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Albus Dumbledore sorted through the parchments on his desk in a manner that would have looked random to an onlooker.

For good reason. It was.

The sound is all I need to make it seem to anyone listening that I am merely shuffling scrolls. If someone is watching, they will more likely think that I have lost what little sanity I am credited with.

Though he might in fact be mad for attempting something of this complexity, even with his background in the studies of Legilimency and Occlumency.

A human mind is by nature busy, or a portion of it is. The "monkey mind", I have heard it called. The mind that must be doing something. The trick to Occlumency, and to what I am now attempting, is either to quiet that mind or to keep it occupied with some trivial task, to free the rest of the mind to focus.

He focused his will on quiet, on stillness, on receptivity. Anywhere but here, it would have been a very dangerous act—any passing Dark creature might have sensed his openness and taken advantage—but the Head’s office at Hogwarts was shielded by the innate magic of the castle itself.

And as that magic has its root in those who devoted their lives to the school, and have never really left...

He doubted that any Dark creature could find him here. Even the one he was beginning to suspect was nearer than he would like. But the one he was trying to find...

Though is "one" the correct term any longer, I wonder?

But speculation would not get him any nearer to his goal. He set aside all thoughts and wonderings and let his mind open.

Among the parchments on his desk, his left hand closed over one in particular. It was a scrap torn from a larger document, with three words written on it in a scrawling, childish hand. ‘Longbottoms attacked tonight’.

The people who sent this message risked their own lives for friends, and not only their own, but another very precious to them. They have done so again and again over the intervening years. They will not deny me what I need now.

Especially when it could be the key to their own lives as well.

A wisp of a touch. Another. Startlement. Fear.

Do not be afraid. It is I.

Disbelief. Worry. And buried very deeply, hope.

Hold to that. It may yet be possible.

Urgency, overriding all else.

Yes. I would not have done this were there any other way. Tell me what you can.

Images. A letter, thrown into a fireplace. A hand reaching for the poker. Flames, leaping high under the prodding of the logs, their light casting the green leather about the pale wrist into harsh relief. Letters and words rising from the parchment into the flames, visible only to those with eyes to see.

And those who can ask them for aid.

Dumbledore read and sighed. I had hoped this would not be.

Uncertainty, tinged with sadness.

It is sad, Dumbledore agreed, but we may yet prevail. If we can trick him...make him think that he has won, while safeguarding those who will surely find a way into places they should not...

Weary agreement, then curiosity.

If we work together, and recruit extra help... Dumbledore imagined the people he had in mind, and joy sparked high. We may yet prevail.

Hope returned, no longer buried but strong and proud, and with it came resolve.

We will prevail. Indeed. Dumbledore smiled. In that spirit, I will say farewell, and may our next conversation be face to face.

A sense of mischief, and a whiff of pride, before the connection was broken.

Dumbledore opened his eyes and shook his head over the mess he’d made of his desk. "Dear, dear," he said aloud. "Where my mind will go when I let it wander..."

Fawkes made a chortling sound to himself.

History may judge me harshly, but I care not. Dumbledore began to stack his parchments neatly once more. The truth will out eventually, and even if it never does, the outcome will be the one I desire, with no one harmed but those whose own actions have brought it upon them.

What more can any man desire?


"ZELDAAAAAA!"

Ignoring Ray’s anguished yell, Zelda continued to prance around the common room, tail and head held high, jaws firmly clamped around bright green fabric.

"Awww," said Lavender Brown, giggling. "They’ve got little yellow smiley faces on them."

Ray tackled Zelda, holding her down with his legs. "Give—me—that," he said through clenched teeth, wrestling his boxers out of her mouth. A snort from behind him made him glare over his shoulder. "You could give me a hand, instead of standing there laughing," he snapped at Harry, Ron, and Neville.

"We could," Ron said. "But it’s more fun to laugh at you."

"I’ll remember that." Ray tore the boxers free with one final tug. "Bad Zelda," he said, thumping her on the side with a fist. "Stay out of my wardrobe."

