Facing Danger

Chapter 1: The End of the Beginning (Year 5)


Chapter 1: The End of the Beginning

“Elladora, Corona, loves, do come and meet darling Sirius,” caroled the wizened witch. “These are my precious granddaughters, Sirius dear. They were at Hogwarts after your time, but being as close to the school as you are, perhaps you’ve heard of their accomplishments...”

Sirius Black bowed, acknowledging the women’s curtsies and thinking hard about the dossiers he’d been supplied on the current crop of young purebloods. “Ravenclaw,” he hazarded to the darker one, Elladora, who was probably about twenty-five. “You took the Transfiguration prize five years running.”

“Oh!” Her hand went to her mouth. “Imagine you knowing that!”

“And you were Slytherin,” Sirius went on, turning to the fairer sister, Corona, who couldn’t be more than twenty. “Care of Magical Creatures, wasn’t it? You calmed that berserk unicorn in your sixth year?”

The young woman inclined her head. “Are you a Legilimens, M’sieur Black, that you know so well what we pride ourselves on?” she asked.

“How could I forget what I have heard of such intelligent, beautiful ladies?” Sirius hedged. After two weeks, the speech and manner of pureblood interaction was beginning to come easily to him again.

Not that it’s something I was eager to remember how to do, but it’s necessary right now.

The social season for purebloods, a round of house parties, hunting, concerts, and other high-cultured delights, was hosted at one luxurious manor after another. It began in July, when children of marriageable age returned from Hogwarts, and in most years lasted through mid-August. This year, something that no one would discuss openly had cut the season short.

Maybe a lack of males, since most of them are off either doing Voldemort’s bidding or courting his favor? And quite a few of the females, too. I get the feeling Voldemort doesn’t care about sex. As long as they can hold a wand and shout “Avada Kedavra,” they’re in.

“Your eyes are far away,” said Corona, startling Sirius into a jump. “May I know where?”

Sirius recalled himself to the present moment, and his duties. “Nowhere that so fair a lady should be troubled with,” he said gallantly.

Corona pouted. “I had hoped you would be different than the men Grandmother shoves into my face, day in, day out,” she said. “She’s constantly casting it up to Elladora and me that we’re old maids, that the line will never continue, that we’ve failed in our duty. But how can we do our duty when half the men are our cousins and all of them are horrid?”

“Does my lady desire that I be different?”

A smile tugged at one corner of Corona’s mouth. “I doubt I am your lady, M’sieur Black. Or is Grandmother right about you? Does your appearance here mean that you have at last grown past your ‘childish fantasies of true love’?” She mimicked her grandmother’s speech admirably.

Sirius sighed. “Mam’selle Corona, I know not what to say,” he answered. “I have always been taught that it is wrong to call a lady a liar.”

“Grandmother is no lady,” said Corona frankly, “and I want the truth.”

“As do I.” Sirius smiled darkly, appreciating for a moment the double meanings in Corona’s words, the meanings she was surely not aware of.

God, Aletha, I miss you. You and Pearl. Thoughts of his beautiful wife and daughter flooded him, quickly joined by others. Moony and Danger, my Wolf, Neenie and Fox...

He shook himself out of his reverie. “The truth may be a dangerous thing, Mam’selle,” he said. “Particularly in such company as we keep.” He nodded towards the dancers on the floor and their elders sitting and standing around it, some sipping at drinks or nibbling chocolates and fruit. Talk and laughter rose above the genteel music to which the dancers moved, but to Sirius’ ear, the talk was shrill and nervous, and the laughter held a brittle, frightened edge.

I’d give anything to be home. Eat a decent meal, even if Danger makes me do the dishes afterwards. Tell the cubs dirty jokes until Letha beats me up for it. Romp with Moony under the full moon...

That had been hardest of all, spending a den-night away from the Pack. The house-elf must have wondered when she found his bedding on the floor the morning after full moon, but proper pureblood-owned house-elves never asked their masters or their masters’ guests anything, unless it was a question of how they should punish themselves today.

“You say that the truth is dangerous,” Corona murmured, stepping closer to his side. “But I fear neither death nor pain.”

“What do you fear, then, my lady?” Sirius returned in the same quiet tones.

“A cage.” Corona’s gaze darted about the elegant ballroom as if the windows were barricaded and the doors locked against her leaving. “To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them, and all chance of valor is gone beyond recall or desire.”

Sirius remembered with sympathy his own days trapped in the expectations of a pureblood family, but remained wary. Purebloods were adept at lying, and at saying one thing and meaning another. “You quote prettily, Mam’selle.”

“I mean every word.” Corona dropped her fingers onto his arm. “Will you escort me outdoors? I feel a need for fresh air.”

“Gladly.” Sirius made for the nearest door, Corona beside him.

Across the room, Elladora Gamp leveled a glare of pure hatred toward her sister and the returned prodigal of the Black family.

xXxXx

“Out, out, out! ”

Danger Granger-Lupin winced as she Apparated into the living room of her family’s home, the Marauders’ Den. What’s Neenie mad about now?

“You’re scaring her, leave her alone , get out! ”

Her. Danger began to catalogue current female residents of the Den. Her baby sister was out, since not even Hermione Granger-Lupin referred to herself in the third person. Ginny Weasley had inherited her mother’s lungs and a good deal of Molly’s famous temper, and was thus perfectly capable of defending herself. Something similar could be said of Hermione’s Pack-sister, Meghan Black, at twelve the youngest child in the house but far from helpless. Even dreamy Luna Lovegood usually wouldn’t need Hermione to be screaming in her defense.

Usually, of course, being the key word. Nothing about this particular set-up is usual. The members of the Order of the Phoenix who had underage children – Arthur and Molly Weasley, Gerald Lovegood, and Frank and Alice Longbottom, along with Danger, her husband, and their two best friends, the foursome commonly known as the Pack – had agreed that those children should be housed together in the safest of the family homes until a Headquarters of the Order could be found and made safe and marginally habitable.

And rebuilding the wards on Hogwarts leaves us with very little time to go house-hunting. Though I liked Sirius’ suggestion in his latest letter, and I think Albus does as well...

Her thoughts had carried her up the stairs towards the source of Hermione’s shouts. Two identical faces lifted at her approach. “We didn’t do it,” said Fred and George Weasley in unison.

Danger crossed her arms. “You never do.”

“Honestly, we didn’t do anything,” said Fred.

“We just walked in the room, and Luna started screaming,” George picked up.

“Then she went out the window into the tree.”

“And now she’s sitting out there, and she won’t let anyone near her.”

“Draco tried to calm her down, but she just screamed at him too.”

George frowned. “She actually screamed louder at him. I thought she liked him.”

A door to Danger’s left opened. “I thought she liked me too,” said Draco Black, leaning against the doorframe. “But she drew blood. Look at this.” He held out his arm. His usual summer sunburn was peeling, but beneath it Danger could see three scratches, recently healed.

“Meghan?” she asked, running a finger along her Pack-son’s arm.

Draco nodded. “I don’t get it. I didn’t do anything.”

“Anything you remember, you mean. Or nothing you’re willing to tell me about.”

“No, I mean I didn’t do anything .” Draco jerked a thumb behind him. “Ask them, or the girls, if you don’t believe me.”

Danger looked over Draco’s shoulder. Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom looked up from their game of wizard chess. “He really didn’t,” said Neville. “It’d be hard to hide it, with us all in close quarters this way.”

“Even going outside doesn’t help,” Ron added, looking out the window at the almost-darkness of late evening. “We still know everything we’re all doing.”

Danger turned at the sound of another door opening behind her. Ginny and Meghan stepped out, Meghan dodging past the older girl to claim a hug from her Pack-mum. “Luna won’t let anyone close,” the dark-skinned girl said, her voice muffled against Danger’s robes. “Her body isn’t hurt, but I think her soul is, and I don’t know if I can fix it.”

Danger refrained from mouthing platitudes at Meghan. Aletha Freeman-Black had insisted her born daughter not be sheltered from the truths that the girl’s three adopted siblings had learned early, so Meghan knew well that although her talent for healing was remarkable – it had been largely responsible for the restoration of the Longbottoms – it couldn’t do everything. Instead, she hugged her goddaughter closer and met Ginny’s eyes. “Anything to add?” she asked.

“I think it might be something she Saw.” The slight emphasis on the word made Ginny’s meaning unmistakable. Luna had recently reclaimed her ability to see things that other people couldn’t, an ability she had renounced after watching an evil spell try to harm Draco more than a year ago. Danger, saddled with yearly prophetic dreams and occasional unscheduled ones, could sympathize.

“And you want me to do something about it,” she asked the crowd in general.

Heads nodded up and down the hall.

“I can certainly try.” Danger gently disengaged Meghan and stood up just in time to catch Draco holding his hands above his head like ears. “Don’t even start, fox-boy,” she said, flicking one of his real ears. “That joke is dead and buried, and we are not making an Inferius out of it.”

“Aww,” Draco complained half-heartedly.

“If you still want that treat tomorrow...”

Draco zipped a finger across his lips.

“That’s my boy.” Danger moved up the hall, contemplating the strange way in which the phrase had become truth. Two weeks shy of eleven years earlier, the Pack had been kidnapped from their home by Lucius Malfoy. His various uncouth plans for them had never come to pass, mostly because of the courage of one woman.

Narcissa. Danger could still see the aristocratic face, wondering and frightened, as the pureblood woman admitted that she loved her four-year-old son. Narcissa had made a bargain with the Pack – she would free them, and remove the threat of Lucius from their lives, if they would take Draco and raise him with their other three children.

“Teach him what I never could,” Narcissa’s voice echoed in Danger’s memories. “Teach him to love and be loved.”

And I like to think we have.

Danger tapped on the door. “I said, go away! ” shouted Hermione from within. “You’re not helping!”

“How do you know? I just got here.”

The door opened. “Sorry,” said Hermione, stepping back to let Danger into the room. “I thought it was the twins again. Or my stupid twin again, for that matter.”

“What happened?” Danger directed the question to both Hermione and the open window, where she could see a flash of white in the juniper tree growing by the corner of the Den.

“We were talking,” said Hermione. “Then Fred and George came in, and Luna stared at them. They made some crack about her, and George started to come closer, and Luna screamed and climbed out the window before I could stop her. I think they may have seen what she can do now.”

Danger sighed. “They were going to find out eventually. As Neville said, it’s close quarters here. I’ll remind them exactly what’s at stake if they spill. What then?”

“Draco heard her screaming and came running in. He tried to get her to come back in, but she just scratched at him and went on crying, or whatever you want to call it. She’s still doing it.” Hermione fell silent, looking towards the window. Quiet noises like a girl’s sobs drifted in, holding the desperation of a wild creature caged.

“Do you want me to try?” Danger asked softly.

“Please.” Hermione crossed the room, never taking her eyes from the window, and Danger held her. “I don’t know what else to do.”

“I know. You did very well with what you had. And I’ll need to ask you something later tonight, so don’t disappear on me.”

“I won’t.” Hermione laid her head on Danger’s shoulder for one moment, then pulled away. “I’ll go find something to do. Maybe we can get Winky to make us some popcorn and watch a movie.” Molly Weasley had sent her recently hired house-elf to take care of the Den and its young inhabitants, since she, her husband, and Percy could fend for themselves more easily than could her twins and seven-eighths of the rambunctious group known as the Pride.

I wish we had them all here, but he’s safer where he is...

Danger shook her head as Hermione slipped out of the room. And I need to be concentrating on what’s in front of me. Finding out what has Luna so on edge, and calming her if I can.

Sitting down on one of the four beds in the room, Danger began to sing, a light-hearted song from a light-hearted musical.

Poor sweet baby,

Poor poor sweet sweet baby,

Show me where it hurts, I’ll tell you how to make it well;

I’ve won lots of loving cups for playing show-and-tell,

My poor sweet baby...

The sounds from the tree outside diminished, then were gone. As Danger came into the last verse, small scratches on the windowsill told her that her quarry was moving closer. She held the last note out until her voice quavered from lack of breath, then ended it and turned to see what was behind her.

A white owl perched on the next bed over, her talons embedded in the afghan Danger’s mother had crocheted long ago.

“Do you want an Owl Treat?” Danger asked, letting only the most gentle of teasing tones into her voice.

The owl shook her head.

“Sit with me, then?” Danger patted the space beside her.

The owl waddled to the edge of the bed, then flapped awkwardly across the space between beds. Danger blinked as wing feathers brushed her face. “You’re doing well,” she said.

The bed sagged slightly as the weight on it increased. “No, I’m not,” said Luna, pushing her hair out of her face. “Why is everyone lying to me today?”

“I wasn’t lying to you. Flying is hard. You’re doing well for a beginner.”

“Ron flies very well when he’s Redwing.”

“Ron learned to fly as a hawk by falling out his dorm window. I don’t think you want to go that far.”

Luna stiffened, quivering. “He’ll fall again,” she whispered. “He’ll fall with a friend, and he’ll have to decide which of them to save – he could do magic and save his friend, or he could transform and save himself...” She clapped her hands over her eyes with a little cry.

Danger reached out and pulled the girl close. Enough, she said sternly and silently, though not to her husband, with whom she most usually spoke silently. Didn’t any of you think to show her how to moderate this? Or isn’t there a way?

There is, answered a female voice, cool and calm. But because Luna’s power has been so long denied, it is overwhelming her attempts at moderation. Also, she has lost her skill at moderating it through lack of practice.

Quit trying to guilt-trip her, she can’t hear you, Danger retorted. I think it’s pretty low of you to do this to her.

I never intended my statements to make anyone feel guilty. They are merely facts.

Yes, well, intended or not, she’s being torn apart by this, and I don’t know of anyone who can help her. Are you going to do something about it, or not?

A silent sigh. What would you have us do? We cannot put the power to sleep again now that she has reawakened it. She knew this.

Yes, but there has to be some way to limit it. To tell it when and where to come, and how much to show her. She won’t last long if she’s seeing every bad thing that’s going to happen to us until this war is over.

A long pause. We must think on this, the voice said finally. You have the power to provide a stopgap measure, if you wish.

I do wish. Danger couldn’t keep a sarcastic tone from her mental voice. How long will you need to think?

Three weeks should be sufficient, the other answered, seemingly unaware of Danger’s sarcasm. The price to you will be nine hours.

Danger checked her wristwatch. Nine o’clock. Begin it at nine-thirty, then, she said. I want to talk to her before I pass out.

Very well. The connection shut off abruptly.

“Ravenclaws,” Danger grumbled. “Luna, look at me.”

Luna shook her head frantically, her eyes shut tight. “I can’t,” she said. “I’ll See something terrible. I do when I look at everyone, or when I think about them even...”

“In half an hour, you won’t anymore. At least not for a little while.”

Luna’s head came up. “How long?”

“A few weeks. If you were having this much trouble with your Seeing, why didn’t you tell someone?”

“I thought it would go away,” Luna said shakily. “But it just keeps getting worse...”

“We’re in for a rough time, Luna. A war. Do you want to talk about any of what you Saw?”

“Do you think that would help?”

“It helps me to talk about frightening things. I can look at them honestly, with another person’s help, and see what frightens me about them. But if you don’t want to, I’ll respect that.”

Luna looked down at her feet. “Blood,” she said softly. “I see blood on everyone. On their hands and feet, on their wands, on their daggers.” One hand rose to her lips. “On some people’s mouths.”

Danger swallowed, careful not to let the girl hear it.

“And I think... I think I see who will die. At least some of them.” Luna’s eyes were bleak. “And the things that will happen before they die, and those are worse.”

“Oh...” Danger held Luna again, silently cursing the fate that had forced itself on a fourteen-year-old girl.

“I could stand it if they just died, but some of them are tortured.” Luna’s voice shook. “And some of them have to decide whether they live or die, and they decide to die. And one...” A sob. “One of us changes sides.”

“What?” Danger pulled back quickly to look Luna in the face. “Are you sure?”

Luna’s face twisted once, then she nodded.

“And you know who it is.”

Another nod, which turned into frantic head-shaking as Luna realized what the next question would be.

“Luna, I have to know.” Danger pinned Luna’s arms by her sides and held the girl where she was. “It could mean all our lives – please, Luna, you must tell me...”

“No!” Luna cried, twisting beneath Danger’s hands. “No, no, no!” She began to shrink into the form of the white owl again. Danger let her go and drew her wand just in time to shut the window and lock it. Luna loosed an almost human scream and flung herself at the door, reaching it a moment too late.

Danger held her wand loose but ready. “Neither of us is leaving this room before you tell me,” she said with quiet determination. “So we might as well get it over with.”

The owl screeched again and launched herself from the floor, swooping at the woman. A tan wolf reared up to pluck the owl from the air, and a human girl landed on the ground, yanking her arm away from the wolf’s jaws.

Danger regained human form and backed up several paces. “Never do that again,” she said, shaking. “Don’t you know what could have happened if I’d bitten you?”

Luna turned her back and sank to the floor between the beds, disappearing from Danger’s view. Danger moved cautiously closer, but instead of preparing to attack, Luna was curled into a ball, her hands over her eyes once more, sobbing. Danger frowned as certain words made themselves clear.

That would explain why she’s so upset...

She sat down. “What exactly did you see?” she asked quietly.

xXxXx

Aletha Freeman-Black Apparated into the music room of the Den and immediately raised a storm of protest.

“Down in front!”

“I can’t see!”

“Hello to you too,” Aletha said wearily, stepping out of the way of the television screen.

“Mama Letha!” Meghan leapt up to hug Aletha. Draco did the same, as the rest of the Pride and the twins waved.

Hermione hit the pause button before she joined the hug. “Danger’s upstairs with Luna,” she said. “Luna’s unhappy about something, but we don’t know what yet.”

“I’m sure Danger’s dealing with it. Or will deal with it.” Aletha broke off as something beeped in her pocket. She reached in and withdrew a shiny metal lighter, which she flipped open, revealing a green flame. “Freeman-Black,” she said.

“Are you home yet, Letha?” asked Remus Lupin’s voice from the flame.

