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Chapter 10: Trapped

"Why did you say that?" Hermione demanded in the Den the next day. "No one’s supposed to know you’re the Heir of Gryffindor!"

Harry shrugged sheepishly. "I got carried away. Besides, she thinks I’m a liar anyway. She’ll probably think I just made that up to sound more powerful and mysterious."

"How is she going to explain you making the sword flame?" Ron asked.

"Something I got from the twins, or thought up myself. Maybe a potion that flames if you expose it to air too long, or I had my wand up my sleeve, or I had somebody else nearby."

"You did, but not for that," Neville pointed out. "Though it was funny to see her face when you held up the sword."

"What did she look like again?" Ron asked.

Neville frowned in concentration, then leaned back, shaking. His hands rose as if to ward off an attacker, his eyes widened fearfully, and his lips trembled and parted. "Go away," he falsettoed. "Go away!"

The rest of the Pride fell about laughing.

Harry shook his head. "She didn’t say that."

"Only because she was too scared to say anything," said Neville, dropping his character. "And now she’s been tearing the school apart looking for you for the last day or so."

"Let her look," said Hermione. "She won’t find anything."

"Though maybe she should find some traps every now and then," said Ginny. "Just to make her think she’s getting close."

"And to annoy her," said Luna.

"That goes without saying."

"Are you going to keep showing up where she doesn’t expect you?" Neville asked Harry.

"No, then she’ll get to expecting that." Harry got to his feet and started pacing the outside of the room restlessly. "We need to keep her on her toes. Make sure she never knows what’s going to happen one day to the next. She’s not welcome here, and we’re not going to let her stay—"

"That’s it!" Hermione burst out. "Danger’s prophecy!"

"What?" "What is it?" "Which part?"

"The questioner unwelcomèd/ May soon depart to clear her head," Hermione recited. "But left alone, she will remain/ And undeservèd places gain."

Ginny nodded. "An Inquisitor is a questioner, and this one is a ‘she’. It has to mean Umbridge."

"So if we let her know she’s not welcome," said Draco, "she’ll leave. But if we don’t..."

"She’ll stay and take what she doesn’t deserve," Meghan said, scowling. "She tried already."

"How d’you figure?" Ron asked.

"She doesn’t deserve to be able to take Harry out of school. But she tried that."

"And she thought she could prove something on Dumbledore by it," said Harry, recalling how his thoughts in the Headmaster’s office had run. "If he tried to defend me, she could call him on it, and maybe even get him fired—"

"And then she’d be Headmistress," said Luna, "and she doesn’t deserve that at all."

Draco gagged quietly. "Only if we lock her in the office and let the portraits drive her batty," he said. "I’d take Snape for Head over her."

"Me too," said Ron. "With Snape, you know where you are."

"Squished on the bottom of his shoe?" Ginny suggested. "But that doesn’t matter. Harry, you said we have to let Umbridge know she’s not welcome. If we do that, and do it right, the prophecy says we could get rid of her, and soon. I think it’s worth a shot."

"Yes, but how soon is soon?" Harry sat down again. "Remember, this was written by people who’ve been dead a thousand years. They’ve got a different attitude towards time than we do."

"They still remember what it was like being alive," said Neville. "They wouldn’t say soon unless it really was soon. Maybe not soon enough for us, but that depends on what we do, I think."

Ron grinned. "So, all-out attack?"

"You’re the strategist," said Hermione, summoning parchment, quill, and ink with a flick of her wand. "We’ll listen to you. Table, please, and chairs."

A chair rose out of the floor directly under her, making her squeak. The boys all hid smiles or snickers.

Hermione swatted her quill at Draco, who was nearest. "Stop that. You’d do the same."

"Would noooo—" Draco’s voice rose into a yelp as a chair sprouted from the floor under him, lifting him up.

"Would so," said Hermione smugly, uncapping her ink.

It was the girls’ turn to giggle this time.


Later that night, as the Pride argued companionably over the exact wording of their first note to Umbridge, Harry’s pocket buzzed. He pulled out his Zippophone and flicked it open. "Hogwarts Hideout, Expellee Number One speaking."

"Consider yourself smacked," said Danger’s voice. "That was worse than usual."

"Thank you," said Harry. "Is everything all right?"

"We’re fine, but we spent a little time researching astral travel here. Has Hermione done anything like that yet?"

"I haven’t had time," Hermione called out. "We’re...doing something else."

"Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know," Danger said hastily. "Anyway, Harry, listen carefully. You can check this for yourself later, or you can ask Hermione to do it for you—"

"Second one," said four people at once.

Danger sighed. "I should have known. Just listen."

"Hold on." Harry handed the Zippo to Ginny, who was sitting next to him, tore a piece off the bottom of the scroll Hermione was recording on, and held out his hand. Hermione sighed and handed over her quill, and Ron pushed the ink closer to Harry, who dipped the quill and set it down. "Go ahead," he said to the green flame.


 

"Nothing’s free," Luna said practically later, as the Pride looked over the rules Danger had set down for Harry’s astral work. "Even magic isn’t quite like magic."