Zelda sniffed and leapt up as he climbed off her, shaking her fur back into place, then trotting over to the first-year girls, who made much of her, glancing back at the boys and giggling. It’s your own fault for leaving the door open, she sent back towards Ray and the other boys.

"But you know better," Ray said under his breath, plopping down in one of the armchairs and stuffing the shorts into his pocket.

If I was really what I look like, I wouldn’t have. I’m not the only one with a part to play here—

Zelda’s voice cut off abruptly. Harry sat up. "She all right?" he asked Ray.

"She’s fine. Just thought of something more interesting." Ray slouched in his chair, the part of his face that was still visible carnation pink. "I can’t believe she did that."

"It’s like she said," said Neville. "If it really is dangerous for people to know what she is, then she has to act like she’s just a pet, or people will get suspicious."

Ray gave Neville a long look. "Has anyone ever told you you make too much sense?"

Neville nodded. "Mum says that sometimes," he said. "And Meghan Black, but only when she’s annoyed with me."

"Only when you’ve stopped her doing something mad," said Harry.

"Just for once," Ray said, pulling his legs up onto the chair, "just for once, I’d like to meet someone who doesn’t make any sense at all."

"Why?" asked Ron.

"Because I think they’d be fun to know." Ray squirmed around until his knees dangled over one arm of the chair. "And I’d like to hear what they think about things."

"I could introduce you to my sister’s friend," Ron said, at the same moment Harry said, "I know this girl a year below us…"

They stopped and looked at each other.

"Magical," Harry said.

Ron waved his hand beside his head. "Blonde."

"Big eyes." Harry mimed a look of surprise.

Ron rolled his own eyes. "Says the weirdest things."

Harry held up one finger, then two, then three.

"Luna Lovegood," they said at the same moment.

Neville applauded them quietly.

"Luna Lovegood?" Ray sat up. "That’s a pretty name. What’s she like?"

"Funny," Harry said. "Usually when she doesn’t mean to be."

"The kids in the village near where we live call her Loony Lovegood," Ron added. "They think we’re weird enough—she’s a few steps beyond even us."

"Her dad edits The Quibbler," said Harry.

"You mean that crazy magazine that prints all sorts of strange rubbish about the Ministry hiding new kinds of magical creatures?" Ray grinned. "I like her already. What does her mum do?"

"She doesn’t," Neville said quietly. "She’s dead."

Harry and Ron both turned to look at him. "I didn’t know you knew her," Harry said.

"I don’t. But when you mentioned The Quibbler, I remembered a call Dad went out on a year or two ago. The DMLE thought the way she died was strange, and they wanted an Auror to check out the scene and make sure there hadn’t been any Dark magic to it."

"Was there?" Ron asked avidly.

Neville nodded. "Nothing Dad could identify, though," he said. "She was scrying, looking at things magically, and the bowl she was using just—exploded." He made his hands into fists at chest level, then sent them flying apart. "Her daughter was in the room with her, but she only got hit with a few of the shards, right here." He touched his arm.

"Because her mum sheltered her," Harry said, remembering how pale and sad Luna had been when he’d seen her a month later. "She saved her life."

"We never knew," said Ron, shaking his head. "We just knew she’d died in an accident with one of her spells. Luna never said she was there…"

"She wouldn’t." Ray had his eyes closed. "Not unless she thought it was something you’d need to know about. She wouldn’t be afraid that you’d pity her, or that you’d laugh at her. She never is. She thinks what she thinks, even if no one else in the world does." He opened his eyes. "Right?"

"That’s scary," said Ron. "How did you do that?"

"What?"

"Do you know her?" Harry asked. "That’s exactly what she’s like. She never thinks about what she’ll sound like before she says anything. She just says it."

"I’m a good guesser, then." Ray slid out of the chair. "I’m going to put these in the wash. Be back in a bit."

"It’s sort of strange that we both knew her, though," Harry said to Ron as Ray headed for the stairs. "Is your sister Luna’s age?"