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Hi, Moony,” Hermione called.

“Hello, Kitten. I’ll be home myself soon. Letha, would you mind running upstairs and letting Luna out of the girls’ bedroom? Danger locked it up magically and took a nap.”

“Grand.” Aletha smiled one-sidedly. “I assume there’s a reason.”

“Yes, but it’s complicated. I’ll explain when I get there.”

“Understood. Freeman-Black out.” Aletha snapped the Zippophone shut. “Had an eventful day?” she asked the children.

George shrugged. “We’ve had worse.”

“How informative. Love you, Pearl.” Aletha hugged Meghan once more, then started for the stairs. “Turn that down,” she called over her shoulder as the movie started again.

Two or three of the Pride booed her.

Luna was gazing out the window when Aletha opened the bedroom door, and turned to greet the woman with something like her usual serenity. “Thank you, Mrs. Letha. I didn’t know how long I’d have to wait.”

Aletha looked at Danger, asleep across one of the beds. “May I ask?”

“Mrs. Danger wanted to help me with my Seeing,” Luna explained. “To stop me from Seeing all the time, even when I don’t want to. But she had to pay the price for it, and she wanted to start it as soon as she could. We started to talk, though, and the time she set ran out before she realized it. She apologized, and told me someone else would be here soon, but she didn’t know how soon.”

“You seem a bit calmer than you were,” Aletha commented, not sure if she should, but needing to say something – Luna had been crying in corners, eyeing people oddly, and staring at nothing in the middle of conversations for the two weeks she’d been at the Den.

“Oh, I feel much better. Mrs. Danger reminded me that some of the things I See might not happen, and that I might be coming to the wrong conclusions about others of them.” Sadness flickered across Luna’s face. “But I still need to do something about one of them. Not tonight, though. And not tomorrow. The day after.”

Aletha nodded, but held her peace, instead drawing her wand to levitate Danger down the hall into her bedroom.

There’s only one person who won’t be here tomorrow. And he’s just the person Luna would least want to hurt.

This war is going to change us all.

xXxXx

Harry Potter sat at his window, chin resting on one hand, staring down at the streetlights of Privet Drive and letting his mind wander to all the places he’d lived. From Godric’s Hollow to Privet Drive, from Privet Drive to Crozer Street in London, from Crozer Street to Ottery St. Catchpole, from Ottery St. Catchpole to Hogwarts, and now he was back again to Privet Drive...

And both times I’ve been here, it’s been because someone’s after my arse. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

He sighed, getting up. Two more weeks, that’s all. After that, I don’t ever have to come back. I’ll spend term at Hogwarts, and holidays at Headquarters, until...

His mind tried to shy away. Harry caught it and dragged it back to topic. Until I kill Voldemort. That is what I have to do. There’s no good trying to ignore it.

As expected, the memories of the graveyard surged up into his mind. Sour fear and bitter hatred filled his mouth as he watched Cedric try to escape – Voldemort would never really have let him go, Harry realized, he’d been playing cat and mouse with him, playing with both of them.

The only difference is, I beat him. And it wasn’t even because of anything I did – it was because he was distracted, because Luna was Looking at him. If she’d Looked earlier, could we both have got away?

Harry broke off that train of thought with an angry growl in his throat. It’s over. Playing “would have, could have” won’t help anything.

Dropping onto his bed, he shut his eyes and called up the mental fire he used for Occlumency. Somewhere in between the imagining and the willing, he found himself actually sitting on his broomstick, high above the graveyard. The fiery shield around him started to flicker and waver.

I need to get down. Harry dived and got his feet onto the grass just as his shield went out. Around one gravestone appeared Voldemort, laughing quietly; around another, Wormtail, gasping and sobbing as his wounded arm bled onto his robes. Nagini slithered up to her master’s side, her eyes glazed over in death, the ragged wound on her neck no longer bleeding. Cedric stumbled past, and Voldemort’s spell, unspoken, dropped him to the ground almost at Harry’s feet.

That’s it. I have had it. Harry called fire again, but this time with a difference. This time, instead of simply englobing himself with the flame and pushing the memory outside it, he gathered the memory in his hands, crumpling it like parchment, and summoned fire to and around it, directing the flames to consume it.

You will have no more power over me, he told the memory as it struggled to escape. You are past. I will learn from you, but you will not haunt me anymore.

The memory shredded in his hands, trying to save pieces of itself. Harry wasn’t having any. He freed one hand and snatched each piece as it tried to fly past, thrusting it back into the fire and naming it as it was consumed.

Voldemort – burn, you bastard, burn. You will, when I get my powers unbound as Heir of Gryffindor, and when I catch up with you. His lips curled back off his teeth. You fooled me once. Too bad you’re not getting another chance like that.

Nagini . An Inferius now, are you? Shame corpses don’t eat. I hear they burn very nicely, though. I guess I’ll get a chance to find out at some point.

Wormtail. Wonder how to barbecue a rat? Maybe a nice teriyaki marinade, or a honey-mustard glaze. He snickered. I’ll just have to find out what you hate, and work from there.

Cedric. This was chancier territory. Harry nodded a salute to his memory of the older boy. I hope you don’t mind, but I’d rather remember you alive. I liked you, and I’m sorry you’re dead, but it wasn’t my fault and I can’t let it hang on me. Please take this in the spirit it’s meant – cremation, I guess – and thank you for everything you ever did for me, and everything you ever tried to do.

The memory of that night shivered once and fell into ashes in Harry’s hands. His open left hand held a huge heap of filthy black soot with green tinges to it, while his right hand was closed around a smaller pile of honest gray ash such as might come from wood or charcoal.

Slowly, Harry knelt, and set both piles down, noticing how all the ash fell from his hands in a way it never would in the real world. He dug a small hole in the ground and swept the ashes of Cedric’s memory into it. “Rest in peace,” he said aloud, and filled in the hole, tamping the dirt down with the heel of his hand.

Then he stood up, changed forms, and let the rest of that night know how little he valued it.

And that’s the end of that...

Well, no. Wolf changed forms again, and the human Harry sat down and leaned his back against a granite mausoleum. Probably not the end.

But it might be the beginning of the end.

Or the end of the beginning. Who knows?

The graveyard blurred, and Harry let it. The memory was unlikely to be back tonight. Tomorrow, possibly, or the day after, but not tonight...

His white, thin, long-fingered hand was clasped around another’s, the palm unpleasantly wet. He was speaking.

“...not to let anyone, no matter their rank or degree, kill any of them?”

The other man swallowed nervously. “I will,” he said shakily.

There was a wand against their hands. A bright line of fire issued from its tip and wound around the clasped hands, intertwining itself with the two already there.

“Excellent,” Harry said. His high-pitched voice echoed in the stone room, as though nothing else were present. “You are the third, Macnair. All of you are sworn. The only thing we must do now is wait. They will be moved eventually, and when they are moved, then you must strike. They should give you little trouble in and of themselves, but remember, if they know that anything is wrong, then help will come and this will all be in vain... and I do not care for having my plans set at naught...”

“Yes, Master,” said three voices together, one cultured, one a beastlike growl, the third the voice he had already heard. Harry felt a smile stretch his face as he looked at the three. As different as could be found, and yet they all served him...

He turned away from their bowed heads, their bent knees, and looked around the room. A gleam of mirror caught his eye, and his smile widened as red, slit-pupiled eyes met their counterparts –

Harry bolted awake, biting back on a yell just in time. His scar pounded in time with his frantically racing heart.

Not real. Not real. He closed his own suntanned hands around the sheets, then freed one to find his glasses. Need to write that down...

He scrambled out of bed, found parchment and quill, and began to scribble sentences, barely stopping to dip the pen (though he did take a second along the way to glance at his reflection in the glass over the framed photograph of the Pack on the desk). Three men, one named Macnair, took Unbreakable Vow not to kill someone – more than one person, V. said them – I was V...

Harry stopped, staring at that for a moment.

I was Voldemort. I was in his head.

That was an accident. But what if he could make me do that? What if he could make me watch some of the things he likes to do?

Suddenly the Dursleys didn’t seem like so high a price to pay.

He went back to scribbling.

Something about moving, and striking when they move – if they know something is wrong, help will come – they aren’t supposed to be much trouble themselves...

Finally, when he had everything down he could remember, he added a few lines of explanation at the bottom and folded the parchment. He’d give it to Moony when he saw his Pack-father tomorrow.

He glanced at the clock. Make that today.

Somehow that put the dream into perspective. It had been strange and horrible to be inside Voldemort’s head, but he’d been warned it might happen, and although they were connected, he wasn’t just part of some Dark wizard. He was himself, Harry James Potter, Marauder of the Pack and alpha Warrior of the Pride.

And damned proud of it, too.

Movement in the photograph caught his eye. His photographic self was down on one knee, letting Meghan use him as a human stepping stool to get to Draco’s shoulders, with Hermione steadying her. They’d done something like it once in real life, Harry recalled, the day Snape –

Professor Snape.

Harry let his face rest on the desk. Get out of my head, Moony.

Be polite, then, admonished the memory voice.

Fine.

The day Professor Grumpy had come to the London Den, discovering the hiding place of the “criminal” Sirius Black and his family.

If I have to call him Professor, I’ll do it my way.

The four cubs of the Pack had used the human tower to get down the key to the attic, where the trunks were stored, while the adults were still talking over what they should do. By the time the decision was officially reached that they would have to run for it, the cubs were three-quarters packed.

I had a weird childhood. Besides always being ready to run away from the Ministry, I told stories to snakes, I slept in the same bed as my sisters and brother, and my guardians told me I had to grow up and save the world.

Maybe I need therapy.

Harry burst out laughing, muffling the sound first with both hands, then getting himself under control long enough to get to his bed and fall face-first onto his pillow.

I think I’d probably drive a therapist insane. Either that or give her enough material for a dissertation. And if I didn’t, Neenie and Draco would!

The laughter bled off the last of the tension that had lingered from the dream. Yawning as he turned over, Harry imagined not a shield made of fire, but a mattress and sheets, and a soft pillow into which his head could sink. He barely had time to pull off his glasses and set them aside before sleep overwhelmed him again.

He dreamed of Wolf tearing a therapist’s couch to pieces, ripping the leather off with his sharp teeth and worrying each chunk, while the doe Pearl grazed on the papers from the desk, Snow Fox gnawed at the legs of the chair, and a feline Neenie daintily batted books off the shelves.

xXxXx

Harry’s alarm went off at seven. By seven-twenty, he was in the kitchen, chopping herbs for an omelet. If he closed his eyes and sniffed, he could almost believe he was home...

“BOY!”

All right, scratch that. “Yes, sir?” Harry called up the stairs.

“Where’s my gray-striped tie, boy?”

Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing aloud. “You mean the one with gray stripes on dark gray, or the one with gray stripes on light gray, sir?”

“Gray on dark gray, boy, don’t be rude. Where is it?”

“It should be in the airing cupboard, sir.”

A few moments of footsteps and scuffling, then satisfied mutters as Uncle Vernon retreated to his bedroom.

“Ever heard of thank you?” Harry mumbled. But after two weeks, he thought he understood. The Dursleys’ memories of him couldn’t be pleasant, although he had no intention of ever letting them know exactly why their lives had gone so sour. Still, they were letting him make his home with them for a month, and he was costing them money. Not much, he knew, and they were probably getting more than their worth out of him in housework, but he was still there on sufferance. If they wanted to be rude to him, he could handle it.

Besides, I’m getting material for years to come. The man with the most boring ties in the world...

At seven-thirty, the Dursleys were in the kitchen, and Harry was serving breakfast. The mail slot clicked, and letters fell onto the doormat with a flop.

“Get the mail, boy,” said Uncle Vernon from behind his newspaper. Harry set the frying pan back on the stove and went to the front door.

He grinned to himself. Mixed in with the regular post was a tiny letter with no stamp, addressed to him. He tucked it into his pocket and brought the rest back into the kitchen.

“Got my own, Potter,” said Dudley, setting down the empty frying pan. “Thanks for making it.”

“You’re welcome.” And thank you, for eating it all. Pig.

Harry told his stomach to be quiet. He’d make himself breakfast later.

“We’re going out,” said Aunt Petunia abruptly. “Dudley and I. We’ll be gone all day. I want the house clean by the time we’re back.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.” Harry retrieved the frying pan and set it to soak in the sink, then ducked around the corner to read his letter. It consisted of one sentence – Hang a red sock out your window if you won’t be alone at noon – and wasn’t signed, but Harry knew Moony’s handwriting.

Why he couldn’t just send it by owl...

But Moony had been as much a Marauder as Padfoot. Harry sometimes forgot that. And Marauders went out of their way to remind you that you were never safe.

Hmm. I wonder what would be a good prank to play on Voldemort...?

Thinking of that amused him for about a minute, until he remembered. Voldemort’s rules of engagement were different than the Pack’s. When he got back, he got back for keeps.

So... make him think someone else did it?

That idea had possibilities. Harry did the breakfast dishes in a fog, thinking about ways to make a Dork Lord look foolish and put the blame on somebody else. Preferably, somebody on the Dork Lord’s side.

I wonder if I could pin something on Dudley?

Of course, that was assuming Dudley was even involved with Voldemort. Harry sneaked a look at his cousin over his shoulder. Dudley was rude, self-interested, and had done some mean things to the Pride in past years at Hogwarts, but was he really evil? Or had evil just been using him, as a convenient means to an end?

I can’t read his mind, so I don’t know. I’ll just stay careful, hope for the best, and prepare for the worst. He chuckled under his breath. Constant vigilance!

Finally, Uncle Vernon was gone, off to shout and be shouted at. Dudley went out to the car first, and Aunt Petunia began to follow, then stopped and ducked back inside. “Harry.”

Harry jumped a little. As far as he could remember, this was the first time any of his relatives had addressed him by his first name. Uncle Vernon called him boy, Dudley favored his surname, and Aunt Petunia, up until now, hadn’t called him anything at all. “Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

“I just wanted to say.” Her eyes roved around the kitchen, then fixed on his. “You’ve... not been a burden. I thought you should know.”

And she was gone.

“Thank you,” Harry said to the sound of car tires squealing on asphalt. “I think.”

Yes, definitely a compliment.

He fixed himself breakfast and swiped Uncle Vernon’s newspaper for a look at what was going on in the Muggle world. No death and destruction... of course, Voldemort’s going to take advantage that the Ministry doesn’t believe he’s back, build up a base before he has to come out and fight, maybe even steal things because there won’t be any increased security on them...

Harry wondered idly if he would have understood that, without the Pack to teach him. If he’d lived his whole life before Hogwarts here, or in another house just like this, would he now be shivering in anticipation, waiting anxiously each day to hear if the mass murders had started yet?

Ah, doesn’t matter. I didn’t, so I’m not. And I wanted to get some of the cleaning done before Moony shows up, and maybe some homework...

Two paragraphs of a Charms essay and the kitchen later, the doorbell rang. Harry checked his watch. 11:30. He’s early.

He opened the door. “We don’t want any,” he began, then stared.

The stoop was empty.

Harry reached out a cautious hand and brushed a familiar, satiny fabric. “Har har,” he said sarcastically.

“Glad you like it,” said a voice.

Female.

Harry backed up three steps and felt for his wand.

“Don’t bother, Harry, it’s me,” said the voice again, and a hand extended from under the Invisibility Cloak, turned hot pink, then deep brown, then back to its original pinkish-brown shade. “Besides, with these wards, I couldn’t even have got on the property if I had bad intentions, right?”

“Anything can fail,” Harry retorted. “Mind coming in before the neighbors wonder why I’m standing here with the door open?”

“Ooh, touchy. They’re rubbing off on you.” Tonks stepped in through the door, shut it behind herself, and pulled the Cloak off her spiky blue head. “Wotcher, Harry.”

“Hi.” Harry tried to think of a polite way to ask his question and failed. “Er, Tonks, what are you–”

“Doing here?” Tonks finished, grinning at him. “Don’t worry, I’m not your official visitor. Just came by to tell you Remus’ll be a bit late. Ran into a little snag at Headquarters.”

“You’ve found a place, then?” Harry said eagerly.

Tonks grimaced. “I can’t tell you anything, you know that.”

“I don’t want to know anything about it, I just want to know yes or no, did you find one?”

Tonks raised her hands in surrender. “Yes, we found one. And no, I don’t know how long it’s going to take to get all the charms in place,” she added. “I may never get married at this rate.”

Harry frowned. “But... I thought the wedding was supposed to be this month.”

“Well, it was,” said Tonks, starting back towards the kitchen. “But a wedding with no bridesmaids or maid of honor and only one groomsman besides the best man is going to look a bit dodgy. Your Pride really sticks together, don’t you?”

Harry turned this over in his head for several seconds, then thought he saw what it meant. “Ron and Ginny, and Hermione and Meghan. They wouldn’t be in your wedding...”

“Unless you could come,” Tonks finished, sitting down at the kitchen table. “You and Sirius. I want you there too, of course, so does Charlie, but the walking-out bit clinched it for us. We’ve set 19 August as a very tentative date...”

Tonks was full of stories Harry hadn’t yet heard from any of his regular correspondents, and eager to hear stories about the Dursleys and the ones Padfoot had sent in his letters from ‘purebloodland,’ as Tonks put it. “Mum always told me I was better off out of it,” she said. “She said it was like something out of a romance novel, except more cutthroat than romantic.”

“That sounds about right,” Harry admitted, and smiled to himself. He and Tonks, between them, might just have cracked some of the reasons behind Padfoot’s unusual hobby.

He offered to make her lunch around noon, but Tonks looked at her watch and jumped to her feet in dismay. “I didn’t realize... damn, I have to get back... sorry, Harry, another time. See you in August if not sooner...”

“Bye,” Harry said as Tonks flung the Invisibility Cloak over herself. He opened the door for her and stepped out onto the lawn, looking up at the cloudless sky and basking in the sunlight.

Beautiful day, he thought distantly, as a crack sounded at the end of the street. Too beautiful to spend it all indoors.