Everyone thought about this for a moment before Hermione’s face cleared. "It takes time and effort to learn magic, and do it properly," she said. "You can’t just snap your fingers and get anything you want."

Luna nodded. "Magic is easier than doing the work by hand," she said. "But so are a lot of Muggle things that make life easier."

"And sometimes magic lets you do things you couldn’t do any other way," said Meghan. "Like Harry can’t come out to go to class, but he will be able to with magic."

"But I won’t be able to do much else," Harry said. "It’s not safe for me to be away from my body for too long." That had been Danger’s first caution.

"So you can only go out for two hours at a time," Ron said, reading from the parchment. "That’s long enough for even a double period, though I’d skip History of Magic if I were you."

"Planning on it, thanks. And Potions—if I can’t brew, what’s the point?"

"The point is to listen to the lecture, and see how the potion should look, and the sorts of things you can’t do just from descriptions with words," said Hermione swiftly. "And you will come to Potions, or I won’t share my notes with you."

"All right, all right, I’ll come to Potions." Harry held up his hands in surrender. "But how will I get my grades for it? Half the points Snape gives are for what we do in class, and I won’t be there."

"You can brew here, by yourself," said Meghan. "We can help you. And then somebody can take Professor Snape your potion later. He never grades until that night anyway—he doesn’t have time. And you can do your essays here, and that’s the other half of your grade."

"Thanks, Pearl, you’re a big help," Harry muttered.

"If you’d just stop trying to get out of your work—"

Neville’s hand brushed against Meghan’s arm, as if by accident, but her flow of words stopped midstream.

"Transfiguration will be a problem," said Draco. "And Charms. You can’t exactly show up to those classes and show what you can do."

"We’ll work something out," said Hermione. "Arithmancy won’t be too bad, that’s all essays and bookwork, and you’ll just have to show in your writing that you know what you’re doing for Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures."

"I could sneak out for Magical Creatures," said Harry. "Hagrid wouldn’t give me away."

"But Hagrid’s not here," Neville pointed out. "We’ll have a substitute until he gets back."

"And even when he does get back, what if Umbridge shows up and he gets flustered and blows your cover?" Ron asked. "Or something goes wrong with one of those massive animals he loves showing us and you get hurt?"

Harry stared at his friend. "Are you telling me to be careful?"

"Just not to be stupid." Ron rounded on Ginny, who had both hands over her mouth. "Don’t start."

Ginny took one hand away to point at herself, batting her eyelashes.

"Draco does that better," Luna remarked.

At this point, no one could keep a straight face. Most people didn’t even try.


 

On Wednesday morning, Harry was up early. He made himself breakfast and ate it, cleaned up, then checked his appearance in the bathroom mirror.

Why do I care how I look? No one’s going to see me. Except Luna, and she won’t be in any of my classes.

Still, he made sure his hair was in the closest thing to order it could achieve before he fetched the potion Meghan had filched for him and lay down in his chosen corner of the main room. One of the things the Pack and Pride had worked out together the night before was a way Harry could train himself to fall asleep on cue.

"I’m going to sleep now," Harry said aloud, looking up at the ceiling. "I won’t have any trouble falling asleep, and my spirit will come out as soon as my body is all the way asleep. I’m going to sleep as soon as I say the magic words. The magic words will make me fall asleep."

I feel stupid doing this, but there’s no one around to see, and I have to believe this for it to work...

"Ride a winged horse to Banbury Cross, to see a fine lady upon a white horse," he chanted under his breath. Not quite the original, but I don’t want to be falling asleep if I just happen to walk by a little kid at the wrong moment.

Popping the top off the potion bottle, he drank it down, then continued, yawning over it. "With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes, she shall have music..." Another yawn. "Wherever she..." Another. "...goes..."


 

"Did it work?" Meghan asked before she’d caught her breath from the ride down to the red bedroom. "Harry, did it work, did it work?"

"It worked," Harry told her, flicking a braid and hugging her around her shoulders. "I went straight to sleep all four times. Even when I used the potion that wasn’t as strong, the fourth time."

"Good." Meghan nodded. "If you keep using less and less strong potions, pretty soon, you’ll be so used to falling asleep when you say those words that you’ll do it even without the potion."

"That’s the theory, anyway," said Neville, sliding off the bed. "How did you do drawing the bowtruckle?"

"Not perfect, but not terrible either." Harry opened the door to the main room. "Besides, I can’t hand that in. Professor Grubbly-Plank isn’t bad, but she’d get confused if she started getting homework from me. The other professors understand—I think Dumbledore told them not to act funny if they keep getting my work."

"Professor Vector didn’t even blink when she saw your name on that essay, Harry," Hermione called from the bed, where she was just getting off. "She made sure mine was underneath it, then nodded at me and put them with the others."

"Is it just me, or are we getting more homework this year?" Harry asked as Neville and Meghan stepped past him into the main room.