"Yeah. Ginny. She’ll be at Hogwarts next year." Ron sighed. "And she thinks it’s amazing that I know you, and she keeps dropping big hints in her letters that she wants to meet you."

"Is she going to get all gushy?" Harry asked with a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach.

"Nah. She’ll probably start blushing and not say anything for hours, just stare at you."

Harry shrugged. "People stare at me all the time anyway."

"She got the same way over one of our neighbors when she was eight," Ron said reminiscently. "But it went away after a while. You know how girls are."

I beg your pardon? said Zelda, rearing up to rest her front paws on the back of Ron’s chair. Ron yelped and jumped a foot.

Ray vaulted over the banister, loped over to their group, and dropped back into his chair. "OK," he said resignedly, looking around at the chuckling Harry and Neville, the sniggering Zelda, and the red-faced Ron, "what’d I miss?"


"This doesn’t make much sense," Sirius said over his shoulder to Frank Longbottom as they climbed the stairs at the Hog’s Head. "Why couldn’t we meet up at the school?"

"My guess would be, he doesn’t want us seen," said Frank.

"Who would he be worried about seeing us?"

"Who knows," Alice put in from farther down the stairs. "Why don’t we keep walking and find out?"

"Frank, you married a genius," Sirius said.

"I know. She reminds me every day." Frank ducked away from Alice’s swing.


Aletha lifted her head as she heard footsteps approaching. "That’s them," she said surely.

"How do you know?" Molly Weasley asked from across the room.

"Would you know your husband’s walk if you heard him coming down the hall?"

"I think so…"

"You think so?" Arthur Weasley raised an amused eyebrow at his wife.

Molly smiled. "Yes, of course I would."

"So do I." Aletha pulled the door open.

"What are you doing here?" Sirius said in surprise.

"I’m glad to see you too." Aletha corralled her husband and pulled him over for a kiss. "Promise me you won’t say anything right away," she whispered in his ear. "I know you’ll want to."

"All right, I promise. Why are we whispering?"

"Because I’m too lazy to put up a Privacy Spell." Aletha trailed a hand along Sirius’ jaw, then returned to her seat, pulling over another chair.

Sirius went to shake hands with Arthur Weasley, who he’d met a few times since returning to the Ministry, and be introduced to Molly before returning to sit beside Aletha. "So why are we all here?" he asked the room at large. "I know who invited me here, and he doesn’t seem to have arrived yet…"

A flash of fire made Molly gasp and Arthur jump. Albus Dumbledore released Fawkes’ tail and nodded to the six people in the room. "Thank you for coming," he said, conjuring himself a chair and Fawkes a perch. "I apologize for the cryptic notes, and for the somewhat inconvenient place and time, but I believe the matter to be sufficiently grave."

"What is it about?" Frank asked directly. "Not the children?"

"Not precisely. Your children are all well, apart from the usual mischief common to that age. But it is in reference to your children that I wish to speak with all of you." Dumbledore’s face was somber. "Your children, and their enemy. And I do mean enemy, rather than a schoolyard rival."

"Enemy?" Molly Weasley scoffed. "Nonsense, what possible enemy could—" She broke off, looking at Sirius. "Oh, dear heavens. You—you can’t mean—"

"I wish that I did not," said Dumbledore. "But I do. Lord Voldemort."

The Weasleys both shuddered. Alice looked closely at Dumbledore. "You’re sure," she said.

"I am."

Alice scowled. "I’d hoped we’d finished with him."

"So had I," said Sirius. "How did he survive what happened with Harry?"

"Through a number of measures, Sirius, all of which have since been…removed."

"Removed?" Aletha said. "As in, no longer working?"

"Exactly so."

Arthur Weasley closed his mouth. "Good," he said fervently. "Do you need our help somehow in dealing with him? I don’t know what I could possibly offer, but whatever it is, you’ll have it for the asking…"

"Make no promises until you hear me out," Dumbledore said. "What I am asking may tax you to the utmost."