He sped through the cleaning in the rest of the house – luckily, there wasn’t much that needed doing, as the Dursleys were almost obsessively tidy – made himself a small picnic, and took it out into the back yard. He was just licking the last drips of juice from a peach off his fingers when he heard the doorbell ring. Getting to his feet, he trotted around the house.

“Looking for someone?” he said.

Moony must have heard him coming, as he didn’t jump at all, only turned his head and smiled. “I think I am. How are you, Harry?”

“I’m all right. Come around back?”

“Of course.”

“Follow me, then...” Harry blinked. Had he just seen something small and brown streak around the other corner of the house?

Nah. It’s just the heat. I’m seeing things.

“I remember the first time I ever saw this house,” said Moony reminiscently. “It was my twenty-third birthday...”

“And I was a baby who couldn’t say the letter N, I know,” Harry cut him off. “Just do me a favor and don’t tell me what rooms you and Danger had fun in when you were first married. I’d never get the images out of my head.”

“Harry, I couldn’t possibly remember them all. There were so many, you see.”

“Oh, God.” Harry clutched his head. “That’s exactly what I didn’t want to hear.”

They teased each other for a little while longer, then Harry recalled his dream and the letter he’d written. “Wait here, I have something to show you,” he said. “I dreamed I was Voldemort last night...”

“You dreamed you were Voldemort?”

“I wrote everything down, I’ll get it.” Harry ran into the house and was back almost as fast as Wolf could have done it, parchment in his hand.

Moony scanned the account of the dream, then looked up. “We should find out if Voldemort was aware of your presence,” he said. “If he was, then he might try to replicate it.”

“And if he tries after I leave here, he might do it.” Harry twisted the fringe on the small blanket he’d brought outside to sit on. “I’m not having a lot of success with Occlumency. I did something last night that helped a little with the memory, but it was right after I did it that I had the dream. Maybe I’m just not Occlumency material.”

“That’s possible...” Moony seemed to be debating something with himself, and for once, only with himself. His eyes were almost entirely blue. “Harry, I’m going to tell you something that Albus wasn’t sure we should tell you yet. I think you’re old enough to weigh the pros and cons of this, really weigh them, and make your own decision.”

Harry straightened his shoulders. “I’m listening.”

“There might be a way to block Voldemort’s direct access to your mind permanently. However, it does come with consequences. One of them is to your health. You would become mildly ill if you decided to go through with this... procedure. The illness is treatable, and almost never goes beyond the stage of a nuisance, but you would have it.”

“What is the procedure, exactly?” Harry asked.

“I suppose you could call it beating Voldemort at his own game,” Moony said with a smile. “He took your blood forcibly, which created the connection between you.”

“But I already had a connection with him,” Harry argued. “My scar hurt way back in first year, and he didn’t have my blood then.”

“True enough.” Moony frowned. “But this new connection, this wide-open thing, that came as a result of the blood link between you. This procedure that I’m telling you about might return the link to what it used to be, just a way for you to know if Voldemort is nearby.”

“But what is it?”

“I’m coming to that. So Voldemort took your blood. But he gave you nothing in return. You don’t have any part of him in you. That makes your link necessarily weaker than a link made with parts of both the people involved.”

“Like Draco and Hermione,” said Harry, nodding. “Malfoy blended their bloods, both of them, so they’re full twins.”

“Almost exactly like Draco and Hermione. They were the next point I was going to bring up.” Moony looked unaccountably nervous. “The spell that Malfoy used is not a Dark spell, Harry. It was only Dark because he used it without their permission. Back when there were more wizards in the world, when it was possible that you might not know all the purebloods around, young wizards used to get their Muggleborn sweethearts adopted by wizarding clans with that spell, with the permission of both people involved. The Muggleborns tested as blood relatives of the clan, and the parents were satisfied.”

“So... you want me to get adopted by somebody?”

“In a way.” Moony seemed very interested in his fingernails. “We hope that, if you forge a full blood bond with someone else, that bond will supersede the one you have with Voldemort, and block his access to your mind.”

“But how would a blood bond make me...” Harry trailed off. “It has to be with a wizard, doesn’t it?” he said. “The blood bond. It has to be with a grown-up wizard, to make it as much like Voldemort as you can.”

“Yes.”

“And you want it to be with someone you trust.”

Moony met his eyes. “Harry, if you do this, whoever you make this bond with would have access to your mind with a simple touch.” He reached across and laid his hand on Harry’s wrist. “Yes, I’d say trust is fairly essential. And since the bond is adoptive, the trust should be at a familial level.”

“And Voldemort could trace it back through me, to whoever I bond with, right?” Harry felt like Wolf, following a game trail in the forest. “So the fewer relatives he has, the better.”

“We think – we hope – that he can only work through ties of blood, the same way he is tied to you. But yes, he could theoretically attack any blood relatives of the man you bond with.”

“So I’d need to make a blood bond with a grown-up wizard, somebody I trust like a father, and somebody without any blood relatives around.” Harry numbered off the points on his fingers, then grinned. “Why didn’t you just say it was you to begin with?”

Moony looked terribly earnest. “Harry, I don’t want you to take this lightly. If you went through with this, you’d have lupus, as Danger does. Your case would not be nearly as severe, and you certainly wouldn’t die if we were separated for three days, but you would have lupus, so you’d need to have it treated regularly.”

“But Voldemort couldn’t get into my head.”

“So we think.” Moony sighed. “So we hope.” He stood up. “Don’t give me an answer now. Think about it until you come to Headquarters. Then we’ll make a final decision.”

“OK.” Harry started picking up the dishes and handing them to Moony. “Want to see my room?”

Moony stayed most of the rest of the afternoon, telling Harry only a little more about Headquarters than Tonks had, but giving him a more definite estimate of the time needed to make the place secure – two weeks or less. “I won’t promise, but there’s a very good possibility you could have your birthday there instead of here,” he said. “Mind you, that’s only if everything goes well. I wish Sirius were with us, but he’s needed where he is. The more purebloods we can convince to be on our side, or at least stay neutral...”

“Yeah, and what about the werewolves?” Harry asked. “Are you going to have to go talk to them?”

“At this point, Harry, I doubt if they’d listen.” Moony sat down on Harry’s bed. “I was obscure during the first war. Now I’m a celebrity, a famous ‘passer.’ I’ve done things in mainstream wizarding society most werewolves only dream about. I’d be lucky to get anything but growls and rocks. But we have found a replacement, a young man who’s just as obscure as I once was.”

“Tell him to run for his life,” Harry advised.

“Do it yourself. His name’s Brian Li, and he’ll be moving into Headquarters as soon as it’s habitable, so you’ll get to know him before you go back to school. About the same age as Tonks, and very personable, very nice young man...”

Finally, Moony had to go. Harry hugged his Pack-father for a long moment in the front hall, noticing that he could see more over the man’s shoulder than he used to. Then Moony smiled at him, turned, and walked out the front door.

Just in time for Aunt Petunia to pull into the drive.

Moony nodded to her politely and kept walking.

Aunt Petunia stared after him, her mouth a perfect O. Dudley said something to her, but she didn’t seem to hear. Instead, she got out of the car and kept staring, watching Moony until he turned the corner. Her face seemed to say she was trying to remember something that had happened a long time ago.

Harry slipped back inside and up to his room, where he took the photo of the Pack off his desk and hid it under the socks in his cauldron. If his aunt found it, it was even odds she’d recognize either Danger or Hermione, and he wasn’t up to explaining.

Yes, your neighbor whom you used to call a slut stole me out of your house, along with her werewolf husband, and together they put a mysterious curse on you that ruined your lives...

Though the expressions on the Dursleys’ faces would be rather funny.

xXxXx

Harry awoke muzzily in the middle of the night, aware that he’d kicked off the covers.

My hands are cold. My feet are cold.

Why is the back of my neck warm?

He reached behind him and felt.

Oh. Fur. Right.

His eyes drifted shut again. Then snapped open.

Fur?

He switched on the light and sat up.

The small brown fox curled up on his pillow opened one eye and gave a protesting whine.

“What the bloody hell?”

The fox yawned, then opened its other eye and stared at him.

Harry blinked blearily and squinted. The fox’s eyes were gray.

“Oh,” he said as the truth dawned on him. “Summer coat, right?”

The fox nodded, then yawned again, ostentatiously.

“All right, already.” Harry shut off the light, snagged the sheet from its place on the floor, and lay back down.

A paw scraped along the back of his neck, making him shudder with a sensation halfway between scratching an itch and being tickled. Before he could say anything, someone else did.

Move your big hairy head, you’re hogging the whole pillow.

“It’s my pillow, I can hog it if I want to.” But Harry scooted over a little. “Better?”

Much. Thank you ever so.

Harry yawned himself. “Don’t be so sarcastic,” he muttered as sleep crept back up on him. “You’ll stick like that.”

“Haven’t yet.”

Harry turned around. Draco grinned at him and took off running. “Come on, slowpoke,” he shouted over his shoulder. “This way to the den-night!”

Harry transformed into Wolf, howled with glee, and gave chase.





Facing Danger

Chapter 2: Challenging (Year 5)


Chapter 2: Challenging

Wolf-Danger lifted her nose to the dream moon, like its real counterpart two days past full. Her song echoed into the night, calling the Pack’s wanderers towards the Den, for night was short and merriment long.

I wish I could call Sirius this way, but without a direct link, it would take more magic than I have to spare. And he’s a grown man. He’ll survive another two weeks without us.

An answering howl and a yipping bark brought her back to the present. She changed forms and rose to her feet. “They’re coming!” she called.

“I hear that,” Remus answered, laughing. “I was starting to wonder if they’d ever make it.”

“Draco had to wait until Dursley was asleep,” Meghan said as Danger slid down from the outcropping of rock where she’d been perched. “He didn’t want Dursley deciding this was a good night to do something nasty to Harry and finding him there.”

“That makes sense.” Remus straightened the tablecloth on the long picnic table holding an array of the Pack’s favorite foods. “Do you know when they’ll get here?”

“When they want to,” Danger said, swiping a finger through the roasted eggplant dip.

Hermione made a face. “Yuck.”

“No germs in dreams, sweetheart.” Danger picked up a crisp with her other hand and transferred the dip.

“I know, but it’s still disgusting.”

“Be grateful Sirius isn’t here,” Aletha said. “He’d have taken that as a challenge to see just how many ways he could be disgusting.”

“Why do you think I don’t say things like that in front of him?”

“Faster, slave!” roared an imperious voice from within the forest that surrounded the Pack’s gathering place. “Hurry!”

“Yes, master,” came a whining reply. “Of course, master. Would master like some onion dip?”

“Don’t be a fool, slave. You know I hate onions.”

“Yes, master. Of course, master.”

The bowl of onion dip on the table lifted from its place, then shot outwards. A splat, a yelp, and a loud thud later, Draco darted into the clearing, looking pleased with himself.

“You two,” Danger said, shaking her head. “Honestly.”

“Yes, us two honestly. Who were you expecting?” Draco grabbed a piece of toasted pita bread and scooped up a generous supply of hummus on it.

“Maybe someone with sense, or manners.” Danger ladled out a cup of punch for Draco and held it out to him. “Excuse me.”

Wolf was about a hundred yards from the clearing, dunking his head in a small stream. Danger stroked him twice from forehead to tail, and every trace of the dip was gone, even the smell. “Don’t kill him,” she said. “That’s all we ask.”

Wolf bounded a few paces away and shook, then changed back into Harry and returned for his hug. “I won’t,” he said. “I might dunk him a few times, though.”

“Maybe.” Danger pinched her fingers shut in front of her eyes, then her ears, indicating that she was officially blind and deaf on this matter. “Come on, everyone’s waiting for you.”

xXxXx

“It started as a double piggyback game,” Draco said after all the fighting was over. “I rode Wolf part of the way here, and then I carried Harry for part of the way. Except he decided to be a prat about it.”

Harry raked his hand through his hair. “Just letting words reflect the truth,” he said.

“Do you need a haircut?” Letha inquired blandly.

Harry detected a hint of censure in her tone. “No, I’m fine.” He leaned back against the rock. “So what’s been going on at home that you can’t tell me about in letters?”

Everyone tried to answer at once. The babble finally got sorted into individual voices, and Harry listened to accounts of the strange smells the twins made in the corner of the basement they’d claimed for their own, of the silencing charms placed on the music room so that those inclined to practice could do so without driving the rest of the house mad, of the exercise sessions that were growing steadily harder as the summer went on.

“I was so sore the other day I could barely move,” Draco said, stretching as if expecting to find the same aches in his dream body. “But I felt a little better this morning. And I know the best way to get rid of stiffness is to keep going.”

“What have you been doing, Harry?” Meghan asked.

“Going out for runs, a few calisthenics in my room. I’ll have to step it up if I’m going to keep up with you lot.”

“When do you run?” Moony asked. “I thought they kept you busy.”

“They do, but they’re usually out during the day.”

“You had better be wearing sunscreen, and drinking plenty of water,” Letha said with warning in her tone. “Before, after, and during if you can manage it. Running in the middle of the day, in the middle of the summer, is just stupid otherwise.”

Harry nodded. “I am and I do, and I know. I’d run at night, but Professor Dumbledore said stay on the property after dark. So that’s when I do press-ups and crunches and such, up in my room. That and the housework, I’m tired when I go to bed.”

“It’s just as well you’ve never been one to claim what I do all day is easy,” Danger said, smiling. “Otherwise, you’d be eating your words by now.”

“With everything you always made us do?” Harry retorted. “I knew it wasn’t easy, from the time I was a baby.”

“We all did,” said Hermione absently.

Harry looked over at his sister. “You’re being quiet,” he said. “Is something wrong?”

“Are you saying that when I’m quiet, there’s something wrong?”

“No.” Harry held up his hands in surrender. “You’re just not talking much. I wondered if something’s bothering you.”

“Not really. Though I am worried about Luna. We told you about her.”

“Yeah, you told me. Is it any better now?”

“Since Danger put a stop on it, it is. I just hope there’s some way she can control it herself.”

“And that she finds it out soon,” Draco added. “So she doesn’t scratch me again.”

“But there is something I wanted to tell you about.” Hermione sat up straighter and settled her shoulders. “Harry, I’m the Pride’s liaison with the Order.”

“Okay...” Harry let this filter into place in his mind. “So what does that mean, exactly?”

“It means I go to some of the Order meetings, and bring the news back to the Pride about what’s going on.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“It’s only just started. I found out today.”

“All right. So you report to us what’s going on with the Order.”

“Everything I’m allowed to tell.” Hermione looked nervous. “There might be some things I can’t pass on.”

“I thought that was why you weren’t allowed to go to some of the meetings.”

“It is, but there might be things, even in the meetings I do attend, that I can’t tell you.”

Harry felt a deep rumble of disquiet within him. “So you’re keeping secrets from us now?”

“Because I have to! You’d do the same, if it was you!”

“And why isn’t it me?” Harry stood up, his restlessness transforming into movement. “It has to be you for the next two weeks, while I’m gone, but is it going to be me when I get back?”

“It can’t be, Harry, you know that.”

“But what if my mind was safe?” Harry glanced at Moony, but the man’s eyes were fixed on Hermione. “What if Voldemort couldn’t get in? Would it still be you then?”

“Why shouldn’t it be?”

“Because I’m the alpha of the Pride!”

“And so am I!”

Harry laughed sharply. “You’re only alpha because I am, and you know it, Neenie. Tell me the last time you led in anything – go on, tell me.” He grinned triumphantly at the look of shock on her face. “See? You’re not a real alpha. Just a placeholder.”

Shock on Hermione’s face transmuted into anger, and her dagger appeared in her hand –

And flashed through the air to bury its point in the earth at Harry’s feet.

“Challenge,” Hermione snapped, indicating the quivering dagger. “Three rounds. Staffs, wands, and forms. Best two out of three.”

Harry drew his own dagger and flung it downwards, burying it so close beside Hermione’s that the pommel stones brushed. “Done,” he said.

“Done,” Hermione echoed. “You choose the first round.”

“Wands,” Harry said without hesitation. “And no cheating.”

Hermione’s lips pulled back from her teeth for a moment. “The same to you, alpha. ”

Danger’s expansive gesture widened the clearing, moving everything breakable out of range. Draco and Meghan scrambled up onto the rocks to watch. Letha stood below them, her arms folded.

“Face each other and bow,” Moony instructed.

Harry bowed as he might on the dance floor. Hermione’s bow was stiffly formal.

“Turn away and walk seven paces.”

Harry let his anger fill every step. How dare Hermione try to take his place, the place that should be his by right? How dare she claim to be alpha alongside him, when she hadn’t faced half the dangers he had? He was the only fit alpha for the Pride – he needed no one’s help...

“On the count of three, face your opponent and cast. One – two – three!”

Harry spun. “Expelliarmus ! ”

“Oppilius ! ” Hermione cried, and Harry’s spell bounced off at an angle. Danger leapt out of its way –

“Petrificus ! ”

Harry dodged, but not quite enough, and the Partial Body-Bind caught his left arm, stiffening it and throwing off his reactions. He cursed, and turned it into a spell. “Fluctusempra ! ”

Hermione yelped as her arms began to wave about uncontrollably. Harry took a moment to get the curse off his left side, then straightened up. “Stupefy! ” he shouted, ready to finish this.

But Hermione dodged the spell by throwing herself to the ground, and in the moment of impact, while her wand was pointing at him, let the breath driven out of her body carry a spell with it. “Nescio ! ”

“Oppilorbis ! ” Harry yelled, and the spell hit his Disk Block just in time –

Or had it?

Had what?

Where was he?

What was going on?

His senses clamored at him, insisting something important was going on – the girl now sitting on her hand, with a wooden stick pointed towards him, she was important somehow –

Something red flew from the stick towards him. Part of his mind insisted ducking was a good idea –

Or maybe I should try and throw one back at her. What did she say to make it come out again?

“Stupefy, ” Harry murmured lazily, just as the red light struck him.