Ron dropped onto the bed and used his recoil to bounce off and land on his feet. "O.W.L.s," he said, shaking his head from the shock of the landing. "Fred and George say it happens every fifth year—the professors realize there’s loads we don’t know yet, and they have to get it in, so we end up with more work because they didn’t do their jobs right."

Hermione seemed about to bristle, then cracked a smile instead. "Or maybe we didn’t do our jobs right," she said. "Instead of learning, we were busy making trouble and saving the world."

"Trying to save the world," Harry corrected. "Not doing such a good job yet."

Ginny bounced twice on the bed and sat up. "We’ll get better," she said. "You watch."

"Watch," muttered Harry. "That’s all I can do, right now."

"Oh, stop it," Ginny snapped. "Would you rather be stuck down here, or really expelled and stuck at home? Or maybe you’d like to be stuck down here without being able to go walking and get to class, even if you can’t do anything. You’re too big to whine, so stop it right now."

"Make me," Harry snapped back.

Ginny covered the three steps’ distance between them and slapped him across the face.

Harry’s hand flew up to his face. "What—"

"You are the most ungrateful little twit ever," Ginny informed him tartly. "Maybe you should have listened a little more to what Professor Dumbledore told you the other day. He wasn’t just telling you how to get away. You need to be a little more grateful for what you have, and what you can do. It didn’t have to be this way. You could be stuck at Headquarters right now. Or even in custody at the Ministry, if Umbridge was in a really bad mood with you."

"Ginny," said Ron tentatively, "you’re taking this a little far—"

"Am I?" Ginny turned on her brother. "Or are you just being too easy on him?" She whipped back towards Harry. "The more you think about everything you don’t have, the easier it’s going to be to play the ‘Oh poor me’ game. Think about what you do have, and you won’t. It’s as simple as that."

Harry rubbed his cheek. "Have you been taking bossy lessons from Hermione?" he asked.

"No." Ginny planted her hands on her hips in a familiar manner. "From Mum."

Behind her, Ron gulped and drew a finger across his neck.

"I surrender," Harry said, raising his hands. "I surrender. Don’t hurt me."

Ginny’s hands didn’t move. "Only if you promise not to wallow in self-pity anymore."

Harry made a sad face. "Not even a little?"

"Not one tiny smidgen." Ginny’s tone turned as acerbic as Letha’s when she was particularly displeased with something. "You have to be a hero, a leader, a role model. Heroes don’t complain."

"Yes, they do," said Luna, who had arrived with Draco while Ginny was scolding Harry. "They just do it heroically. They talk about how they’re not going to complain about something, and complain about it that way."

"I’m not going to mention the way it’s been raining for three weeks," Draco moaned, "or how the bugs keep biting me all over, or the fact that the food ran out yesterday and we’re eating our shoes..."

"Exactly," Luna said, nodding in satisfaction.

Harry had to laugh. "You win," he said. "All of you. You win."

"That’s right," said Ginny, starting for the main room. "We do."

Harry stepped over to make sure the door was open enough, and unaccountably bumped into Ginny in the doorway.

"Oops."

"Sorry."

"You go first."

"No, you."

Neither of them saw the smirks being exchanged by the rest of the Pride.


 

The fifth years had Defense Against the Dark Arts again on Thursday. Harry was in the same seat he’d used on Monday when the bell rang. Professor Longbottom looked up through her glasses—did she wear glasses on Monday?—and surveyed her class.

"All here," she said. "Good. I have an announcement." Her tone was cool, as though she didn’t care for what she’d be saying. "You’ll recall the subject of class on Monday..."

Harry did, very well. They’d been told stories of the reality of life as an Auror, stories that bore some resemblance to those Professor Moody had told last year, only Professor Longbottom had demonstrated the spells she talked about on small targets, pointing out especially the ones she’d be teaching them this year.

"I’m afraid I’ll have to renege on a certain portion of my promises from last class," Professor Longbottom went on. "I will no longer be teaching you any of the spells I displayed."

The class groaned. "Why not?" two or three voices spoke up.

Professor Longbottom raised her hand for silence. "The administration feels that a proper theoretical background is more important in preparing you for the O.W.L.s than is simple, rote spell practice," she said, spitting the last four words.

The groans were louder this time.

"However, I will try to make the theory as interesting as possible," Professor Longbottom added. "I will still be demonstrating the spells I have used in the course of my work as an Auror. My long time away from work, though, will mean I have to cast the spells very slowly at first, then several times at full speed to make sure my skills have returned."

Harry sat up straighter. She’s going to show us exactly how to do the spells, then do it over and over so she’s sure we can get it right when we try it on our own. But where can we try it? How can we make sure we all get a chance? There ought to be a way...

"So if you will all get out parchment and ink, we can get started on today’s lesson. A small skirmish near the end of the war with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named..."

Harry snorted. Professor Longbottom’s eyebrow quirked for a second in his direction before she got up to start diagramming on the board.

That’s funny. It was almost like she could hear me. Or see me.

And she didn’t have glasses on Monday. I wonder...