"I lived through the war," Molly said. "I lost my brothers to it. Nothing would be too much to ask to keep that from happening to anyone else."

Aletha winced and looked away.

"It can’t be coincidence that we’re all parents or guardians of students," Alice said. "Gryffindor first year boys, at that. And one of them the person Voldemort would be most interested in, if he really has returned—I don’t doubt you, Headmaster, but I’d so much rather it not be true."

"As would I, Alice. And you have touched on the point I hesitated to bring up." Dumbledore took a deep breath. "If Lord Voldemort is to be stopped, he must be exposed. The easiest way to expose him is to induce him to show himself. And the simplest way to do that is to seem to offer him something that he wants. Something…or someone."

Silence blanketed the room.


Severus Snape stopped outside the room and ran over his mental checklist once more. His story was unshakeable, consisting as it did almost entirely of truth. His excuses might not save him from punishment, but when had they ever? Most important of all, his suggestions, carefully phrased to seem helpful, were ready.

I had hoped I would never have to do this again. But nothing in life is easy.

He knocked.

"C-c-come in!"

"Quirinus," Severus acknowledged, opening the door. "I hope I am not intruding."

"N-not at all." Quirrell’s weak eyes darted from Severus to the small bag he carried. "Is it s-something about lessons? I haven’t m-missed a m-meeting…"

"No, nothing about lessons." Severus closed the door behind himself. "May I sit down?"

"Of course." Quirrell flicked his wand nervously at a chair. It rocketed out from its place and careened towards Severus, who caught it neatly. "Oh, f-forgive me, my n-nerves are on edge…"

"I see." Severus seated himself and waited for Quirrell to do the same. "I have come to apologize."

"Apologize? T-to me?"

"Not precisely." Severus let his eyes linger beside Quirrell’s head for one moment, then another.

Soft, mocking laughter filled the air, and Quirrell flinched. Inwardly, so did Severus. As much as I hate to look the fool, I had hoped that I would in this case…

"You see, Quirinus," whispered a voice Severus knew well, "already they begin to gather."

"My lord." Severus bowed his head. "I rejoice to find you again, though in less than ideal circumstances."

"You show a talent for stating the obvious, Severus, as always. What have you brought for me?"

"A restorative, my lord. Highly recommended for those in your…unusual circumstances." Severus opened his bag and took out the vial filled with the potion he’d brewed. If I had acted on my own, I would have poisoned this, but instead I trust another. So strange.

Quirrell accepted the potion in shaking hands and drank it off. "Ahhh," sighed the voice of Lord Voldemort. "Tell me, Severus, what of these stories that you denounced me, that you turned against me to become a spy?"

"I convinced Dumbledore to believe my pitiful tale," Severus said, curling his lip in contempt. I do not even have to act. Merely allow my true feelings at this hideous wreck to surface. "He gladly accepted a wayward sheep back into the fold, and gave me not only my life and my freedom, but work here at Hogwarts, and little by little his trust. I have ten years’ worth of observations about him to report to you, my lord, and free access to any and all areas of the castle. Will this be of use to you?"

Again Voldemort laughed. "First a statement of the obvious, then a question which can have only one answer. Has your wit deteriorated over these years, Severus?"

"I would trust your judgment over my own on that matter, my lord. Those with the capacity to appreciate wit in this place are few."

"Indeed." Quirrell’s eyes were shut, his face slack. His mouth did not move as Voldemort’s voice continued. "So, if you have such free access to the castle, what of the forbidden corridor on the third floor?"

"I am learning, bit by bit, how to defeat the safeguards behind that door, my lord. I created one of them myself, and I have knowledge of most of the others. Perhaps, together, we have all that is needed." Except for the final hurdle, the one you could never clear…

"Excellent." Quirrell’s head nodded. "Tell me, then, how does one pass the dog?"

They spoke for most of an hour, discussing the nature of the different puzzles and tasks between the Philosopher’s Stone and one who might desire it. "And what of the room beyond your own?" Voldemort asked finally. "What lies there?"