When he blinked awake, he did so fully aware of his surroundings and of what had happened to him, and sat up instantly, making Letha curse as she leapt backwards. “Sorry,” he said automatically, looking around for Hermione and finding her sitting against a rock on the other side of the clearing, looking as sulky as he felt. “So, if I lost, do I get to pick the next round?”

“You didn’t lose,” Danger said.

“But Hermione knocked me out.”

“Yes, but you knocked her out as well,” said Moony. “You got off an invisible Stunner, and she couldn’t duck what she couldn’t see. It’s not as powerful as the full-force kind, but it works. Should we call this round a tie by reason of mutual knock-out, or try to judge it on points?”

“Points,” Harry and Hermione said at the same moment, fiercely.

“All right.” Moony’s smile indicated he’d expected no less. “Hermione had one fully successful block, two solid hits with the Not-Knowing Spell and the Stunner, and a grazing hit with the Partial Body-Bind. Harry had one partly successful block, two solid hits with the Arm-Waving Charm and the invisible Stunner – extra points for that, it’s hard to manage – a Disarmer blocked and a Stunner dodged, but both produced properly.” He looked back and forth between them. “You’re sure you wouldn’t care to call it a tie?”

“Just go on and say she won,” Harry said bitterly.

“Very well. Hermione wins.”

From their rock, Draco and Meghan cheered. Harry glared at them.

“You do have the right to pick the next round, Harry,” said Danger. “Staffs or forms?”

Time to shake things up a little. “Staffs,” Harry said.

“You’re sure?” said Hermione in surprise.

“Positive.” Harry caught the pole Danger tossed to him. “On guard.”

They tapped tops and bottoms as they did before a bout on den-night, then took up guard positions.

Harry forced anger away, concentrating on the fire. Fire burned where it had fuel and air, and moved to wherever there was more of those. He would be like fire, striking fast, moving past defenses –

Crack-crack. He blocked Hermione’s first two strikes without thinking.

They had trained together in staff work to begin with. Though she might know some new tricks from her time alone with Krum, she’d likely revert to her old ways under stress, like now.

Crack-whack. Another block, and this time he struck back at her. Hermione blocked him, but her eyes were narrowed, watching him.

Harry aimed three more strikes, and had the answer he was looking for. She’s weaker low, and on her right. If I can catch her there...

He feinted left, darted right, hooked the end of his staff into Hermione’s knee, and jerked. She fell with a little cry, cut off as her back hit the ground hard, and Harry blocked her reflex blow at him with no trouble. Another hook and pull sent her staff flying, and he laid the end of his staff across her neck. “Yield?” he asked.

Hermione nodded jerkily, and Harry took the staff away.

“Go Harry!” shouted Meghan as Draco whistled through his fingers.

“Whose side are you on?” Harry asked.

“Do we have to be on a side?” Draco asked innocently. “I thought this was just for fun.”

“Last round,” announced Letha in a carrying tone before Harry could formulate a proper reply. “Animagus forms. When you’re ready, Hermione.”

“Just a second.” Hermione was on her feet, rubbing her back. “Let me catch my breath.”

Harry grounded his staff and watched it disappear in the way of dream-things no longer needed. The daggers had moved as well, he noticed, or the clearing had. The space where he and Hermione battled was empty of anything but dirt and grass.

And us.

“I’m ready,” Hermione announced. “Harry?”

“Ready.” Harry crouched, Wolf’s shape already in his mind.

“Wait for it,” Moony admonished. “Ready, steady, change!”

Harry threw himself forward, his arms already altering, legs and body shifting, head – ah, much better – now he could smell properly, and hear –

There was no cat in front of him.

Where –

Before he could do more than register that the cat-scent had moved, eighteen points of pain erupted on his back. Wolf arched and howled, then flung himself to one side to try to dislodge his rider.

His howl moved up several notes. Before he’d flung her off, Neenie must have fastened her teeth into one of his ears – it was torn and bleeding, and it hurt –

No time for that! Find the prey!

He spun. The calico cat danced backward, tail lashing, fur bushed. She swiped at the air with her claws fully extended, and Wolf balked at the thought of closing with those claws –

Never mind the claws! Get in and use your teeth, it’ll be over before you know it!

He charged across the clearing, and when Neenie leapt straight up, instead of halting or slowing, he moved faster.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...

An angry yowl from behind him showed he’d calculated correctly. Paw pads skidded as Wolf turned on a Knut and charged again. His left forepaw reached out and slapped Neenie, it should have sent her reeling, knocked almost senseless –

Except that she must have seen it coming, as she jumped towards it, and latched on with all eighteen claws and her teeth, digging in. Wolf howled and shook his paw frantically, trying to dislodge her, until he realized he had an opportunity here – if I step on her, I’ll squash her, drive her breath out, break things – she can’t possibly keep fighting, I’m eight times her size –

He made to stamp his paw down onto the earth, but somehow Neenie recognized the movement and swarmed farther up his leg, meaning that his torn and bleeding paw struck the ground with more than usual force. Wolf yelped, and his left front leg buckled, dropping him on his face.

Faster than thought Neenie was on him, fastened to his throat, teeth and claws digging in just deeply enough to let him know where they were, hissing every time she exhaled.

Wolf whined and let himself slump in defeat.

Shit. Double shit. How could I lose?

Neenie backed away and Hermione stood up, breathing fast and looking down at him. “Now,” she said deliberately. “Am I alpha because you let me be, or am I alpha because I deserve to be?”

Harry changed back, but didn’t bother standing up. “You deserve it,” he admitted. “It was fair. You beat me.”

And if I can’t even beat my own sister, how well will I do against Death Eaters?

Hermione sat down, cross-legged. “That was hard,” she said, tilting her head to peer into Harry’s face. “I don’t know if I could do it again.”

“I’m sure you could.” Harry rolled over and sat up facing away from Hermione.

Away from everyone. Everyone had to see me make an idiot of myself.

Well, not quite everyone. But I know everyone will hear about it.

“Harry,” Hermione said quietly behind him.

“What?” Harry spun back, suddenly furious. “You want me to surrender? Fine. Here.” He tipped his head back and gritted his teeth.

And the worst part is, she’ll probably do a better job as alpha than I do...

Two cool fingers touched Harry’s throat, then withdrew. “But I don’t want to be the only one in charge,” Hermione murmured. “I just want my fair share. We’re both alphas. Partners.”

Harry lowered his head to look at her. “Partners?”

Hermione smiled. “Until you find someone who can do the job better.” She tilted her head back in her turn.

Harry laid his fingers on her throat, feeling her breath move within. “Or until you do,” he said, letting the words speak the apologies he couldn’t voice.

How many times do I have to learn? I’m not alpha because God leaned down from heaven and made me that way. I can lose my place, I will lose it if I do it wrong, and I always need help with it. And I’m too young for a mate, so Hermione’s my best help right now.

A vague thought teased the corner of his mind. I wonder how Cho would do as an alpha female...

Rather than pursue that line of thought too far, Harry stood up, walked over to the daggers, and pulled them free of the ground. He handed Hermione’s back to her, then laid his own on his right palm. She did the same, and they both placed left hands on top of the bare blades.

Loyalty, to the Pride and to each other. Sworn and sealed.

“Alphas together,” Hermione said.

“Alphas for... well, not forever,” Harry returned.

Hermione met his eyes. “Until it’s time to change.”

“Yes. Until it’s time to change.”

They sheathed their daggers together, then turned back to the rest of their Pack. “So,” said Harry. “Any tips?”

“Know where your opponent is at all times,” Moony said immediately.

“And don’t bother with finesse if you’re fighting something little and fast,” Draco added from above. “Just kill it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if I’m ever fighting you,” Harry shot back.

“Hermione, you’ll need to practice some moves to guard against being pulled down,” said Letha. “That would be a very effective disable for your opponent to use, though in a real fight I’m sure you’d change and land on your feet...”

xXxXx

Sirius Black lay on a beautifully kept lawn and stared at the stars.

Half my family up there, he thought idly. Not all out tonight, but they’re there.

A light footstep alerted him that he was no longer alone. He sat up, then hastily stood. “Mam’selle Gamp,” he said, bowing slightly.

“M’sieur Black.” Elladora Gamp’s curtsey was just as shallow. “Could you not sleep?”

“Not well. I find it unseasonably warm.”

“And thus you come outdoors, where the heat is unmitigated, rather than remaining within, where our host’s Climate Charms regulate the temperature.”

Is she laughing at me? I think she’s laughing at me. “I find the open air stimulating,” Sirius said. “And walls often confining.”

Elladora seated herself beside him, but her voice lost none of its slightly poisonous edge. “And what of the company? Do you find that alternately confining and stimulating as well?”

Yes. And “stimulating” not always in a good way... “I have grown unused to such gatherings as I now attend,” Sirius said cautiously. “If I have acted rudely, I humbly beg your pardon.”

Elladora sniffed. “Fine words,” she said coolly. “Fine words, from one who has betrayed his people over and over. Why do they all accept you now, when you spurned them and turned from them for so long? Why have you been welcomed back? Do you know that, M’sieur Black?”

“I take it you do not credit it to my charming personality and dashing good looks.”

“No.” Another sniff, but this one, to Sirius’ surprise, had a different quality.

Is she crying?

“No, your looks, your personality have nothing to do with that,” Elladora went on. “Nothing to do with Grandmother and the others, why they have allowed you to return. But... to some people... they matter a great deal.” Yet another sniff, this one unmistakably watery.

Oh no. Sirius felt sure that neither of the techniques he usually used to comfort crying women would be looked upon favorably by Elladora. Not that I’d want to use the one for her that I use for Letha. And I just know she’d take the one I use for Danger all wrong...

“So why have your grandmother, and the other pillars of pureblood society, allowed me to return?” he asked, opting for the safe route and merely conjuring Elladora a handkerchief.

“Because.” Sirius winced at one of the more unromantic sounds related to crying. “Because they hope to perpetuate themselves a little farther. One more generation. Perhaps two. It’s all they can hope for, and they know it, but they want those generations, so much...”

“And they hope that because I seem to want to come back,” Sirius said slowly, “I’d be willing to join their little breeding program.”

Elladora dabbed at her eyes. “Yes. And...” Another, rather prolonged, sniffle. “Grandmother told me last night that my cause was all but lost. Give it up! she said. Let Corona take our blood into the future! And Corona smiled, and said she would, and...” She began to sob.

“Elladora,” Sirius began uncertainly.

“It isn’t fair! ” Elladora cried out. “She has always been the favorite, the perfect one, everything she’s ever wanted she’s had! She was the Slytherin, I was the traitor in Ravenclaw... she has the looks, while all I have are brains. ” She spat the word.

“Brains aren’t so bad,” said Sirius. Of course, I’m not speaking from experience, since I’m so often told I don’t have any.

“Spoken like a man,” Elladora said bitterly. “Tell me...” Sirius felt his arm clutched. “Tell me that men sometimes seek a woman with a mind. Lie to me if you must, but tell me.”

“Well, I certainly did.”

A long pause.

“Do you mean that?” Elladora breathed. “Do you really?”

Oh damn. “Elladora – look, it’s not what you think...”

“You do.” She wasn’t listening. “You do – you really do – oh, Sirius! ” His fingers were starting to lose sensation from her grip on his arm. “You really want me!”

“Er... no.” Sirius gently began to loosen her fingers. “Elladora, look, you’re a good person, smart, strong...” Very strong. “But I’m just not interested in you that way.”

“Corona,” Elladora hissed, clutching him harder. “I should have known... I’ll fight her, I’ll kill her for this, she can’t have you...”

“No! Will you listen to me for a second? Dammit, I’m married! ”

This pause went on longer than the last, and was distinctly more awkward.

“Married?” Elladora repeated finally. “But – but – I’d heard... I’d thought... but you wear no ring, and no contract was ever registered in your name...”

“It was a Muggle wedding,” Sirius said, pulling himself free. “But it’s still valid.”

“A Muggle wedding?” Elladora laughed harshly. “With a Muggle – yes, I remember now...”

“A witch,” Sirius said firmly. “Muggleborn, but as much a witch as you.”

“Ha.” Elladora seemed to be standing up – or crouching down – what was she doing? “She couldn’t possibly be...”

She threw herself at Sirius and kissed him with all the force of desperation.

Oh God... can’t... breathe...

Sirius reached around Elladora’s back and tweaked a lock of her hair. He might have used too much force, but the result was satisfactory. The woman jerked away from him, an unladylike curse escaping from her lips.

Sirius stood up quickly. “Thank you for the offer,” he said unsteadily, resisting the urge to wipe his lips. Wait until she can’t see you. “But I’m afraid I’m not interested. Good night, Mam’selle.”

He hurried toward the house, pretending he didn’t hear, behind him, disbelieving laughter slipping into tears.

xXxXx

In the kitchen of Number Seventeen the next morning, Harry donned a voluminous apron. “Quit laughing,” he said irritably as Snow Fox sniggered. “I’m doing this for you, I’ll have you know.”

The fox pointed a paw at himself, the picture of innocence.

“There’s a nice big pocket, here in the front.” Harry held it open. “Inside with you.”

The fox leaped from the chair where he’d been sitting and disappeared into the pocket just as thumping feet on the stairs announced the arrival of Dudley on the ground floor.

“Good morning, Dudley,” Harry said cheerfully, turning back to the stove.

“Morning, Potter,” said Dudley in a suspicious tone. “What’s with the apron?”

“I don’t want to mess up my clothes. It’d be a shame to get them all stained with food.”

It was, of course, sheer coincidence that Harry’s hand slipped as he was delivering Dudley’s plate to the table. Or it could have been the small brown paw that poked him hard in the stomach.

Dudley leapt up with a yell, brushing eggs from his shirt.

“Sorry,” Harry said quickly, kneeling down to pick up what could be picked up. “Sorry, let me get it... don’t do that,” he hissed downwards.

The fox licked his chops and looked hopeful.

Harry rolled his eyes and dropped several pieces of bacon into the apron pocket.

Dudley changed his clothes after breakfast, and made a mess of his room while doing it, so Harry had that to clean up as well as his usual chores. Still, the work went faster with someone to talk to, and occasionally be answered by as Snow Fox found a perch where he could share Harry’s pendant chain.

And wouldn’t Aunt Petunia just have a fit if she saw a filthy animal sitting on her kitchen table and eating lunch off her good china?

Luna helped me finish the spells, before she went quite so weird, and we took the potion a few days ago. Snow Fox nibbled a piece of leftover pot roast. She’s much quicker at doing the change than I am, though. Lucky I don’t have to change while I’m here.

“Yeah, lucky.” Harry mashed peas with his fork. “How has she been weird? I know she’s got her Seeing back, but I never thought she was a Seer like Trelawney.”

Well, she’s Seen like that occasionally, but never this way, like she can’t stop it. Danger said bottling her power up for a year made it go ways it shouldn’t. We’ll probably find out more at the birthday party. An image accompanying the words made the reference clear.

Harry pushed his plate away and let his elbows rest on the table. “Do you ever feel like we’re in too deep?” he asked.

Constantly.

“No, I’m – I mean it. We can do loads of weird stuff, we know people and talk to people who’ve been dead for a thousand years... maybe this isn’t the way things were supposed to happen. Maybe we were just supposed to fight the war without all this.”

Snow Fox shrugged one shoulder. Maybe. But think about it this way, Harry. If the weird stuff saves somebody’s life, somebody who would have died otherwise...

“Well, that wouldn’t be so bad.”

The fox’s head tilted to one side. Second year? You, Quidditch, fall, Meghan?

“What is this, speak in only one word day? Yes, I remember.”

What about first year, when we knew Hermione was in trouble with the troll? Or when the Pack-parents showed up just in time to save us in the Forest? Or second year again, when Neville shielded us to keep Norbert a secret? And when you and Ginny beat Riddle’s diary with your dagger and speaking Parseltongue? Do I really have to go on?

Harry sighed. “No. You’re right.” He pulled his plate closer to him again and doodled in the mashed peas with a fingertip. “I suppose what matters is that we got through all of that, not that we did loads of weird stuff to get through it.”

In other words, it is not our abilities that make us who we are, but our choices.

“All right, that’s it.” Harry grabbed Snow Fox by the scruff of the neck. “I’ll take that from Dumbledore, I’ll take that from Moony, but I bloody well won’t take it from you.”

Ow ! That hurts!

“Not nearly as much as this will.” Harry dumped his brother into the sink and turned on the cold water, full force.

Gackblthtatpht –

Harry reclaimed his chain and watched the fox flounder under the stream. “No more than you deserve,” he said aloud. “Besides, you stink.”

Snow Fox located the faucet and pawed it off, then leapt onto the counter and posed. Harry realized his danger just in time and dropped to the floor as the fox shook hard.

And now I have to clean in here again. I’m just full of brains, aren’t I?

“That wasn’t very nice,” said Letha from the other side of the room. “Either of you.”

Snow Fox yipped happily and leapt from the counter to the table, which he pattered across, leaving small wet footprints behind. Letha stroked him with one hand, then dried it on her cloak.

“You and I, sir, are going to the end of the street,” she said levelly. “You will transform back into a human, you will return here with me, and you and Harry will clean this kitchen together. Understood?”

Harry grinned and came around the table. “I knew there was a reason I liked you best, Letha,” he said.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Letha said, hugging him with her free arm. “And no, it’s no use whining about it,” she said to Snow Fox, who had rolled onto his back and was doing exactly that, looking up at her pitifully. “You’d best get used to it, in fact. Our new Headquarters is quite dirty, and every spare pair of hands will be needed to help clean it out.”

“You’ve been there too,” said Harry interestedly. “What’s it like?”

Letha shook her head. “I can’t tell you much, Harry, not without breaking secrecy, and what I can tell you I’d better tell you after I get back with Draco. Wait here, we won’t be long.”