An overhead view of a three-story building was now sketched on the board, along with X’s to mark Aurors, O’s to mark their opponents, and I’s for bystanders. A wave of Professor Longbottom’s wand animated the picture, and the X’s slowly approached the building. "My team was called to a Muggle office building where there had been reports of spell fire. We entered by the main door in the standard formation, having Disillusioned ourselves for cover..."


 

Neville let his scroll roll up and slid it back into his bag as the bell rang. "Longbottom, a moment, please?" Mum called over the noise of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs packing up.

Neville nodded and hurried up to her desk. "Yes, Professor?"

"Here." She handed him the glasses in a black velvet case and a small scroll, of the kind the teachers used to send each other notes. "Give these to Professor Snape when you get to Potions, please. The scroll first, it’s an explanation."

"But it’s not sealed, Professor," Neville pointed out. "Anyone could read what’s in here."

"How absent-minded of me." Mum took Neville’s hand and firmly slid his finger under the flap of the scroll. "It will seal itself when you run your finger along its upper edge."

"But..."

Mum fixed him with a steady look.

Neville stopped. "Yes, Professor," he said, trying not to laugh.

Is this what it’s like for Meghan, or Harry, all the time? With their parents not just letting them get away with things, but helping them?

He put the glasses carefully in an outer pocket of his bag and started for the door.

"Longbottom," Mum’s voice arrested him. He turned back. She was smiling. "Tell your semi-present friend his technique is good."

"Yes, Professor."

That answers what the glasses are for, I suppose.

The rest of the Pride was waiting outside the door. "What did she want?" Ron asked.

"She had something she wanted me to take down to Snape for her." Neville pointed to his eyes, then scanned his hand around.

"Well, she’s allowed to send messages just like any other teacher," said Hermione, letting her fingers walk across the back of her hand and licking her lips.

"I wish we didn’t spend the whole morning away from the girls," said Draco, starting in the direction of the nearest stairs down.

"Excuse me?"

"You know what I mean, Hermione. The other girls."

"No snogging in public," said Ron. "Please."

"When have we ever?"

Ron snorted. "If I started listing that, I’d be Head Boy by the time I finished."

"You? Head Boy? We have done it a lot, haven’t we?"

Ron buffed his prefect badge with a sleeve. "Don’t make me give you detention."

"Just try it." Draco looked at Hermione confidently.

"I’ll double whatever he gives you," Hermione said, hefting her schoolbag a little higher on her shoulder. "You deserve it."

"I can’t win," Draco complained.

Neville smiled to himself. One thing about being friends with the Pride, I’m never short of entertainment.


 

On their way downstairs, the Pride passed Filch and Mrs. Norris, both of whom eyed them suspiciously but let them pass. Mrs. Norris, in particular, seemed very interested in a patch of air near Hermione’s heels, sniffing at it for several seconds before yowling uneasily and settling down on her haunches to stare at it.

Hermione and Draco exchanged glances. Do you think Harry’s there? Hermione signed, her hands flickering.

Could be. Draco shrugged. Who knows?

They made it to the kitchens without further incident, and Draco summoned two house-elves and sent them off to find Ginny, Luna, and Meghan. Neville pulled the black-framed glasses Professor Longbottom had been wearing from his bag and put them on his nose. "Thought so," he said in satisfaction. "I see you." He pointed at a spot behind Ron.

"Of course you see me, I’m right here," said Ron, in a tone which clearly suggested Neville was losing it.

"Not you. Harry." Neville handed the glasses over. "Have a look."

Ron put the glasses on dubiously, looked up, and his expression cleared. "All right, mate?" he said, grinning. After a moment, he pulled them off and extended them to Hermione. "They must be charmed to let you see invisible things," he said. "Either that or spirits. Maybe we could see Peeves when he’s invisible with these."

Hermione slid the glasses on, and felt Draco’s hand on her arm. Want to look with me? she asked.

It’ll make things easier.

True. Oh, there he is. Harry, translucent and rendered in washed-out color, was experimenting with walking up the wall. "Stop that," Hermione scolded aloud. "You’re close to two hours—go get back where you belong and come out for some tea with us. The house-elves will warn us if anyone’s coming, and you can be back in hiding in three seconds."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mum," he said in a voice somewhat thin but audible. "Coming, Mum." He darted across the floor to the fireplace almost faster than her eye could follow, shouted "ThankyouGodric," and was gone into the wall.

"He still has to use the password to get into the Den?" Draco asked, taking his hand away.

"Probably magical wards," said Ron. "Same ones that keep...Voldemort out."

"You’re getting better at that," Hermione said admiringly, handing the glasses back to Neville, who put them away.

"Thanks."

The door of the kitchen opened, and in came Ginny and Luna, Meghan only a few steps behind them. "Are we having morning tea?" Luna asked, setting her bag aside.

Five or six house-elves perked up and sped off in different directions.

"I suppose we are now," said Hermione. "Harry’s joining us."

"Good," said Meghan. "He needs to get out in his body as much as he can, or he’ll start forgetting that’s where he belongs." That had been in Danger’s instructions as well. "Maybe tonight, after I practice my Animagus spell, we can go running."