"The Stone, my lord, as far as I know. Dumbledore may have set a final guard, but surely it will not be much. I can think of no wizard but you who could master this maze unaided, and Dumbledore believes you still defeated and far away."

"Are you certain?" Voldemort’s tone was considering. "Why should he go to so much trouble to guard the Stone if he does not believe I might try to steal it?"

"To dissuade or hold back troublesome students, my lord. And those of your followers who might think it a sure path into your favor to win you the single most prized item in the wizarding world. Besides…" Severus Occluded his mind even more firmly than usual for the lie he was about to tell. "Dumbledore’s magic is beginning to fail. He hides it from the world, but the teachers have all seen it. He cannot last much longer."

"Excellent," Voldemort purred. "I shall burn him and his phoenix together, and mix the ashes with the blood of Harry Potter…"

Severus bent down again to close his bag, hiding his shudder.


"I don’t like it," Sirius said for probably the thirty-third time.

"Neither do I," said Aletha patiently, shaking out the folds in the best tablecloth, "but Dumbledore has a point. Harry’s grown up knowing he’s a hero, and even if he hadn’t, as soon as he found out about him and Voldemort, his personality means he would feel personally responsible for anyone and anything Voldemort went after. Something like this, with the possibility that Voldemort could not only steal a valuable object but come back to power and start killing people again? We’d have to chain him to the floor to keep him away."

Sirius reached across to catch his end of the tablecloth. "Yes, but weaving this whole intricate plot around the possibility—"

"Probability," Aletha corrected, smoothing the fold wrinkles flat. "You know him as well as I do. Give him even a hint of an adventure, especially one involving Voldemort, and he’ll be all over it."

"Do you really think he’d risk his friends?" Sirius said hopefully.

Aletha chuckled. "I think you’d have to chain them to the floor to keep them away. Think about who they are."

"I try not to, for one of them." Sirius shook his head, coming around the end of the table. "That still makes no sense, Letha. None at all. Harry making friends with Lucius Malfoy’s son..."

"And you claim not to be biased." Aletha led the way into the kitchen.

"I’m not—look, this isn’t about his being pureblood. The Weasleys are pureblood, and look at them. I’m talking about what’s it called. Inheritance. Bloodlines."

"Heredity?"

"Yes, that. Heredity and environment."

"What big words you use, Grandfather."

Sirius caught Aletha’s arm and punched her lightly on the shoulder. "Stop it. You know what I’m trying to say."

"Yes, I think I do." Aletha pulled on Sirius’ arm to bring them closer together. "You’re saying that hereditarily, Lucius Malfoy’s son ought to have been a pureblood snob. And his environment should have enhanced that until he was totally unbearable."

"Yes. Exactly." Sirius sighed. "Why do you always say what I want to?"

"Because I know how your so-called mind works after all these years?"

"That could be it."

Aletha leaned upwards and caught Sirius’ lip between her teeth. A few moments passed without any speech at all.

"So what were we talking about?" Aletha asked dreamily when they’d finished.

"I was saying it was odd how Malfoy’s son appears to have beaten the odds."

"You did it."

"Yeah, well..."

"I think you’re just worried about your position as the only one ever to break free of the purebloods."

"Ha." Sirius considered it. "Well, maybe a little."

Aletha tapped his nose with a finger. "Naughty. Wouldn’t it be better if all the pureblood kids could do that?"

"Look, woman, I already know what I think. Stop trying to confuse me with the facts..."


Harry raced with Ron and Neville across the marshy lawn, his feet squelching in the soggy ground. For the last two days, the temperature had been unusually warm, and almost all the snow had melted. Ray was out in front of them, Zelda even farther ahead.

"Why can he run so fast?" Ron panted.

"Don’t know," Neville gasped from a few paces behind. "Practice?"

"Maybe." Harry pressed a hand to his side as they slowed down near Hagrid’s hut. "Ray, how come you can run so fast?"

"Nothing like being direct," Neville said under his breath.

Ray shrugged. "Just can," he said in a too-casual tone. "Never thought about it much. Why?"