Snow Fox grumbled under his breath, but sprang into Letha’s arms and let himself be carried out the front door.

xXxXx

An old house, abandoned or as good as, but it belongs to someone in the Order. Harry waved to Letha and Draco, his mind busily working over the problem of Headquarters. And somewhere I’ve been – she didn’t say as much, but she hinted at it.

I suppose it could be Malfoy Manor...

Harry had to laugh. Wouldn’t that be funny? A place that was probably a headquarters for one side during the last war, turning into headquarters for the other side during this one...

But no. It’s too big, too obvious, too easy to find. It’d have to be something else. Somewhere else.

Deep in the back of his mind, he had a suspicion, but he was content to let it stay there for the moment.

It won’t matter until I’m there. He took the stairs two at a time, headed for his bedroom. And when I’m there, it’ll be safe for me to know.

Thinking of safety brought him back to his conversation with Moony the day before. He’d asked Letha about it while Draco finished the kitchen, “since you’re a Healer for real now,” and after enduring a mild shaking for cheek, had listened to what she had to say.

xXxXx

“I want you to understand, Harry, that Remus would never deliberately mislead you,” Letha began, her hands still in her lap. “But part of him wants this link between you very much indeed, and I think he’s listening to that part too much to give you a truly fair look at your options.”

Harry nodded. “He was acting awfully weird about it,” he said.

“I suspect he’s trying to reconcile the facts about the case and what he feels about it. Shall I see if I can do a better job of laying out the facts, since I have a bit more distance?”

Harry assumed a listening attitude.

“If you blood-bonded to Remus, with the form of the ritual that would make you the equivalent of father and son, you would be taking his blood into your body, which means you would almost certainly become a carrier for lycanthropy,” Letha began. “And as we’ve already established, that manifests itself as the disease lupus. What did Remus tell you about it?”

“He said it probably wouldn’t be anything worse than a nuisance.”

“And properly controlled, it likely wouldn’t be. But the trick is finding out what properly controls it. The truth is, Harry, we don’t have any previous information on this. We know the symptoms of lupus, and there are certainly potions and spells to treat those symptoms, but how strong would you need them? In what proportions to each other? Would any of them have bad reactions to one another, or would you have bad reactions to them?” Letha shrugged. “You see what I deal with every day.”

“How bad would I be, without potions?” Harry asked. “Moony said I wouldn’t be as bad as Danger, and I wouldn’t have the bit about dying if I’m away for three days.”

“No, you certainly wouldn’t have that.” Letha laughed. “As far as I’ve been able to tell – but don’t tell Remus and Danger I’ve been watching them – the escalation of symptoms they both went through is due not to any normal manifestation of lupus or lycanthropy, but to the soul-bond between them.”

“It holds the diseases back, until Moony and Danger are apart,” Harry said. “Almost like Luna’s power. Because she held it back and didn’t use it, now it’s stronger than it was, and hurting her.”

“Yes, very like that. If I had to guess, I would think that your symptoms would normally be no worse than Danger’s around the first day that Remus was gone. Pain and swelling in your joints, a possibility of fever, maybe some tingling or numbness in your hands and feet. But still, that’s a significant amount to be carrying around with you all the time. And lupus flares up sometimes, gets much worse all of a sudden. Stress seems to bring it on.”

“So I’d be studying for a test, or getting ready for a Quidditch match, and all of a sudden I’d be sick,” said Harry. “Or sicker.”

“Yes.” Letha sighed. “Harry, I don’t want to see you ill,” she said softly. “I always used to hate it, even when you’d get a cough or a cold, even when I knew a potion would make it better. And no potion can make this better. If you do this, you’ll have lupus for good.”

“I could get the symptoms treated,” Harry argued.

“Yes, but it will take time, possibly weeks, maybe even months, to find the right treatments. And even once we’d found them, you’d have to take them every day. No skipping, no missing, unless you want a bad flare-up. What’s more, this would be a weakness that could be exploited. What if a Death Eater learned about it, and found a spell to break the treatments?”

“You don’t want me to do this, do you?” Harry challenged. “You think it’s a bad idea.”

Letha lifted her hands helplessly. “What can I say to the truth?”

“How about looking at the other side of it? If I did this, Voldemort couldn’t get into my head.” Harry frowned a little. “How would that work, anyway?”

“Danger researched this, not me,” said Letha, “but she told me about it. Let me see if I can remember... the idea behind it is twofold. First, the bond you have with Voldemort is dependent on blood. If your blood changes, his link to you will be weakened. Second, this new bond with Remus would be very like what you have with Voldemort, except that it would be formed with the full consent of both parties, and that it would hold love.”

“And he doesn’t like love.”

Letha chuckled. “Judging by his reaction to touching you in your first year, I would say he can’t handle it at all.” Her hand rested on Harry’s for a moment. “Because of that consent and that love, the new bond would be stronger than the old, more potent. It would... the best word I can think of is outshine the other bond. It’s as if that bond is a thing of darkness, and the brighter a light you shine on it, the weaker it becomes.”

“This would make a very bright light, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes. A very bright light indeed.” Letha squeezed Harry’s hand lightly. “So those are the facts. Is there anything you want to ask?”

There were a lot of things, but most of them Harry thought he could probably work out for himself. He chose something he couldn’t. “Is there a time limit to this? Do I have to do it now, or within a month, or within a year, to make sure it works?”

“No. It might have been marginally easier to block your bond with Voldemort before it was fully formed, but I think it’s too late for that. So no, no time limit. Think about it all you want –and please, Harry, do think about it. It’s a very big decision.”

Harry nodded. “I don’t want to sound rude,” he said hesitantly, “but isn’t there anyone else I could do this with? I know I shouldn’t with Padfoot, because then Voldemort might be able to get at Meghan – but couldn’t he get at Danger just as easily, if I did it with Moony?”

Letha shook her head. “There’s no blood between those two,” she said. “They are bonded, but it’s a love-bond. I don’t think Voldemort could use that without doing himself serious damage.”

“Okay. But what I asked – maybe, is there someone else?”

“I asked the same thing, when I realized what this would mean,” Letha said. “The only person we could come up with was Albus himself, and he vetoed it when we brought it up. He thanked us for the idea, but said that he’s old and feeble...”

Harry snorted.

“Agreed. But he also has a brother, and possibly other relatives.”

“Like he couldn’t protect them,” Harry said. “He’d know how to do it if anyone would.”

“Quite true.” Letha’s eyebrows lowered. “Now that I think of it, he never did give us a truly solid reason why he wouldn’t be a good choice. But he seemed very fond of the idea of you and Remus bonding.”

“Did he say why?” Harry asked, then raised a hand to forestall an answer. “Never mind, I know he didn’t. He never does.”

“No, he never does,” Letha agreed. “But by the same token, he’s very often right.”

Harry slumped in his chair. “I wish I had some answers,” he grumbled. “All I ever get is more questions.”

“Welcome to real life,” Letha said lightly. “Home of the unanswered question, the unsolvable puzzle, and the unopenable lock.” Her lips quirked. “There is one other adult male member of the Order without relatives, you know. And he might be willing to do this, though I wouldn’t swear to it.”

“Who?”

“Severus.”

Harry bolted upright in his chair. “Snape? You want me to – to – ew! No!”

“Just checking,” said Letha, her smile now open. “Making sure you’re still sane, after all the gobbledygook I’ve poured into your head.”

“It is not. Even if I think I forgot half of it already.”

“Oh, is that how you manage to achieve the grades you do?”

“Hey, I’m proud of my grades.”

“Yes, well, we’ll see how proud you are of your O.W.L. results. You’re getting your summer work done, I hope.”

xXxXx

The conversation from there had taken a more motherly turn, and when Draco joined them it had become just another Pack-talk, like so many others Harry could remember. It had lasted nearly two hours, until someone looked at the clock and discovered the Dursleys were due back any minute, and Harry had quickly hugged Letha goodbye and shaken Draco’s hand in the pattern they’d invented when they were small...

Standing up, he crossed his room and dug through his trunk until he found what he was looking for. Captured forever within their frame, the Pack smiled and waved at him.

“I think I’m jealous,” Harry muttered to his photographic self. “At least you get to stay with them.”

“Who?”

Harry didn’t jump as high as he might have, since his nose had warned him a split second ahead of the voice that someone was at his door. However, he did jump, and came down facing the opposite way. “Aunt Petunia,” he acknowledged, forcing his breathing back to a more usual pattern.

“May I... come in?” the woman asked, peering around the door.

“Um, yes. Sure. Come on in.” Harry whisked a random sock off the seat of the desk chair and pulled it out for her. “Sit down.” He set the picture carefully on the nightstand, facing away from her.

Aunt Petunia’s eyes flicked over it, but she declined comment. “Someone was here,” she said. “From your... family.”

“Yes,” Harry said, sitting down on the bed. “Most of the day.”

“I can always tell, you know. Not by the house, you keep that clean, but by the way you act.” Aunt Petunia’s eyes were boring into him. “You’re happy when they’ve been here. You smile and hum and do anything we ask without even looking like you want to complain.”

Harry shrugged. “I like seeing my family.”

“Who are they?” Aunt Petunia asked bluntly. “Who was it that took you away from us, all those years ago? I know there are other children involved, Dudley’s mentioned a brother and at least one sister, possibly two...”

“One brother, two sisters,” Harry said, deciding to keep things factual. “One of the girls is younger by about three years, the others are my age. We’re not actually related, or not very closely, but we all grew up together.”

“And your parents? The man I saw leaving here yesterday...”

“Yes.”

“I’ve seen him somewhere before, I’m sure of it, but I can’t place it,” Aunt Petunia said in frustration. “Somewhere with you...”

Harry recognized the scent starting to pervade the room as understanding. She’ll figure it out eventually. Might as well be now. “Here,” he said, picking up the photograph and offering it to her. “This might help.”

Aunt Petunia accepted the frame cautiously.

“It moves,” Harry added quickly. “Not the frame, but the people in the picture. They move around.”

Aunt Petunia looked skeptically at him, but turned the frame so that she could see, and stared. “So they do,” she said absently. “So...”

The understanding smell suddenly increased by a factor of a thousand, and a rank odor Harry didn’t like at all joined it. His aunt’s face distorted. “Granger, ” she hissed.

“Um... yeah.” Harry edged slightly farther from her.

Aunt Petunia stared at the photograph for another moment, then abruptly thrust it back to Harry. “If I didn’t know she was out of my reach, I’d have her prosecuted,” she said. “Breaking and entering, theft, kidnapping...”

“You didn’t want me,” Harry said, anger overcoming reticence. “You wanted to forget about me. She just made that possible. She didn’t touch anything in your house except me and what was around me, and she didn’t take anything away except me. Nothing. ” A thread of pride invaded his manner. “Besides, she didn’t break anything. She had a key. You gave her one.”

Aunt Petunia was on her feet. “Enough,” she said sharply. “That’s enough. No more.” She started for the door, then, almost there, stopped.

“Did you need something else?” Harry asked, not certain even in his own mind if he meant it or was being sarcastic.

“Were you... happy?” He could barely hear his aunt’s voice. “With her. Were you? Are you?”

Harry shoved his sarcasm to the back of his mind. You’ve done enough damage for one day, thank you. Just answer the question, Harry, answer the question...

“Yes.”

Aunt Petunia nodded once, then she was gone. Harry lay back on his bed and sighed.

Well, there’s that secret out.

He inhaled deeply, and the different scents his aunt had left behind drifted over to him. Anger, of course, and resentment... a thread of hatred, a shred of envy... and hiding in the mix, almost impossible to discern...

Harry sat up to get a better scent. No way. I have to be making it up.

But his second and third samples of the air told him only what the first had. Somewhere deep within her, Petunia Dursley had some tiny vestige of guilt for what she’d done, and an even tinier scrap of gladness that Harry had known a happier life after leaving her house.

“And the verdict is...” Harry said aloud. “The subject is human, and therefore more complicated than anyone has a real right to be.”

Besides, he didn’t have to like her. He just had to put up with her for two more weeks.

Imagine what she’d have said if I’d told her about the Curse...

xXxXx

Far away, Ginny Weasley sang quietly in time with the rhythmic thumping as she wedged a lump of clay on the kitchen table of the Marauders’ Den. The song spoke of a maiden who lived alone on the seashore and of the sea-captain who had captured her to bring her to his ship, and how the maiden again won her freedom.

“And that’s forty,” she said aloud, rolling the clay into a rough ball. “That should be enough.” Wedging made sure the clay had no air pockets in it, since air pockets would explode when the clay was fired. Ginny wondered if anyone had ever experimented with small air pockets, sealed with only the lightest possible layer of clay, which were meant to explode...

Never mind. I can get into experimentation after I try some basic things.

Her father had suggested modeling when Ginny had told him how frustrated she felt, trapped in the Den. “Everyone else has something to stay busy,” she’d said. “We never see Luna, so I can’t talk to her. The twins are always in the basement with whatever they’re making, Ron plays with his models all the time, Draco has his music, Neville and Meghan have the garden... maybe Hermione can read all day, but I can’t. I have to have something to do! ”

The clay had arrived the next day. Throwing it repeatedly against the table was remarkably stress-relieving, and she had fun seeing how close she could come to the shapes she saw around her. But today, she wanted to try something different.

She started with a broad base. I’d like to think I’m not easy to upset. Get mad, yes, I do that, but I don’t want to be a damsel in distress who can’t take care of herself. She fingered her wand. Of course, as long as I keep outscoring half the Pride on the spell-throwing tests, I don’t think I’ll fall into that category.

The base took an ovoid shape under her hands. Not round, but not square or triangular with hard corners. I try not to catch people wrong, or ram into them and hurt them, but I’m not perfect.

From that broad base, the sculpture tapered upwards, growing thinner. I have weak spots. Like my temper. When I get mad, I say things I don’t mean. And I can go too far – even when I’m not mad, I sometimes have trouble figuring out when to stop teasing, or talking.

Ginny closed her eyes, sighing as the clay succumbed to her hands. Above the thin part, she began to sculpt pleasing curves and twists, ridges and valleys, where fingers or eyes might trace out pictures. Music, stories, acting, cooking, hunting, Quidditch, and now sculpting. Charms and Care of Magical Creatures. Mum and Dad, and all my crazy brothers from Bill to Ron... Neville, Meghan, Luna, Hermione, Draco...

Her fingers trailed off. She opened her eyes. The clay figure stood nearly a foot tall, adorned everywhere with sculpted patterns. Everywhere, except in one place. One area, about as big as her palm, was bare, plain clay.

She pressed her palm to it, and knew its name. Long-ago advice given by Hermione drifted back to her.

“Just be yourself.”

She looked over her sculpture, and smiled. I don’t think I’ll have too much trouble.

Carefully, she groomed the area into tiny spikes with rounded tips.

“Hey, Gin-Gin,” said Fred, coming up from the basement. “You’ve been busy.”

“That looks neat,” said George, on his twin’s heels. “What’s it supposed to be?”

Ginny smiled.

“It’s me,” she said.





Facing Danger

Chapter 3: Seeing is Believing (Year 5)


Chapter 3: Seeing is Believing

With a small pop, a woman and a fox appeared in the front room of a capacious home in Devon. “All right?” Letha asked, looking down.

Snow Fox nodded, yawning widely to get rid of the feeling Apparating always produced in his ears, then nosed at his Pack-mum’s supporting arm.

“Down you get,” Letha said, angling him so that he could leap from her arm to the floor. “Let’s see it.”

Reditio ipsi, Draco thought, and rose to his hind legs as the stretching feeling of retransforming swept over him. “How’s that?” he asked when he had a mouth that could speak again.

“Very nice,” said Letha, brushing a bit of dirt off his robes. “You’re still a bit slow, but that will come with time. I’m proud of you, that you stuck with this for so long and finished.”

Draco grinned. “Still beat the Marauders, didn’t I?”

“The Marauders never had expert help, and a lot of their delay was due to potion trouble... but yes, you did beat the Marauders. So be proud of that.” Letha turned to look towards the kitchen, though she couldn’t see it from where she stood in the living room. “I wonder what’s going on in there?”

Draco shrugged, but he was curious himself. From the babble of voices, almost everyone who currently stayed in the Den was there. “Easy way to find out,” he said.

“Then let us take it.” Letha started for the front hall. Draco opted to dart through the den room and into the kitchen from that side.

“Draco!” Meghan called, seeing him. “Look what Ginny made!”

“Wow,” Draco said, hugging Meghan with one arm as he took in the complexities of the clay figure. “That’s fancy.”

“Thank you,” Ginny said with only a trace of a blush coloring her smile.

The foot-tall figure was shaped superficially like a human being, though its “feet” were very broad and the rest of the features were only hinted at. Abstract patterns in swirled ridges and valleys covered most of it, though some places were smoothed out, or dotted with small raised mounds, or indented with punctures.

“If you wait for Moony and Danger to get home, they can fire it for you,” Hermione said. “And I’m sure we can find some glaze for it, or get some. What color do you think you want?”

Meghan left Draco’s side to join this discussion, which quickly drew in Neville and the other Weasleys as well, Fred and George insisting the only proper color was red while Ron held out for adding some gold to it. Ginny listened to them all quietly, her arms folded. Letha tossed her a hand-signed compliment, then opened the basement door and went downstairs.

Draco was about to join the discussion as well, when he noticed the one other person in the kitchen who hadn’t.

“Hi, Luna,” he said noncommittally.

“Hi, Draco.” Luna’s gaze dropped to the floor, where it must have bounced, since it was back on him the next second. “Do you have a minute or two?”

“All the time you want, m’lady.”

Luna shuddered as if he’d called her Voldemort. “Thank you,” she said, forcing a smile. “In private, please?”

“Upstairs, then, or in the living room.” Draco stepped back, deciding not to offer her his arm as he might have a week or two weeks earlier.

What did I do?

Luna hurried for the stairs, mounted them quickly, and slipped through the door into Moony and Danger’s bedroom. With so many guests at the Den, the Pack-parents had placed their bedrooms at the public’s disposal during the day, asking only that bureaus, armoires, closets, and cabinets remain off limits. Draco followed her in and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching Luna curl up in the big burnt-orange armchair.