"Spell?" said Ron. "Are you down to just one?"

Meghan nodded, her face alight. "Just my head left to do," she said. "Then I can write my incantation, take the potion, and I’ll be the youngest Animagus ever."

"That we know about," said Hermione. "There might have been one somewhere else."

"If we don’t know about it, it doesn’t count," said Meghan with her nose in the air.

Hermione hid a smile behind the cup of tea a house-elf had just handed her.


 

"I did think she could see me," Harry said, examining the glasses Neville had handed him. "Do you have that note?"

"Here," said Ron, passing it over.

Harry unrolled it. "It’s in Dumbledore’s handwriting," he said before beginning to read. "‘These glasses will allow you to see certain things which are not easily apparent. Do not allow them to fall into sad hands.’"

"Sad hands?" asked Draco.

"Umbridge," said Hermione. "Dolores means sad."

Harry sighed. "I’d hoped the teachers wouldn’t be able to see me either," he said. "I guess nothing’s perfect."

"What were you planning on doing to Snape?" Ginny asked.

"Bunny ears."

Ron snorted into his tea.

"So how are the pranks coming?" Harry asked, giving glasses and note back to Neville.

"Pretty well," said Meghan, pulling a small, grubby list from her pocket. "We trapped a couple of secret passages with fireworks and told Fred and George about them—of course, they ought to know how to deal with that, it’s their fireworks—and we sent Pigwidgeon in through her window with a rude note..."


 

"So I was thinking in Defense this morning," said Harry later that night on the indoor Quidditch pitch, tossing the Quaffle to Ron. "And don’t even start," he shot at Draco, who immediately looked innocent. "Anyway, I was thinking, we’ll know how to do the spells we need for Defense from classes, or at least what they look like and sound like. But we’ll have to practice on our own."

"We’re not allowed to do magic outside class," said Ginny, looping around the boys. "We’d have to sneak."

"Us? Sneak?" Draco gasped. "Perish the thought..."

Ron bopped him with the Quaffle.

"Ow!"

"Learn to catch, then," said Ginny, swooping to retrieve the Quaffle. "Honestly, you call yourself a Chaser..."

"I call myself a Seeker, if we can’t get rid of Umbridge before November," Draco retorted. "It’s either me or you, we’re the best the team has."

"I suppose neither of you would be willing to let me use Polyjuice," Harry said wistfully.

Several people snickered.

"Do you really want to?" Ginny asked, flying up to Harry’s height, then a foot higher, the Quaffle held against her belly, pulling her robes tight. "Do you really want to turn into me?"

"Why shouldn’t I?" Harry looked up at her.

His brain clogged, and his eyes couldn’t seem to move—they were stuck just above the level of the Quaffle—

Which was coming right at him—

He flung up his hands and caught it just in time.

"There, now that’s a catch!" yelled Ron, apparently unaware of what had been going on in Harry’s head. "Try that on for size, Black!"

"Do you really want me to?" asked Draco snidely.

"If Harry ever gets out from behind the ball—oi, mate, planning on passing any time soon?"

Harry got his breath back, told his face it had no business picking up the color of the Quaffle, and passed to Ron, keeping his eyes resolutely away from Ginny.

I think she did that on purpose.


 

"You did that on purpose," said Luna as Ginny landed.

"Yes, I did."

"Good for you. I do it to Draco sometimes."

"Yes, but you can do it openly. I have to be careful."

"I don’t think you’ll have to be careful for too much longer." Luna watched the three boys throwing the Quaffle around. "Unless you want to get him interested and then drive him crazy."

Ginny considered this, but shook her head. "Once I have him, I want him," she said. "I’m not going to play hard to get. I’ve wanted this too long."

"You’ll be good for each other," said Luna. "I hope it is soon."

"Me too." Ginny straddled her broom again and took off. "I’m in!" she shouted. "Weasleys versus Pack!"

Luna reclined on the grass, casting a glance out the door, where Hermione and Meghan worked on one of Meghan’s new Charms lessons.

There are other people who’ll be good for each other too. I hope they figure that out soon.

It would make Draco feel good to see his twin happy before he has to go.


 

"What I was saying earlier," Harry said when the Quidditch game had ended. "About learning the spells. We’ll need somewhere to practice, and we have the Den. But no one else can get in here. Where does that leave them?"

"Stuck," said Ron. "O.W.L. year too..."

"You’re not suggesting we let people use the Den to practice spells?" said Hermione.

"No, of course not. But there has to be somewhere else in the school no one knows about, or not a lot of people. Someplace we can go and practice what Professor Longbottom’s teaching us—and she’s probably not supposed to be, either. What do you want to bet Umbridge is behind this?"

"I don’t take sucker bets," said Draco. "And Umbridge was the one Fudge wanted to be the DADA professor—can you imagine?"

"We’d sit in class and read the book all period," said Luna thoughtfully. "And it would be all about how to run away and give up."

"Good to know," said Ginny. "Move to keep Professor Longbottom where she is."

"Second," said Neville and Ron at the same moment.