"Just wondering," Harry said, matching Ray’s tone. "Seeing as how you beat us every time we run anywhere."

"Zelda beats everyone," Ron said, giving the wolf a friendly knee to the side. "Four legs and all that."

Power to the paws, Zelda said with a smug wolf-grin. Are we going inside, or are we going to stand out in the wet all day?

Harry went up the steps and knocked, and a few moments later, they were all hanging wet cloaks by Hagrid’s fire to dry. Ray turned his inside out and held it over Zelda so she could shake before he hung it up.

"Are yeh controllin’ her when she does tha’?" Hagrid asked Ray with a faint frown.

"Only a little. She’s been trained not to shake indoors."

"Tha’s wha’ I thought." Hagrid took the teakettle off the hob and poured the boiling water into five mugs and a saucer. "Who’s a pretty girl, then," he said to Zelda, who was sniffing the air beside the table hopefully. "Don’ yeh put tha’ nose up here, though, these aren’ fer you." He indicated the pile of cakes on the table, which looked as if they held chocolate chunks instead of the usual raisins. "New recipe I’m tryin’. Wouldn’ be good fer her."

"Do you have anything she can eat, then?" Neville asked. "It wouldn’t be good manners to eat in front of her."

"Good manners?" Ron looked at his friend strangely. "Neville, she’s an animal."

Humph.

"Mum says good manners aren’t ever wasted," said Neville virtuously.

"Besides, if we don’t give her something to eat, she’ll sit there and look at us," Harry added, helping himself to a cake.

"And the chocolate won’t hurt her," Ray finished, taking two cakes in one hand and picking up Zelda’s saucer of tea with the other. "She eats it all the time."

"She does?" Hagrid frowned. "How much?"

"As much as she can wheedle out of me." Ray set the saucer on the floor and balanced the cake on its edge.

Zelda put her nose near it, then sat down to wait for it to cool. Not even to show off for Hagrid am I burning my tongue, she said. Though it does smell really good.

Hagrid shrugged. "Well, I s’pose she’s really summat special, then."

"Always has been," Ray said fondly. "Always will be."

"So what’ve you been doing?" Ron asked, taking two cakes off the pile as well.

"Oh, this’n’that..."

The boys knew from experience that "this’n’that" for Hagrid could have more adventure attached than any of their parents’ work. "Like what?" Harry asked.

"Oh, clearin’ out some o’ the deadfall in the Forest, gettin’ it ready fer spring. Checkin’ on the creatures—unicorns’ foalin’ time is soon, thestrals too..."

Stories about Hagrid’s adventures in the Forest took up nearly an hour. Harry had just checked his watch with a pang of conscience about his undone mountain of homework when Hagrid said, "And then there was the odd chappie in the pub las’ night."

"Odd chappie in the pub?" Ray repeated. "How was he odd?"

"Kep’ his hood up, so’s I couldn’ see his face, I s’pose. Couldn’t’a seen it anyway, I was that drunk. He helped wi’ that, though, so he ought’a known abou’ it."

"Did he buy you drinks?" Neville asked.

"Well, if he didn’, someone who looked jus’ like him did." Hagrid chuckled. "Don’ know how I got back here afterwards. Don’ really remember much at all, come to think."

"What did you talk about?" said Harry.

"Women, jobs...said he worked at the Ministry, at Regulation and Control..."

"Of Magical Creatures?" Ray said.

"Yeah." Hagrid’s brow was furrowed. "I tol’ him abou’ what I do, all the animals I take care of...he seemed interested in Fluffy, fer some reason..."

Ron choked on a sip of tea. Neville sat up straighter. Zelda’s lapping paused.

"What did you tell him about Fluffy?" Harry asked carefully.

Hagrid shrugged.   "Not t’much, jus’ wha’ he eats, how I clean up after him, how I take him around… yeh remember, I tol’ yeh ‘bout it already, how all yeh have ter do is play him a bit o’ music…" His eyes widened as he realized what he’d said.

Oh no, said Zelda.

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