“Was it something I said?” he asked tentatively.

“No.” Luna’s voice was rough. “It’s not anything about you... but it is!” The last three words hinted at a heartbroken wail. “Draco, I Saw something terrible, something awful, and I can’t stop thinking about it – I can’t see any way it could be good, or any way I could be thinking about it wrong, but it can’t be true, it just can’t... ”

“Something about me?”

“Yes – I think – but I don’t want it to be!” The wail was more than hinted at now. “You can’t... not like that... not so soon...”

Draco felt a chill down his back, and forced it away. “Luna, you know I want to help you,” he said with a calm he didn’t feel. “But you have to make sense, at least a little.”

Luna sniffed once, then sat up. “I don’t want to tell you about it,” she said, reaching into her robes. “But you can watch, if you want. You can see what I saw.” Her hand came out, cradling her pendants. “Just don’t make me come too.”

Draco stood up to accept the pendants and chain from her. “Can I do that?” he asked. “Go into your memories without you along?”

Luna nodded. “I’ll send you there,” she said, returning to her tight fetal curl. “You’ll see.”

Draco slid the chain on and lay down on Moony’s side of the bed. “Ready,” he said.

A fall through darkness, then through white, with a crackly ozone feel-smell to it – Luna’s magic, Luna’s mind, Luna’s memory of her future-Seeing...

xXxXx

Draco stood in the hallway of the Den, watching Luna wash her face in the cubs’ bathroom. She was singing quietly to herself. “And from his heart grew a red, red rose, and from her heart a briar...”

As she looked up and met her own eyes in the mirror, the vision hit. She, and Draco with her, were suddenly somewhere else, somewhere outdoors, at twilight, with blocky things about knee-height all around –

A graveyard?

Draco felt another chill; he didn’t bother denying this one. Okay, I’m starting to see why she doesn’t like this.

Luna was walking as if in a dream towards one particular gravestone, which had sharply defined edges and looked clean and unweathered, where it could be seen for the climbing branches of a plant which had covered it.

But how can it be new, if the plant’s had time to grow all over it like that?

A girl knelt in front of the stone and the bush, in grass whose vibrant green showed even in the dim light. Her hand reached out to touch the bush, to caress a leaf here, a flowerbud there.

Rosebud. It’s a rosebush.

“And from his heart,” the kneeling girl sang quietly, “grew a red, red rose...” Her hand hesitated just before touching the one fully open flower on the bush, a rich crimson as though it had grown from her song, and suddenly she was weeping, racking sobs doubling her over where she knelt.

Draco had to stop himself racing forward to comfort her. I can’t touch her, he reminded himself. I’m not real to her.

But it was doubly hard. For with her singing, he had recognized her, though he still hadn’t seen her face.

The girl who knelt by this grave was Luna herself.

She looks older. Draco rounded the gravestone to get a look at what he could see of her face, what wasn’t hidden by fingers and tears. Definitely older.

The watching Luna now stood beside her counterpart, looking more frightened by the second, and this gave Draco a chance to compare them. A couple of years, he decided, but no more than that. She’s certainly not in her twenties. Mid-to-late teens, I’d guess.

Movement in the distance caught his eye. Someone else had entered the graveyard, hooded and cloaked, though the evening was warm.

Whoever you are, better not come over here. She’s not likely to be friendly if you intrude on her.

Draco watched as the figure ignored his thought and closed in on Luna. A man. Not a young man, either, but not old by a long shot, even if he does limp... maybe Mr. Weasley or Mr. Longbottom’s age. I can’t see his face too well...

The man stopped beside Luna and pulled back the hood of his cloak slightly, not taking it down but exposing his face.

Well, that would explain it.

The man wore a half-mask, like someone going to a masquerade ball.

Or like the Phantom of the Opera.

Draco looked past the mask, to the features of the face that he could see, and gasped in horrified recognition. “Get away from her!” he shouted aloud, running around the side of the gravestone. “Luna, run! ”

Both figures ignored him – of course, I’m not even as much here as Luna. My Luna. The younger girl stood several feet away, and from the horror on her own face, she had recognized the man as readily as Draco.

The kneeling Luna, sunk in her own grief, hadn’t even noticed the man was beside her. He smiled, a familiar triumphant look, before beginning not to speak, but to sing.

Wandering child, so lost, so helpless,

Yearning for my guidance.

Draco gritted his teeth. “Phantom” was one of his and Luna’s favorite shows to sing from. You bastard, how dare you...

Luna’s head had snapped up on the first note. She stared at the man as he finished the phrase, her hand coming up to her cheek to brush away the tears lingering there. When he stopped, she took up the song, singing Christine’s part in a halting thread of a voice, though it grew stronger as the phrases went on.

Angel or father, friend or Phantom?

Who is it there, staring?

The man sang over her.

Have you forgotten your Angel?

Luna picked up the line.

Angel, oh, speak... what endless longings

Echo in this whisper?

Luna, get away from him. Draco gripped the edge of the gravestone, breathing hard between his teeth. Get up, run, go... this is beautiful, but he could kill you...

The man took the line again, his voice caressing.

Too long you’ve wandered in winter,

Far from my far-reaching gaze...

Luna’s hand was to her chest.

Wildly my mind beats against you...

You resist, the man mocked her.

Maybe this Luna wants to die, suggested a small voice in the back of Draco’s mind. Maybe whoever’s buried here has made her want to die.

The two sang together.

Yet the soul obeys!

Their eyes were locked on each other.

Angel of Music! I denied you,

Turning from true beauty!

Angel of Music! Do not shun me,

Come to me, strange Angel!

Draco held his breath. This is the part where Raoul should come charging in... come on, Raoul, where are you?

The man’s song taunted and tantalized.

I am your Angel of Music...

Come to me, Angel of Music...

Maybe he can’t come, the voice said. Or maybe he’s already here...

“Such a lovely voice,” the man said after a few moments of silence. “A pity to choke it with weeping. Did you love him so much, the one who lies buried here?”

Luna slipped her hand between the thorns of the rosebush to caress the writing beneath. “No, I suppose I didn’t,” she said, turning her head to smile up at the man. “Silly of me, to cry for him.”

“Indeed. For when did he ever give either of us reason to love him?” The man regarded the grave dispassionately. “I regret what I was forced to do, but I had no choice. You know that.”

“I do.”

The man closed his fingers around the stem of the one blooming rose, deftly broke it off, and offered it to Luna. “Come away with me, Starwing, silent huntress of the night,” he said quietly. “Come and be my eyes and ears and hands, and my swift-winged messenger until messages are needed no more. It cannot last much longer, and I believe I know how it will end.”

“So do I.” Luna rose and accepted the flower. “And I will go with you. I will do what you cannot, and fly to carry your words to far-off ears, until your side – our side – reaps our well-deserved victory.”

The man smiled fully this time. “My lady, your way with words delights me.”

Luna dropped a brief curtsey, then bent and laid the rose on the grave where she had been kneeling. “We should go,” she said, straightening. “I’ve wasted enough time here.”

The man undid his mask and laid it on the grave over the stem of the rose. Draco tightened his hands around the gravestone again, barely noticing when a thorn pierced his palm and left a bright splotch of blood on the gray stone. “No,” he breathed. “No, no, no...”

Luna’s form rippled, and the white owl Starwing fluttered upwards to land on the man’s outstretched wrist. She leaned inward and preened a long strand of silver hair which had escaped the hood of the cloak.

Cradling the owl close to his chest, Lucius Malfoy pulled his hood forward again and walked away.

The watching figure of the Luna Draco knew stood irresolute for a long moment, then darted forward and fell to her knees, just missing mask and rose. She stared through the thorny stems at the inscription on the gravestone, and her face crumpled. “No,” she moaned, as though she had heard Draco. “No, no, please no...”

Draco stepped carefully around her. His feet seemed to mark out the beat of a funeral dirge.

I have to see... I have to know...

He pushed the rose stems gently aside to read what lay beneath.

Draco Regulus Black

Beloved Son and Brother

26 July 1980 – 5 June 1997

He took an involuntary step back. His heel snagged against Luna’s calf, and he fell, and fell, and kept falling, through white and black and the sound of hopeless grief and pain...

xXxXx

Draco’s eyes snapped open. Both his fists were clenched, his body rigid, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

I’m going to die.

Before I turn seventeen, I’m going to die.

And Luna’s going to say she never loved me, and go away with my father.

He snatched at the anger this last thought carried, preferring it to the panic evoked by the other two. “How could you do that?” he demanded, sitting up and wishing his voice hadn’t cracked on the second-to-last word. “How could you?”

“I don’t know! ” Luna cried, her own voice breaking. “It’s not true, I do love you! You know I do! I wouldn’t ever do that – but I did! ”

The barely concealed panic in her voice struck a chord within Draco. She’s as scared about this as I am. Maybe even more. She never wanted to see it, and she doesn’t want it to happen.

He stood up and crossed to Luna’s chair. “I’m sorry,” he said, sitting down on the arm. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s no more than what I’ve been saying to myself.” Luna cast a quick glance at him before her face went back down against her arms. “Draco, I’m so sorry... I don’t want it to happen, I swear I don’t... if there’s anything I can do, anything, to make it not come true, I will, you know I will...”

“I do know.” Draco reached down and tapped Luna’s leg, asking her silently to move over. “And I think there’s one thing we can do, and keep doing, to make sure it doesn’t come true.”

“What?” Luna pulled herself in more tightly and sat up a bit, giving Draco room to slide onto the chair with her.

“We can prove that what you said wasn’t true.” Draco laid a hand on Luna’s thigh, palm up, and after a moment Luna slipped her own into it. “We can love each other. And keep on loving...”

He stopped to swallow against a suddenly tight throat. “As long as we can,” he finished.

“Mrs. Danger said the future wasn’t set in stone,” Luna said, lowering her other arm to look at him again. “She said I was just seeing a possibility, and now that I’ve seen it, it might not happen that way. Or at all.”

“Or it could be one of those inescapable things,” Draco countered. “Every move you make to try to get away from it is actually a move towards making it happen.”

Wait – why am I arguing this side?

The realization that he was trying to convince himself that his death was less than two years away brought a smile to his face for a moment. Then it died as he realized why.

Hope hurts. It’s hard work, and it’s never comfortable. If you just give up, accept your fate, don’t fight any more, that’s easier.

He pressed his free hand to his chest. But since when have Pack and Pride ever done anything the easy way?

I am a Marauder, and a Warrior. Maybe I have to die on 5 June 1997 – maybe – but I’m sure as hell not going down without a fight!

He turned and struck his first blow for life and a future beyond the age of rising seventeen.

xXxXx

“Whoops, we can’t go in there,” Meghan said, shutting the door of Moony and Danger’s bedroom quickly. “Draco and Luna are in there.”

“Did they make up?” Neville asked.

“I think so.” Meghan pursed her lips, making smooching sounds.

Neville leaned down and took advantage.

xXxXx

By silent consent, Draco and Luna kept what they’d seen to themselves, and the rest of the Pride let it be. “I just need to know that you’re going to be all right,” Hermione said to Draco the next day. “I won’t ask what happened unless something comes up and I really have to know.”

“I’ll be all right,” Draco promised. “So will Luna. We’ve worked it out.”

Ron shot him a dubious look but declined comment.

Fred and George were a little more persistent in their inquiries. “Luna the ever-gentle hurt her beloved boyfriend,” Fred said. “That has to mean something.”

“Even if it’s just a lovers’ quarrel, we can help,” George added. “We’re developing a new line of sweets, mood-altering and completely legal...”

After Snow Fox and Starwing invaded the basement and carried off an important-looking notebook, though, the twins promised to behave.

The Pack-parents were equally discreet, though each of them found time over the next few days to be alone with Draco for a few minutes. Moony listened to his latest composition, made a few comments and suggestions, and borrowed a copy of the corrected sheet music with an eye to working out a counterpoint line for violin. Danger found him alone in the boys’ bedroom staring out the window, and simply stood beside him for several minutes without saying anything, before she hugged him, kissed his forehead, and left.

Letha had her own methods. “The laundry needs hanging out,” she announced one day, letting a large basket drop onto the kitchen floor.

“Doesn’t Winky do that?” Ron asked, looking up from his homework.

“I asked her to leave it to me this week,” Letha said, putting her wand away. “I find it soothing sometimes. Draco, give me a hand with it?”

Draco nodded and got up from his place at the table, squatting down to pick up the basket. The Pack-parents were understanding about underage magic, but it wouldn’t hurt him to haul the basket by hand.

Not to mention, I can use the upper body strength. I still can’t do more than nine press-ups at a time. Wonder how Harry’s managing?

Once outside, Letha conjured a basket of clothespins for them to use. “They’ll disappear in about a day,” she said in response to Draco’s questioning look. “But we don’t need them for any longer than that, and it’s easier than having them hanging around and getting lost.”

They started with the small laundry, socks and shirts and the like. Draco noticed that the more embarrassing items had been left out, and wondered if Letha had dried them with magic in the basement.

Probably. No need to advertise that someone lives here who wears lacy pink knickers, or green and yellow smiley face boxers.

He grinned at a sudden stray thought. And no, it’s not the same person.

“How are you, Draco?” Letha asked quietly after several minutes of silence.

“I’m all right.”

“Really and truly?”

Draco shrugged. “A little scared, I guess,” he said, sure that Letha would know what he was talking about. The Pack-parents had never been good at keeping secrets one from another.

“As well you should be. I’d be petrified, in that situation.” Letha shook out one of Neville’s shirts and pinned it on the line. “But do bear in mind the probability factor.”

“Sorry?”

Letha looked around the shirt at him. “How likely is it that we would simply let you die, Draco? Why would we even let you be in a situation where you’d be in that kind of danger, if we didn’t think you were capable of protecting yourself?”

“Things happen,” Draco said. “And even people who are strong can die.”

“Certainly true. But you know that we would fight – yes, and we would die – to keep you, or any or all of your siblings, alive.”

“Just as long as that doesn’t mean the vision still comes true, but you’re all buried there too.”

A sad half-smile touched Letha’s face. “Point,” she said. “But think about it this way, Draco. We’re eight determined people – twelve if you count the Pride – and we have a way of getting what we want. And what I want, and I’m sure everyone will agree with me on this, is to get through this war without losing any of us. We might not get what we want, but it won’t be for lack of trying.”

“I know.” Draco caught the sheet Letha tossed over the clothesline to him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Clothespin, please.”

xXxXx

“No, and that’s final,” Molly Weasley said firmly. “You may be of age, but you still live under my roof, and I will not have any more of my children risking their lives than necessary!”

“Fine, we’ll move out,” George said easily. “We could get a place in London easy.”

“We won’t need to until next year, if we stay at Hogwarts over holidays,” Fred pointed out. “Not that we’ll be doing much there besides research, of course. Still, why waste hundreds of perfectly good testers?”

Molly stared at them both quellingly. “Now you listen to me,” she said. “If I hear of one child, one, being made ill by these foul messes you’ve been brewing up...”

“They’re not foul, Mum,” George protested. “You should try one, you’d like it.”

“Yes, and what would it do to me? Turn me into a canary, or give me a nosebleed that won’t go away?” Molly planted her hands on her hips. “Test them on yourselves if you must, but you will not endanger any of your fellow students with them.”

“But Mum,” Fred started.

“But me no buts, Frederick. Every word out of your mouths is telling me that I was right. You’re far too young to join the Order, and in enough danger as it is, with your father and myself and three of your brothers involved.”

“Ron and Ginny get to be part of things,” Fred protested.

“Ron and Ginny will not be attending meetings, nor will they be going on missions. I trust Dumbledore, and Remus and the rest of the Pack, to help Hermione know what to pass along and what not to. And if you’ve been polite and kind while you’ve been staying here, the Pride might even share what they are allowed to know with you.”

Judging by the looks on the twins’ faces, that hadn’t occurred to them, and they didn’t think their chances were good.

“Should have thought of that a bit earlier, shouldn’t you?” Molly said with a certain amount of satisfaction. She’d tried all her life to teach these boys that other people were not necessarily quite the fools the twins seemed to think, but the lessons had never sunk in.

After Percy, they were my biggest concerns as possible Slytherins...

“I don’t think it’s too late to be mending fences,” she allowed. “But you had best start as soon as possible. And I don’t want to hear another word about the Order, from either of you. To borrow an idea from your hosts, when you act like responsible adults, perhaps I’ll consider treating you that way.”

The glance the twins exchanged was fraught with emotion – disappointment, obviously, and resentment, but also some speculation.

Dear heaven. Could they finally be starting to grow up?

Molly liked the idea. She loved the twins, of course, and never wanted them to lose the raffish charm that made them so adorable, but she didn’t think that was necessarily inconsistent with a bit more maturity and responsibility on their parts.

And I do wish it hadn’t taken a war to bring it about.

xXxXx

Moony came home early the day before Draco’s birthday. “Hermione, there’s a meeting this afternoon,” he said. “Can you be ready in an hour?”

“I... think so. Yes. I’ll be back.” Hermione ran upstairs, her heart pounding with more than just the motion.

A meeting... my first Order meeting...

The other girls followed her. “What do you want to wear?” Ginny asked, opening the closet.

“Black robes, but not school ones,” Hermione said, picking up her comb.

“Give me that,” said Meghan, holding out her hand.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to have to use my fingers. Luna, would you grab mine? It’s the ivory-colored one on the desk... yes, that.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Hermione protested as Meghan’s fingers began to separate the tangled masses.

“Maybe not, but I want to.”

“I’ll be right back,” said Ginny, ducking out of the room. “Have to give these to Winky to get them ironed.”

Hermione sighed and let it happen.

“You’re not just you when you go to the Order meetings,” said Luna, setting aside the comb to tease apart a tangle with her fingers. “You’re all of us, the whole Pride. We want you to look like it.”

“What, like eight people? Maybe if I ate as much as Harry’s cousin.”

The girls laughed.