"All in favor?" said Harry.

"Aye," chorused the Pride.

"So what will we need for that?" asked Meghan, sipping her hot chocolate.

"We need a place and time to practice the spells by ourselves," said Hermione. "Ideally, we need a way to learn them ourselves, so Professor Longbottom won’t get in trouble for teaching us. But we probably couldn’t do that, or it would be very hard."

"What, we couldn’t do it with a good book?" Ron said slyly.

"Books are wonderful, Ron, but they can’t show you how to do something, not like a person can."

"You all hear this?" Ron asked, looking around. "Remember it. I want to have witnesses someday."

"Oh, stop." Hermione threw a cookie at him, bouncing it off his nose. "Eat something and fill up that big mouth of yours."

Ron stuffed the whole cookie in his mouth and grinned at Hermione.

"That’s disgusting," said Hermione with dignity.

"Oo ol’ ee oo oo ih," Ron protested.

"I don’t even want to know what that means."

Ron chewed and swallowed. "You told me to do it," he repeated.

Hermione ignored this. "So we have to find a place in the castle where we can go and not be interrupted," she said. "We can’t use classrooms, because anyone can walk in there, and even if we had sentries and changed where we held it every time, someone would figure it out eventually. And we can’t use dormitories, because they’re too small, and no one’s going to let people from other Houses into their dorms."

"Wait, how many people were you thinking, here?" said Harry, frowning.

"As many as will come, Harry," said Hermione. "Fifth and seventh years especially, but anyone. We all need the practice, now more than ever."

"People from other Houses?" said Ron dubiously. "Even Slytherin?"

"There are good Slytherins!" Meghan protested.

"Not many," said Draco. "We’d have to double-check all of them with someone we knew we could trust."

Meghan sighed heavily. "I wish Graham was here," she said. "He could tell us. He knew everyone."

"I can ask Blaise," said Hermione. "He’ll know. But what I’m getting at is, we need a place like the Den—somewhere public, somewhere easy to get to, but somewhere no one can find unless we let them."

"Come on, Hermione," said Draco, "how likely is it there’d be two places like this in one castle?"

"In Hogwarts, there could be," said Meghan loyally.

"She’s right," said Neville. "And I know who we can ask."

"Who?" asked seven voices.

Neville raised his own voice. "House-elf, please!"


 

On Friday, the Gryffindor fifth years had a free period before dinner. Most of the Pride was busy with homework, so Harry decided to stretch his legs, metaphorically speaking, and drifted off in the direction of the outdoors.

So we have our safe place to practice. Kady, who had answered Neville’s call, had been able to tell them all about the Room of Requirement, and Harry had recalled Dumbledore’s story at the Yule Ball about a room filled with chamber pots, which seemed to bear this out. They had directions and instructions on how to get in, and Ron and Draco planned to check on the Room tomorrow, which was part of the reason they were so busy with their homework today.

The other part being that there’s a lot of it. Harry thought grumpily of the large pile stacked not far from his body back in the Hogwarts Den. I thought they were supposed to get us ready for the tests, not give them to us first thing.

He’d work over the first Hogsmeade weekend, Harry decided, instead of going out. That would even things up. In the meantime, in the interest of sanity, he was putting aside the homework for a little while and getting out of the castle. He was starting to feel a little trapped in the Den, and the open road beckoned...

As open as it can be when I know exactly where it goes.

But known or not, it wasn’t the same four walls—or rather, eight—and Harry welcomed the sight of Hogsmeade village.

Time to do some heavy-duty prowling.

He walked around all the shops, drooling a little over the selection in Honeydukes, comparing the stock unfavorably to the twins’ products in Zonko’s, and scaring all the owls in the post office when he poked his nose inside.

I guess they can see me. Or sense me or something. Crookshanks had hissed at the place where Harry wasn’t when he’d come out in the common room, come to think of it, and Mrs. Norris had yowled at him that one day in the hall. Wonder if Trevor could see me?

Harry laughed at the thought of Trevor hopping away as fast as he could, croaking in alarm. Wonder what’s toad for "ghost"? Or do toads even have ghosts?

"I am dead-in-life," he said sibilantly.

Weird...guess snakes believe in ghosts...

His feet had kept walking while he was thinking about this, making random turns here and there, and now Harry looked up and realized he was lost.

Never mind. I’ll just get up on somebody’s roof and look for Hogwarts.

He grabbed hold of a handful of the nearby wall and began to climb—a trick he’d discovered on Wednesday was that the solid-but-soft stuff that walls and floors seemed to be made of could be manipulated to some degree. He probably couldn’t dig himself a hole through a floor to get to the next level, but he could bunch up the material of the wall enough to make handholds and footholds.

And then I can climb it. Not quite a superhero, but close enough.

Five minutes later, he was standing on top of the roof, admiring the view. You can see everything from up here. Mountains, forest, and yes, a castle. That way.

Then he felt rather silly. You know, I could have just followed my connection back. The silver cord joining his body and soul was still looped around his left wrist.

But I got to have some fun.

