually became too enamored with it. Once he found out that I could transfigure an old car into a newer, fancier one, he became quite taken with the idea of my being with a witch.”

“So, what happened?” Ginny urged gently.

“Well, at first he just wanted me to make the things we had, the things he had, better. Then he started working less, saying that it didn’t matter anymore, since I could just conjure up anything we needed. He changed, or at least he finally showed who he really was. He wasn’t hard-working, he was greedy. It’s just that up until I came out to him, he thought he needed to work hard to get the things he wanted.

“Then he asked me, just to make things easier on me he said, to just make him a pile of gold.”

“The Midas Phenomenon,” Remus said.

“Yeah. I explained that I couldn’t, that I didn’t have a Sorcerer’s Stone, but I don’t think he really believed me. So, he started pestering me to just make him money. I said that was stealing, and I wouldn’t do it. He called me a hypocrite because I was fine with magicing myself a new dress, but I wouldn’t magic up the money for him to buy me one.”

“It’s two totally different things,” Ginny said. “Didn’t he see that?”

Tabitha shook her head sadly. “He only saw that it was an easier way to get what he wanted than working. He eventually just quit his job, and I was doing everything.

“Finally, I just couldn’t do it anymore. I told him that I was giving up witchcraft and that if he still wanted to marry me, we would have to do things the old-fashioned way.”

“And?”

“He left,” Tabitha said softly. “He left town, he left me, and he left Sam before she was even born.”

“How awful,” Ginny said, and Harry had to agree that it was pretty bad. How could a person just walk away from all that? How could he just walk away from everything Harry has ever wanted, just because he would have to work?

“But, it’s not like by leaving he wouldn’t have to go to work again?” Remus asked. “It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yes, it does. It makes perfect sense. He didn’t want me and he didn’t want the baby, our baby. He wanted things and if I could get them for him, fine. If I couldn’t, then he would find some other way to get them.”

“The cold-blooded bastard,” Ginny said eloquently. “How did Sam handle it?”

“Well, she hadn’t even been born at the time,” Tabitha said with a small smile, “and when she was old enough to ask, I just told her that her daddy couldn’t be there and that he loved her very much.”

‘You lied’ Harry thought, although he didn’t think he would have done anything else. How do you tell a child that her father didn’t love her?

Tabitha went on, “When Sam was little that seemed to be enough to satisfy her curiosity. But then, just after she turned twelve, it wasn’t.” Ginny nodded at this, as if it was some vital piece of information, but Harry and Remus just exchanged lost looks. “She started asking harder questions, questions I couldn’t answer.” Ginny leaned over and gave the other woman a strong hug, and Tabitha looked as if she needed it.

“I got in contact with Ben and I told him about Sam, about how she wanted to meet him. At first, he wanted nothing to do with her. He didn’t even want to see pictures of her, much less meet her.” Ginny watched Tabitha with shining eyes while Remus and Harry just stared at the table fixedly. The anger in their faces told of their feelings. “Finally, I convinced him to meet with her, just once. I hoped that seeing his own child in the flesh would change something about how he felt, but I guess I was wrong.”

“What happened?” Ginny asked.

“I don’t really know. I brought Sam to a coffee shop in Boston, Ben was there waiting. I offered to go in with her, but Sam wanted to meet with him by herself. She didn’t want me there at all. So, I just pointed him out to her and waited across the street.

“They were in the shop for only about fifteen minutes when Ben walked out and headed up the street. He didn’t even acknowledge me. Sam came out a minute later. She’s never said a word about what they talked about. She’s never mentioned her father again. But ever since then, she’s been...”

“Difficult,” Ginny finished. “The poor lamb, what she must be feeling!”

Harry noticed that Tabitha wasn’t feeling too well either, her eyes were red and she looked about to cry. Evidently Remus noticed this as well, for he took her by the hand and began to lead her out of the hall. He turned and looked at Harry over his shoulder and Harry nodded firmly in response. ‘Not to worry, I’ll look after the dance.’

The rest of the evening passed quietly. Whether the students picked up on Harry’s mood, or the sight of him prowling around the edge of the dance floor looking like he was just asking for an excuse to hex somebody scared them all, she couldn’t tell, but none of the students did anything to attract his attention. Finally, just as Minerva announced the last song, Ginny decided to, once again, take matters into her own hands. She walked directly up to Harry and forced him to stop his patrolling.

“It’s the last dance, Harry,” she said. He just returned her gaze flatly. “You know, don’t you, that he is missing out on far more than she is.”

“Hmm?” was all Harry could say.

“Sam’s father.”

“Ben,” Harry spat out the word like a piece of rancid meat.

“Yes, him. Sam’s missing out on having a complete arse as a father figure, but Ben... Ben is missing out on a wonderful, intelligent and caring daughter. So who, Mr. Potter, should you feel pity for?”

“I pity Ben,” Harry said calmly. “Especially if I ever get my hands on him, or Remus does. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that angry before. Even during the war, he was always in control, always in complete control, but tonight... tonight I thought he was going to go hunt that guy down himself.”

“Regardless, it’s the last dance of the evening, and I, for one, don’t want to spend it thinking about some miserable sod halfway around the globe. I want to spend it dancing. Care to join me?”

Harry looked down at the impish grin on Ginny’s face and couldn’t stay angry for another second. He took her in his arms and together they began to dance.

Author's Note: The concept that magic can create a binding contract with a witch or wizard is introduced in GoF, chapter 16, page 256, of my American edition, and I have expanded on that concept in, what I hope is, a logical manner. The term 'contractual magic' itself is likewise not original. I first encountered it in Barb's most enjoyable Pendragon series, and so I wish to give her credit where it is due.

This chapter is considerably longer than any of my others, more than twice the average, and I hope you think it was worth the effort.

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Disclaimer: These stories are based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Other citations will be made where necessary.

Index

BJ's Fanfic

The Phoenix Reborn

Chapter 1	Chapter 6	Chapter 11
Chapter 2	Chapter 7	Chapter 12
Chapter 3	Chapter 8	Chapter 13
Chapter 4	Chapter 9
Chapter 5	Chapter 10