“No, but Luna’s right,” said Meghan. “We want you to look good. Grown-up. A lot of the Order will probably think we shouldn’t be involved, that we’re just kids. You’re the right person to show them we’re not, but they’ll count on what they see before what they hear.”

“Who, the Order?” Ginny asked, coming back in.

“Yes,” said Luna. “Hermione has to look good so that they don’t dismiss her.”

“That’s what Mum always says,” said Ginny. “You can have the most important message in the world, you can say it in the most convincing way, but if you look too young or too old or too strange, no one will listen to you.”

“People listen to Dumbledore,” Meghan objected.

“He’s been proving he’s right for more than a hundred years.” Ginny sat down on the next bed over. “Hermione has to make a good first impression.”

“Are you quite finished making me nervous?” Hermione inquired.

xXxXx

I don’t know whether this feels more like the Yule Ball again or being a sacrificial maiden on her way to the altar.

Hermione descended the stairs nervously. Her black robes were free of wrinkles and smelled lightly of cleanliness. She wore a necklace of red and blue beads Letha had given her for her last birthday but one and the matching earrings that had come from Padfoot. Meghan had deftly pulled back the most unruly strands of her hair into a large clip, keeping it out of her face, and Ginny had applied the few touches of makeup Hermione would permit.

As long as I live up to my appearance, I should do fine.

A few jazzy notes trickled through the house, played on the piano. A guitar picked up the same theme and added to it. The piano took up the challenge and elaborated on the theme still more, and in a moment both instruments were playing together, backed by a complex beat.

Hermione smiled. Well, that answers the question of where the boys got to while we were off doing girl things.

She walked quickly towards the music room, thankful that she’d got her own way about shoes. Walking in high heels tended to make her wobble, and that was the opposite of the impression she needed to make tonight.

Ron noticed her first, and broke off drumming on the coffee table with his hands to stare. Draco and Neville turned to see what he was looking at, and both sets of hands went still.

After a long moment, Draco pushed back the piano bench and stood up. “Neenie, you look wonderful,” he said, coming to touching range but holding back, as if he didn’t dare.

Hermione scowled. “If you say ‘what happened,’ I’ll hit you.”

“But I know what happened. Girl magic.” Draco grinned. “Boys can’t ever understand it. It’s one of the rules of life.”

“I think the Order will be impressed,” said Neville. “You look smart, and a little older than you are, but not like you’re trying to look older.”

“I’m sure they’ll know how old I am,” said Hermione. “Considering they know I’m the same age as Harry, and most of them knew Harry when he was a baby.”

“But people don’t always make sense like that,” Neville pointed out. “Their heads will say ‘she’s only rising fifteen,’ but if their eyes and their ears are telling them that you’re old enough to be taken seriously, then they will.”

“You look almost as good as you did for the Yule Ball,” said Ron, finally recovering his power of speech. “And you didn’t take nearly as long.”

“Oh, well, if that’s your standard of measurement – how long it takes–”

“I don’t think they’ll take you seriously if you talk like that,” said Draco.

Hermione glared at him.

“And I didn’t mean it like that, either,” said Ron crossly. “Do you always have to take everything I say the wrong way?”

Hermione sighed. “Ron, I’m sorry. Thank you for the compliment... it was a compliment, wasn’t it?”

“No, it was an insult. Yes, it was a ruddy compliment! I think you look good, all right?”

“Now who’s taking things the wrong way?”

“I really wish Harry would come home,” Draco muttered under his breath.

xXxXx

The Order of the Phoenix convened its first meeting of the Second War in a carefully secured room at Longbottom House. Augusta Longbottom had accepted an ‘at-large’ membership in the Order, meaning that she would not usually attend meetings but would be available to help if needed. “A meeting place is the least I can give you,” she had told Dumbledore. “If there’s anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Dumbledore and McGonagall broke off their conversation with Frank Longbottom to greet Hermione, Moony, Danger, and Letha. “You look well, Hermione,” said Dumbledore, bowing to her slightly.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You have your points ready, I assume?”

“Yes, sir.” Hermione had spent some time with Moony going over what would and wouldn’t be a good idea to bring up in the meeting. Part of the point of having a liaison was to make sure the Pride could have their opinions heard, but there wasn’t much room between “useless doormat” and “young upstart” for her to work with.

Most of these people probably still think children should be seen and not heard.

She had just one point to bring up today, the Pride’s polite request that they be told how they would be moving from the Den to Headquarters. Moony had okayed it, and even been willing to allow a second point, but Hermione had backed off that on her own. “Fewer is better to start with,” she’d said. “Once they get used to hearing me talk, and they know I’m not going to waste their time, then maybe I can do a little more.”

The door opened. Kingsley Shacklebolt entered, followed closely by Alastor Moody. The grizzled Auror turned to shut the door again and grunted with his back still turned. “Didn’t know this was a kiddie party, Dumbledore.”

Hermione clenched her teeth briefly.

“Hermione is here as representative of her Pride, Alastor, as I think I told you,” Dumbledore said. “She is as trustworthy as any of you, and as likely to have important information or good insights on that which is provided.”

Moody looked doubtful, but nodded to Hermione anyway.

“How’s Sirius doing?” Kingsley asked Letha.

“He’s homesick, and glad it’s almost over. Apparently the main reason the purebloods welcomed him back was because they thought he was ready to leave me and settle down with a nice pureblood girl.” Letha gave Dumbledore a suspicious look. “I wonder what could have given them that idea.”

Dumbledore seemed not to notice. “I know Alice is working tonight, and Arthur Weasley as well,” he said, looking at his pocket watch. “Molly should be here soon. Kingsley, have you heard from Tonks?”

“She had to leave early today,” Kingsley said. “Planning, I think. But she’ll be here soon.”

“Planning for what?” Moody asked, then shook his head. “Never mind, don’t know where my brain was. Her wedding.” He snorted. “Long as it doesn’t take her mind off her duties...”

“It should not,” said Dumbledore. “And if it does, we can gently remind her.”

Charlie Weasley opened the door for his mother and fiancée. As soon as they were seated and greetings finished, Dumbledore called the meeting to order.

Headquarters was the first order of business. Hermione listened carefully, and at one point (after checking with Moony via a quick hand signal) raised her hand.

“Yes, Hermione?” Dumbledore said.

“Sir, I’ve been noting what people are saying they’ve yet to do, and I think I see a duplication.” She blushed, but continued. “Is it Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom, or Charlie and Tonks, who are responsible for the in-the-wall wards?”

The mentioned people, those who were there, looked at one another in surprise. “I wondered why they looked higher when we hadn’t been working on them,” said Charlie.

“That explains the section we had to tear out,” said Mr. Longbottom. “We must have overlapped incompatible warding spells. I thought Alice and I wouldn’t make a mistake like that.”

“What spells are you using?” Tonks asked.

Danger reached over and pressed Hermione’s hand as the discussion got technical. Well done you, she said silently.

I can understand why Harry gets the way he does sometimes, Hermione answered. It’s heady to have people listen to you.

It is, but you’re wise enough not to let it get to you. And Harry will get there.

I hope. Hermione squeezed her sister’s hand, then released it and went back to listening.

xXxXx

“So, how was it?” Ron asked as soon as Hermione was out of the fire.

“Were there a lot of people there?” Fred said over him.

“Were there spells on the room?” George wanted to know.

“Who was there?”

“What did you talk about?”

“What did you find out?”

The room disintegrated into a noisy babble. Hermione grimaced and caught Ginny’s eye. Ginny nodded. “OI!” she shouted over the noise. “QUIET!”

Seven people fell magically silent.

“Thank you,” Hermione said, nodding to Ginny. “There were twelve people there, not so many. There were spells, but I didn’t see them. I’ll tell you who later. There’s something more important.” She grinned. “We’re leaving for Headquarters the day before Neville’s birthday.”

xXxXx

Remus, Apparating in, thought for a moment he’d missed his destination.

Something wrong? Danger asked.

No, just noisy cubs. Remus smiled at the impromptu war dance being done by the Weasleys, to the chant of “Headquarters, Headquarters, Headquarters... ”

xXxXx

The peace of Number Seventeen, Privet Drive, was rudely broken the next morning as a yell emerged from the smallest bedroom. Its occupant was highly apologetic later, and explained that his favorite sports team had won a decisive victory the night before.

“Liar,” Dudley said when Uncle Vernon had gone to work and Aunt Petunia out shopping. “You don’t even have a Quidditch team.”

“Do so. Ballycastle Bats.”

“Why d’you root for an Irish team?”

“Because I do.” Harry turned back to the dishes, humming a little. Nothing could puncture his mood today. He was going home.

Well, not home home. But away from here, and back to the Pack. And the Den is where the Pack is, so I am going home.

He had just enough warning to start ducking before Dudley’s first punch hit him, on the shoulder instead in the back where Dudley’d obviously been aiming for.

“Come on, fight back,” Dudley taunted, bringing his fists up. “Fight me, Potter. You can do it – why should you be afraid of me? You beat the Dark Lord, didn’t you?”

Better part of valor time. Harry ducked a second punch and took off running. Dudley gave chase, but his heart wasn’t in it, and he gave up around the second block. “Wait till tonight!” he shouted after Harry. “You won’t be running so fast tonight!”

Harry swore under his breath. He noticed. He noticed I never leave the yard after dark. I wonder if I can lock myself in my room...?

He’d fallen automatically into the easy, sustainable pace he used for his exercise runs. It was close kin to the untiring lope Wolf used to cover distances, and had been inspired by it. Might as well get some out of the way now.

He swung into his four-mile loop, two miles out and the same back. It was one of his favorite paths to take, because on the way back to the Dursleys’ he always stopped to cool down at a little park, a park he knew he’d seen before, when he was very small.

I was so proud the day I figured out what it was, what it had to be. Benches here and here, swingset there, sandbox over there...

He’d danced on the bench where Moony had sat, and the one Danger had used, and run around the swingset as he had that day, wishing Hermione was with him so that they could reenact it.

Maybe sometime she will be.

He gave himself over to thoughts of Pack and Pride, what they had been and what they could be, and let his body do the running.

A bit over half an hour later, Harry jogged into the park and started his cooldown walk. He’d stretch here, then finish with a brisk walk back to the Dursleys’, where he’d start packing.

I know it’s early, but why wait? I’ll just leave out what I need.

“Prrrrrt?”

Harry spun, his hand on his wand.

Slit-pupiled hazel eyes blinked at him from Danger’s bench, where a slim calico cat was sitting, tail coiled neatly around her legs.

“Don’t do that,” Harry said, relaxing. “I was just thinking of you.”

Neenie purred.

“Thinking of when we were little here,” Harry went on. “You know this is the same park, right?”

Neenie nodded, then looked carefully around. No one was in sight. Leaping off the bench, she trotted into some nearby bushes, and a moment later Hermione stood up. “You got the letter, didn’t you?” she said.

“Of course.” Harry hugged his sister tightly. “I can’t wait. Are you here for just a little while, or staying the night?”

“Staying the night, if I can. If not, I’ll call and someone will come to get me.”

“If I could smuggle Snow Fox around, I don’t think I’ll have trouble with you. You’re a little better behaved.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Don’t I know it. So this is the same park where it all started...” Her mischievous smile dawned. “But Danger isn’t here to save you this time, pushover boy.”

Harry dodged her shove, laughing. “Fool me twice, shame on me!” he called. “You won’t beat me again!”

“Not unless I need to, I won’t,” Hermione shot back, before words were lost in the fun of two-person tag.

It was almost afternoon when Harry returned to Number Seventeen, a small calico cat darting from bush to shrub behind him. A car in the drive made him swear. “Aunt Petunia’s home, you can’t come in with me...”

“Mrrrt?” questioned the front hedge.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” Harry said after a moment of thought. “I’ll open the front window for you. Hide behind the big armchair in the corner, then listen for my voice. I’ll get her talking in the kitchen. Run upstairs and find the room that smells like me. If you want anything to eat, it’s under the loose floorboard under the bed.”

“Mrow, maow,” said the hedge. Harry nodded. One for no, two for yes was standard Marauder code, adopted by the Pride.

He opened the front door. “I’m back!” he called.

“About time, too,” said Aunt Petunia snippily, appearing in the kitchen doorway. “Where have you been all morning? You never finished the dishes, the floor is filthy, and the kitchen window needs to be washed again...”

“I’ll be right there, Aunt Petunia.” Harry detoured into the living room. “I was a bit hot, so I went for a run.” He pulled the window open and started for the kitchen.

“You were hot, so you went running?” His aunt’s voice rose shrilly. “Are you stupid or ignorant? Running makes you hotter, with all that sweat and that nasty smell coming off you... you go and get a shower before you get near my good dishes.”

“Why don’t I do the floor first?”

“Absolutely not, you’ll get that stink all over my tiles and I’ll never get it out, perhaps you’ve not been a burden but you’re certainly no pleasure to have around...”

“Then you’ll be glad to know I’m leaving on the 29th,” Harry said, his ears open for the small sounds of paws on carpet. Ah-ha, there... and another...

“Are – are you?” Aunt Petunia seemed taken aback. “Well, then. The 29th. Vernon will be glad to hear it.” She went over to the calendar hanging on the wall and added a notation. “What time, do you know?”

“Late, I think,” Harry said. “Probably after dark.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know. The letter just said they might be coming late, and mentioned sunset.”

“And who’ll be coming for you?” This in a poisonous tone. “Your... adoptive mother, perhaps?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Part of Harry hoped Danger would know better than to show up, but another part of him wanted to see her have a fresh face-off with his aunt.

I know who’d win, for sure...

“But you’ll certainly be gone by the morning of the 30th? Completely gone, not coming back?”

“As far as I know.”

“Good.” Aunt Petunia made another notation. “We’ll have to go out to dinner.”

To celebrate, hung unsaid in the air.

“Have a good time,” Harry said politely, and started for the stairs, grinning to himself.

Yes, my leaving will be a cause for celebration on several different levels...

xXxXx

They discussed how to move us a lot, Neenie said, lying on the bed beside Harry. Because of that dream you had that you wrote us about. Dumbledore thinks Voldemort knows how the pendants work, and he’s hoping to get around them by swearing some of the Death Eaters not to kill us.

“How would he know how the pendants work?”

Dumbledore told the fake Moody about them. Neenie sounded embarrassed. Back in the fall, when you disappeared after the Goblet of Fire happened. Fake Moody wanted to know how the Pack-parents knew to come, and Dumbledore told him.

Harry blew out his breath. “Oh well,” he said on the tail end of the exhale. “Spilled milk.”

Yes. So Dumbledore wants to be very sure that nothing happens to us while we’re moving from the Den to Headquarters.

“Is there a reason we can’t just Apparate there?”

Wards again. You can Apparate around inside the house, but you can’t Apparate in or out. Besides, Dumbledore brought something up that we hadn’t thought of. Neenie’s voice was grim. Voldemort knows some way to disrupt Apparition.

“He does?”

You found out about it. You and Padfoot, back when you were three. Lucius Malfoy did something to Padfoot to change where Padfoot Apparated to. Where do you think he learned that spell?

“He could have made it up himself.”

But even if he had, don’t you think he would have shown it to his Dark Master? The cat snorted at the title. We have to assume Voldemort knows it.

“But he’d have to get close enough to cast a spell, or one of the Death Eaters would.”

They could get close to the adults. We don’t know who all the Death Eaters are yet, and I’m sure they’re recruiting just like we are. And we know the spell doesn’t leave any visible or tangible traces, or Padfoot would have noticed it. So we can’t all go by Apparition. It’s too dangerous.

“All right, so what else is there?” Harry considered wizarding travel. “Floo is easy, but easy to interfere with too.”

And the Ministry’s watching the Network.

“Scratch that. Ditto the Knight Bus.”

Thou shalt not use the Floo Network, nor shalt thou use the Knight Bus, save when going away from Headquarters, Neenie said in a silly voice. Portkeys are right out.

Harry chuckled. “One, two, Portkey.”

Three, sire.

“Whatever. So what can we use?”

Well, some of us are Apparating there. The twins went to the Ministry two days ago and passed their tests – did we remember to tell you that? – so they can get there themselves. And Mr. Lovegood volunteered to Side-Along two of us, one at a time, since he knows he doesn’t have any spells on him.

“How does he know?”

He hasn’t been out of his house for two weeks, except to putter in the garden. Danger’s been buying his groceries.

“Oh. So who will he take?”

Luna, of course, and probably Draco. The rest of us are being driven. Mr. Weasley said we could repaint his car, so it’s going to be purple now, and Danger’s going to drive while Moony and Letha and Tonks guard us.

“What about Charlie?”

Neenie giggled. Charlie can’t come. He’s having problems at work. Apparently one of the dragons in the preserve doesn’t get on with the others, and Charlie’s been asked to head a team to take it back to Romania. And guess what kind of dragon it is?

“Norwegian Ridgeback?”

That’s it.

“Baby Norbert.” Harry thought back to the floppy dragonet, all black scales and orange eyes, that had hatched on Hagrid’s kitchen table two and a half years ago. “I wonder how big he is now.”

Big, Charlie says. Not quite full grown yet, but getting close.

“Still. A dragon can do a lot of damage, especially if it doesn’t get on with other dragons.”

I’d imagine.

“Hey, what about me?” Harry said, realizing the one person who hadn’t been mentioned. “How do I get to Headquarters?”

You get to go a special way. Neenie purred again, and kneaded the bedspread with her claws. You get to fly there.

“I do?”

Well, you’re the one they’re most worried about. Not that they’re not worried about us, but if the Death Eaters get you...

“Yeah, I know. But why brooms?”

Dumbledore said the more in control of your own travel you were, the fewer things could go wrong. You can’t Apparate yet, and anyone who showed up here to Apparate with you might be a Death Eater in disguise, or under Imperius, or have the disruption spell on them. You can’t make your own Portkeys, and you definitely can’t set up your own Floo Network.

“So brooms are best.” Harry nodded. “I get it. But does that mean Dumbledore doesn’t trust the Order, then?”

No, he trusts them. But didn’t you tell me yourself there was a spy?