He stepped to the edge of the roof, ready to jump down, then stopped.

Somebody else had the same idea.

A few rooftops away, a dark-haired boy had hoisted himself with his arms onto the top of a high, thick parapet, so that his upper body rested on it and his legs dangled behind. All Harry could see was the back of his head, but as far as he could tell, the boy was staring towards Hogwarts.

Maybe his parents won’t let him go to school. Think it’s too dangerous, that I’ll eat him. He growled under his breath. Where did I hear that recently? Oh, yeah, Meghan’s friend...

He stopped.

No way. They wouldn’t be that stupid.

He backed up a few steps. Get a running start...

For the first time in his life, Harry flew without a broom, though the flight was much shorter than his usual ones and ended more abruptly.

That would have hurt a lot more in my body.

He pulled his face out of the wall and sneezed.

Note to self—jump harder next time.

Luckily, the top of the roof was within grabbing distance. Harry hauled himself up with little trouble, and tried another leap, this one shorter. A few more jumps brought him to the same rooftop as the boy.

He’s about Meghan’s age. And he looks familiar from the back...

A door opened in the wall below Harry’s feet. "Graham!" snapped a woman’s voice.

The other boy started violently and slid backwards onto the roof.

"That’s better." The woman came forward and pulled the boy to his feet, dusting off his robes. "Climbing up there like that, putting yourself in danger—what if you’d gone forward instead of back when I called you? What if it had rained and the stone had turned slippery?"

"What if someone had seen me who wasn’t supposed to?" Graham Pritchard muttered.

"Exactly!" The woman took his arm and started marching him back towards the door she’d come out of. "Now it’s inside for you, my lad, for a full day and more, until I’m sure I can trust you out here again!"

Harry jumped down from the parapet, his heart racing. I could help him. I know where he is now. I just have to see what it’s like inside...

He slipped in as the door was closing and started down the stairs, sliding through Graham to do so. The other boy shivered.

"Cold?" the woman asked briskly. "That’s what happens when you go climbing on things, you see, you get chills—I think you should stay in bed for the rest of today, no sense in letting you get sick..."

"Sorry," Harry said aloud, moving quickly down the stairs ahead of the two. "I’ll try to make it up to you..."

I’ll try to get you out of here.

He scouted the house, making sure he spent a few minutes in every room. It was small, dark, and narrow, with windows only in the front and back, and looked as though it had once been a small store with the owner living over it. The room where Graham slept had probably been converted from a storage room, as it had no windows at all. Harry found the younger boy already there when he entered, sitting in bed, legs pulled up to his chest, staring at the door.

I have to tell him. I can’t leave him like this.

Remembering how he’d been able to talk to Hermione and Draco, Harry sat down on the edge of Graham’s bed and laid his hand inside the other boy’s. "I’m going to help you," he said aloud.

Graham shivered and pulled away. "I don’t need to imagine things," he muttered. "I’ll be all right. They’ll let me go home soon."

Harry felt a rush of sympathy for the other boy. He has to know I’m not his imagination. I’m real, just not really here...

He held his breath and moved up along Graham’s bed, superimposing most of their bodies. Graham gasped.

"I know you’re here," Harry said quickly. "I’m going to help you."

"Who are you?"

"A friend of Meghan’s."

"I’m making you up." Graham’s teeth were clenched, he was speaking through them. "I just want someone to find me, so I’m making you up..."

Harry had a brainwave. "We’ll send you an owl tomorrow," he said quickly. "No letter, just an owl. Watch for it. You’ll know I was real when it comes."

"All right." Graham was shivering hard now. "I understand."

Harry jumped up and moved away, watching as Graham lay down and pulled the covers up around himself. "Somebody knows," the younger boy whispered, his fist against his lips as though stifling a cry. "Somebody knows..."

Different curses came to Harry’s mind. He started with the rudest one he could think of and continued from there as he ran out the door and down the stairs on his way home.

This is so wrong. This is so effing wrong.


 

Albus Dumbledore found a house-elf waiting for him when he came down from his quarters the next morning. "Master said to give this directly to Professor Dumbledore," she said, holding it out.

"Thank you, Kady." Dumbledore took the note and opened it.

Professor—

I know where Graham Pritchard is. Can you meet me where I am?

It was not signed, but the handwriting was unmistakable.

Dumbledore chuckled, his eyes seeking a small portrait placed high upon the wall. "I believe someone is trying to trick me into a second bath this morning," he said.

"You could always use one," said the yellow-robed occupant of that portrait, hands on her hips. "As polite and civilized as you are, you’re still a man."

"And one ever at your service," said Dumbledore, bowing.

Now to work out how I can get to where Harry is without ducking myself into a bathtub...

Idly, he handed the note to Fawkes, who disposed of it.

No sense in leaving evidence around. Dolores may have subverted some of the house-elves.

He stopped.

One, in particular, would be easily brought under her thumb. One with no reason to love Harry Potter, or any of his family.

I wonder if a safer place for Kreacher can be found?


 

Harry was pacing up and down the main room of the Hogwarts Den when he heard the noise from the bathroom that meant a door opening. He ran towards the yellow banner and pulled the door open—

Only to see Professor Dumbledore standing on a conjured pedestal, which was gradually lowering him to the ground.

"That’s cheating, sir," Harry said boldly.

"I am not dressed for swimming," said Dumbledore mildly, stepping off the pedestal onto the floor of the bathroom. "And it is not a sight I would inflict upon you in any case."

Harry coughed politely and stood aside from the door into the main room, which he’d transformed back into its original appearance with the large table and twelve chairs.

"So, I find you well?" Dumbledore said, taking a seat in one of the red chairs.

"Yes, sir." Harry sat down beside the Headmaster. "I’ve been going to classes..."

"So the professors inform me. Some with more aplomb than others." Dumbledore’s face was quite bland, but his tone was evocative. "Severus, in particular, was none too pleased with the new arrangement, and has informed me that he will not grade any of the potions you make while you are away."

"That’s not fair!" Harry burst out.

"No, it is not," Dumbledore agreed. "I have informed him that such is his right, but it is my right to tell him that rather than giving you zeros, which may or may not have been his intent, he will simply take those grades out of your reckoning altogether, so that only those potions you do brew for him when you return to class in the flesh will count towards your grade. He will be accepting your essays as usual."

Harry shrugged.

"I would suggest brewing the potions in any case, for the practice," Dumbledore finished. "Now, to your note..."

"I was out in Hogsmeade," Harry said. "Walking. You know."

"Yes, walking." Dumbledore chuckled. "That seems a good way to put it. What did you see exactly?"

Harry related his adventure, starting with spotting the boy on the rooftop, moving through identifying him and investigating the house where he was being kept, and finishing with the promise he’d made. "We could send Ron’s owl," he said. "Morpheus. He’s a chameleon owl, he changes all the time, so no one would know the same owl kept going to the same house. And we don’t have to send a letter or anything that would get him in trouble—just the owl, to let him know he wasn’t making things up..."

Dumbledore held up a hand. "You do not need to convince me, Harry," he said. "I agree with you that sending the young man a message is not only compassionate but advisable. He will be less likely to try something which will get him hurt if he feels that he has not been abandoned. But I must caution you that rescuing him will not be easy."

"Why not?" Harry asked. "We know where he is, and we know how to get in and out. Why wouldn’t it be easy just to go and get him?"

"Because I have been watching the building you describe—if we are thinking of the same building indeed—for quite some time," said Dumbledore. "With an eye to it being a planning outpost for the Death Eaters. I had no idea that Graham Pritchard was being kept there, and it worries me a great deal."

"Why?" Harry had a sense of a vast puzzle fitting together inside his head, though he was still missing too many pieces for it to make sense. It was important, he sensed, for him to learn to think the way Dumbledore did, to get every implication from a fact, to see all its angles and corners and know it by heart...

"If they have placed him in a location where he can hear some of their plans," Dumbledore said soberly, "they likely do not intend to let him live long enough to tell those plans. And he will know this, and be doing his best to keep out of the way, and he will know that even that is not enough."

Harry growled in his throat, for once in complete agreement with Wolf, who was disgusted by this. Kill a cub, simply for hearing what he should not? Why do they speak in front of him if they do not wish him to hear?

Dumbledore sighed. "Besides the obvious danger of Death Eaters, there is also the factor of my being seen as dangerous by the Ministry," he said. "If anyone associated with me were to be caught breaking into a building, they would likely receive a much harsher sentence than they would in another case, and I might be forced from my place here. And you are quite aware of who would take over in that instance."

Harry nodded. His throat was unaccountably tight. I barely even know Graham Pritchard—

But he’s Meghan’s friend. And he’s twelve years old. And he’s trapped with people who’ll kill him as soon as he’s not valuable to them anymore.

And we can’t do anything to help him.

"However," Dumbledore said, in a tone that drew all Harry’s attention. "Simply because my hands are tied, and the Order’s, does not mean that no help can be brought to this young man. It will take time, and good planning, and some degree of luck, but I believe that a certain group of my acquaintance could indeed help him."

"Good," Harry said. "That’s great. Who would it be?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. It was a familiar expression, though Harry usually saw it on someone else.

I wonder if Moony knows where he got that?

Belatedly, the meaning of the expression kicked in. Dumbledore thought Harry should know the answer to his own question—in fact, thought it should be obvious—thought he was looking right at it—

"No," Harry said in shock.

Dumbledore’s other eyebrow joined its friend. "You would refuse?"

"No!" Harry blinked several times and shook his head. "Professor—really?"

"I do not look forward to convincing the various parents and guardians involved," Dumbledore said dryly, "but yes. If time and training coincide, you and your Pride may well be the ones who rescue Graham Pritchard."

 

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Author Notes:

Ginny’s really pushing Harry, isn’t she?

I have a lot of story threads going—so I’m adding more next chapter, with lots of new characters as the Dangerverse DA kicks off! Buckle up, everyone, it’s going to be a bumpy ride! Comments, as always, appreciated.