“Yes. But why would he send a spy to get me?”

Does he know who it is?

Harry sucked in a breath. “That’s right, he doesn’t know. He said he suspected, but he didn’t know for sure. And if he kept on not giving the bloke assignments, he’d – the spy would – start suspecting that Dumbledore suspected...” He stopped. “My head hurts.”

I know the feeling. But just think, Harry. Three more days, and we’ll all be together again. Neenie’s purring grew louder. I think that’s wonderful.

“I think so too.” Harry began to stroke the cat. “Except we won’t all be there. Padfoot’s still gone, until August something... the fifth, I think.”

Yes, the fifth. You’re right. Neenie sighed. All right, on the fifth of August we’ll all be together again. Happy now?

“Not yet, but I will be on the fifth of August.”

Neenie hissed mildly through her teeth.

xXxXx

Another night, another dance. I haven’t been this bored since History of Magic.

Sirius was starting to consider giving up his mission as a bad job. He’d done his best to spread the word about Voldemort, hinting here, asking delicately pointed questions there, but his hosts seemed convinced that he was still the naïve sixteen-year-old boy who’d run away from home, rather than a man of thirty-six with experience of life and living, with a job and a family.

Which is more than most of them have. They live on their family money, they strut out their trophy wives and trophy children, but what do they have at the end of the day? Empty rooms filled with expensive things. No wonder so many of them are alcoholics or abusive.

The more he saw of pureblood society, the more he wondered how he’d ever escaped at all, let alone with his mind and soul relatively intact.

And what about someone like Corona? How do you explain her? She was even a Slytherin in school, and she still managed to turn out decent, unless she’s scamming me...

He shrugged. You get freaks in every society. But this one’s inbreeding and stultifying itself to death. It’s like Elladora said – within a couple of generations, there won’t be any more pureblood society, at least not as we know it...

Wonder what’ll take its place?

He filed the thought away for future reference and returned to self-pity. Missed Draco’s birthday this year – couldn’t even be there in Animagus form. Sent him a card, and a nice long letter, but it’s not the same. And I’ll miss Harry’s too... I can’t believe my baby boy’s going to be fifteen in just two more days. Where did all that time go?

His mind drifted. So, I’m going back to the old home, twenty years later. Dumbledore had found him in the garden the evening before and murmured the secret into his ear before disappearing again. Not counting that little stop after Snivellus invaded us in London, back when the cubs were little. Wonder if Kreacher’s gone any madder? Or Mum’s portrait?

“Not dancing?” asked Corona’s voice from beside him.

“No, I don’t feel like dancing tonight.” Sirius smiled half-heartedly at her. “A private pity party suits my mood better.”

“May I join you?”

“Certainly, if you don’t mind listening to my whining.”

“Better your whining than Ulysses Crabbe’s groping,” Corona said bluntly, sitting down. “He’s a widower and looking to marry again, for a mother for his son, he claims...”

“What do you know about his past?” Sirius asked delicately, looking for a good way to tell Corona what he knew about Crabbe.

“Oh, don’t worry, I know where his sympathies lie.” Corona stared out onto the dance floor. “I know where all their sympathies lie. They babble platitudes about kindness and generosity, and then they support men, and women too, who...” She shut her mouth with a snap. “What makes us so different?” she demanded, turning to him. “What freaks of nature are we?”

“We are the normal ones,” Sirius said firmly. “Not them. Normal people don’t backstab others every chance they get. Sometimes they do, but not every single time. And normal people have at least one person they trust. Like their spouse.”

“Yet another reason I have never married.” Corona’s laugh was bitter. “If you only knew how many times I have wished there were some way out of here...”

Sirius’ reply was cut off by one of the least welcome sensations in his life.

The pendant chain around his neck was growing cold.

“What is it?” Corona asked in concern. “You look distraught...”

Sirius wasn’t listening. The pendants were in his hand, fanned out, he’d see it in a second...

He stopped in surprise. “Hagrid?” he said, staring.

“What?”

“It’s not important,” Sirius said, regaining some sense of where he was. “It’s just... a message from home. I have to go.”

“Go?” Corona was on her feet. “Go where?”

“Home.” Sirius was on his way, weaving carefully through dancers, already concocting his story.

His host listened tolerantly to a tale of a just-received owl, an emergency at home, a friend in trouble, and smiled and nodded. “Of course we’ll miss your company through the rest of the season, but there’s always next year,” he said, bowing. “I hope your trouble sorts itself out well, M’sieur Black. Au revoir. ”

“Au revoir, ” Sirius answered in kind, returning the bow.

Make that Adieu. I am never coming back here, I don’t care what Albus needs.

He was halfway to his room when he heard running feet behind him.

xXxXx

“Sirius, wait!” Corona dashed up to him, wincing with every step. Curse these shoes. She kicked them off and scooped them up, pattering beside him as he started off again. “You’re going home.”

“Yes. A friend of mine is in trouble, I wasn’t lying about that. I just didn’t want to have to explain this.” Sirius reached into his robes without breaking stride and pulled out a gold chain with four carved medallions hanging from it. One of the carvings glowed with an inner light. “They’re magical, they tell us if someone needs help. And Hagrid needs help.”

“Hagrid? The gamekeeper at Hogwarts?” Corona kept pace with him, her shoes in one hand. “What kind of trouble would he be in that he couldn’t get out of himself?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m going home. If I can’t do anything else, I can watch the children while someone else goes to help him.”

Am I hearing things, or did he just hesitate over the word children?

“And to be perfectly honest,” Sirius went on, “I can’t stand another minute here. Thank you for your company, it’s been the one bright spot in a very unpleasant experience...”

“Wait.” Corona put her hand over Sirius’ on the doorknob to his room and gathered her courage in both hands. “Take me with you.”

Sirius looked as if he would have liked to groan. “Corona, I thought you understood,” he said with audibly fraying patience. “I’m married, I have children...”

“Not like that! I don’t mean it that way!” Corona shook her head, trying to find the words to express what she did mean. “Sirius, you’ve been a friend to me, you’ve talked to me like a friend. Be my friend one more time. Give me a way out of here. Just take me to wherever you’re going. You talk about fighting, about opposing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I want to help. Take me with you.”

Sirius looked into her eyes for the space of two breaths. Corona prayed he could see how much she meant this. This is all I’ve ever wanted... a way out, a way to fight for what I believe in...

Finally Sirius broke the silence. “How fast can you pack?”





Facing Danger

Chapter 4: Ideas and Escapes (Year 5)


Chapter 4: Ideas and Escapes

Elladora Gamp crept quietly along the corridor, her nerves keyed high. Any minute, she’d see them... they had to come this way if they were leaving the house, unless they were going to be melodramatic and go out a window...

“You’re sure you have everything?” a man’s voice asked. “I doubt they’ll let you come back.”

Sirius. Elladora bit down on her hiss. He’ll pay, she promised herself. He’ll pay for deceiving me.

“I don’t have much that I care about,” a woman answered. “And it’s all with me. I’ll go to Gringotts in the morning and withdraw my part of the family money – they might be able to bar me from that, if they think of it in time, but I hope to get to it before they even know I’m gone.”

Elladora’s lip curled. Not likely now, Corona. The goblins will have the order from the family tonight, and they don’t deny good customers’ requests, especially not old ones like ourselves...

“If need be, we can help you out for a month or two, until you find work,” Sirius promised. His voice was getting closer. “And if you really want to help with the war, there’s a small stipend for that, and room and board where we’re going. We have someone taking advantage of that already, a liaison to some of the more historically Dark-oriented creatures...”

Elladora raised her wand high as her traitorous sister and the seemingly-returned prodigal rounded the corner. Lumos ! she thought viciously, and searing white light flooded the corridor. Both the others cried out, stumbling back, throwing up hands to protect themselves. Elladora stood as she was, knowing she must appear the very spirit of vengeance to them.

“So,” she said venomously. “To me, you have a Muggle wife, a daughter, a family. But to her, promises of help, money, a home...”

“Elladora, this isn’t what it looks like,” Sirius said, raising his head and squinting against her wandlight. “Could you turn that down? It’s very bright.”

“Turn down the light, is that what you want?” Elladora lowered her wand to shine the light directly into Sirius’ face. He winced and shaded his eyes. “You want to run away to the shadows, to hide on the outskirts, the way you have the entire time you’ve been here. I’ve watched you. Even before we were introduced, I watched you. You never put yourself forward, never tried to gain favor or place...” She heard the note of questioning, of surprise and wonder, in her voice, and hardened it. “Why did you come back, Sirius Black? Why did you come back, truly?”

A hand shot out and grasped her wrist, bending it downwards without hurting her. “I came back to find out what purebloods are thinking,” Sirius said, meeting her eyes. “I came back to see what the old world is like. And it hasn’t changed a bit since I left twenty years ago.”

“An unchanging bastion of hope,” Elladora countered. “Stability in a fast-changing world.”

“Absolutely no change over twenty years? That’s not stability, that’s stagnation. This place is dying, Elladora. If you have any intelligence at all, you’ll get out now, while you still can. You’re young, you’re smart, you’re strong. You can work, support yourself. I could help you, if you wanted it. The way I’m helping Corona...”

Elladora turned to glare at her sister. “Is he too much man for you?” she hissed. “Do you need me to help you tame him?”

“It’s not like that, ” Sirius said with the sound of rapidly thinning patience in his voice. “I am married , and I am not planning to change that any time soon. Corona is going with me as a friend, nothing more. If you can accept that, Elladora, you could come too. We always need more hands in what we’re doing.”

“And what are you doing?” Elladora asked sneeringly. “Pleasuring yourself?”

“Fighting,” Corona said, speaking for the first time. She set down her bag, one of the matching set Grandmother had bought for the sisters at the beginning of the season, and looked into Elladora’s eyes. “Fighting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Elladora. Or do you not remember why Grandmother has had our raising since we were children? I was only five, and even I recall how it happened. You were ten, nearly old enough for schooling. You would know it better than I.”

“You lie,” Elladora snapped. “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is long dead, he has nothing to do with this. As he had nothing to do with our parents’ deaths. It was accident, Corona, an accident in the mountains, it could have happened to anyone...”

“To a fully trained wizard and witch?” Corona countered. “Who were found with looks of fear on their faces, as though they had seen their fate approaching, and been unable to do anything about it? And not buried under avalanching snow, but in shallow graves, dug by human hands. Could that have been accident?”

“Enough!” Elladora twisted herself free from Sirius’ grasp. “Go your ways, if that is what you want, but stop telling these ridiculous lies!”

“Who is the liar here, Elladora?” Corona asked softly. “I remember the truth. You try to deceive even yourself. Who lies?”

“Go! ” Elladora shrieked, and pushed blindly between them. But not so blindly that she could not see the expressions on their faces.

They pity me. The outcasts, the fugitives, they who have chosen to leave civilization and become barbaric – they pity me!

She could not decide if their pity added more to her anger or to her feeling that the world had come adrift around her feet, and nothing would ever be the same again.

xXxXx

“None so blind as those who will not see,” Sirius murmured.

“You have a way with words,” Corona said admiringly.

Sirius snickered briefly. “You could say that. We’d better hurry. I don’t know if she’s still coherent enough to talk to anyone, but if she is, they might try to stop us leaving. Not that I think they could stop us, in the long run, but we’d certainly be delayed, and with Hagrid in trouble, I don’t want to delay any more than I have to.”

“Nor I.” Corona lifted her bag again and followed Sirius down the hall. She had always liked Hagrid, with his cheerful openness, so different from what she was used to at home, and his great-hearted love for anything that crawled or swam or flew. Once or twice, he’d shown her a path that would take her through the fringes of the Forbidden Forest, where she could walk without undue danger and see some of the creatures that lived within the Forest’s bounds.

I wonder... and Sirius would know, if anyone would...

“You taught at Hogwarts for a year,” she said, speeding up a little to keep up with Sirius’ longer legs. “And you know the Headmaster.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I’ve always wondered...” Corona tried to find a tactful way to say it, and couldn’t. “Do werewolves really live in the Forest there? I mean, I know there are dangerous creatures, but everyone always said specifically werewolves, and I just never knew...”

To her relief, Sirius chuckled. “No, I don’t think any werewolves live at Hogwarts. Not anymore, at any rate. There used to be one there, but he had to leave.”

“Your friend,” Corona recalled aloud, thinking of the stories in the Daily Prophet, and her grandmother’s loud declamations that such a thing never would have happened in her day. “And I’ll... I mean, will I... will we...”

Sirius slowed down to turn and look at her. “Are you trying to ask if you’ll meet him?”

Corona nodded, hoping the relative darkness in the hall concealed her blush.

“You’d have a hard time not meeting him,” Sirius said neutrally. “He and I go back a very long way. And I can promise that he won’t bite you, or snarl at you, or anything else you might be thinking of. In fact, of the two of us, he’s the one our friends consider more socially presentable.”

“Then he must be highly presentable indeed,” Corona said, earning a laugh from Sirius. “I will be glad to meet him.”

I will be glad to meet anyone whom you like.

Had she still been eighteen, Corona knew, she might have mistaken the feelings blossoming within her for true love, but she had been twenty-one since May, and she knew a crush when she felt it.

He is married, and happily so, if I may judge by the light in his eyes when he mentions his wife. He obviously dotes on his daughter, and on the other children he has helped to raise. And he has good friends, with whom he shares his life. I can hope to become one of those, and nothing more.

But oh, how it hurt to end the sweet dream of the tall, dark, romantic man who would come into her life, sweep her off her feet, and declare her his true love everlasting...

xXxXx

Sirius caught his breath after Apparating, tapped Corona’s knuckles to tell her she could let go, and had a look around. Grimmauld Place looked just as dreary and unpleasant now as it had twenty years ago, and perhaps a bit more run-down.

He summoned up Albus’ voice from his memory. The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix...

“Ahh,” he breathed in satisfaction as the house revealed itself, shouldering into place between numbers eleven and thirteen. Ugly as ever... but Letha’s in there, and Pearl, and everyone else... except Harry, but he’ll be here soon...

“What is it?” Corona was still clinging to his arm, though no longer as hard as she’d needed to for the Side-Along. “Where are we?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you. Security.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not trust, it’s magic. I can’t say the name. But I can take you in, on two conditions. First, I need your wand. You’ll get it back, it’s just because Moody would have my hide if I let you come into Headquarters armed.”

Corona produced her slender maple wand from within her robes and handed it over. “I doubt I’ll need to defend myself from any terrible monsters in the next three minutes,” she said with a smile. “Especially considering my sister didn’t choose to come along.”

Sirius chuckled. “True. Now, to get by the spells, you can’t see or know where we’re going. So I need you to close your eyes and let me guide you. I’ll muddle you about a bit, but we’ll get there.”

Corona tilted her head back and squeezed her eyes shut, as though expecting to be doused with cold water. Suppressing a laugh, Sirius led her around in a few circles, then across the street and up the walk to the grimy, black-painted door.

He debated knocking, but decided against it. Mum’s portrait’s in the front hall, and she’ll have got worse, not better, for a few years being alone. Instead, he drew his wand and rapped it against the door, thinking carefully of undoing the locks and bolts he knew were on the other side, concentrating on his right to do so.

Seems like you always come back to where you started, no matter how hard you try to get away...

Locks turned, bolts slid back, and the door opened with a tiny creak of hinges. Corona flinched but didn’t open her eyes. Sirius drew her quickly inside and shut the door behind them. The hall, dimly lit by gaslights, looked no different than it had eight years ago, or twenty for that matter.

“You can look now,” he murmured, setting down his own bag. “We’re here.”

“Sirius!” cried a voice from the top of the stairs, and Danger hurtled down, nearly tripping over the loose carpet on the third step but recovering enough balance to fling herself at him. “What are you doing here, you shouldn’t have come, I’ve never been so glad to see you, did your pendants go off?”

Sirius caught Danger in mid-leap and spun her around to take a little momentum off her so they didn’t go flying into the door. “In opposite order, yes, good to see you too, I don’t care, and you already know.” He set her on her feet again without letting go. “How have you been?”

“Working hard,” Danger said, kissing him on the cheek. “But it’s been worth it – Hogwarts’ wards are stronger than ever, and we were even able to weave a little mind protection in, we hope – speaking of which, Remus has something he wants to ask you about, but not here, not now – wait, who’s this?” She had obviously just noticed Corona.

Sirius had to repress another laugh as he turned to look at Corona. She was staring at Danger, obviously trying to equate Sirius’ stories about Aletha with the chattering, fast-moving, pale-skinned woman in Sirius’ arms. “Corona Gamp, meet Gertrude Granger-Lupin, almost always called Danger,” he said, letting Danger go. “Danger, this is Corona, a new friend of mine. She wants to help us.”

“Wonderful.” Danger held out her hand to Corona, who took it after only a moment’s hesitation. “We can use all the help we can get. I’ll get you settled in just a moment, I’m sorry to make you wait, but we have a pair of situations developing–”

“Sirius told me something’s the matter with Hagrid,” Corona volunteered. “Is that one of them?”

Danger nodded. “And it’s created the other one,” she said. “Because people are having to go over to the Continent to look for Hagrid and... his partner, and help them get out of whatever they’ve got into, we’re short on people for here, for a certain retrieval...” A tweak of her pendant chain told Sirius who she meant. “And we did promise it would be tonight.”

“Is that a hint?”

“Well, you’re nearly as good as an army all by yourself, Sirius – and the list of who was going was getting to small army size, let me tell you. It was ridiculous. But Hagrid’s in trouble now, and...” Danger hesitated. Is she safe? her hands asked, indicating Corona.

“And Harry’s not,” finished Sirius, answering Danger’s question obliquely. “No physical trouble, that is. I’m sure he’s blistering mad that we haven’t shown up yet. Is there anyone free to go with me, though? I don’t want to risk it completely alone.”

So grown-up of you, Danger signed, her eyes twinkling almost like Albus’, and with some of his color in them as well –

No, that’s Moony I’m seeing. Sirius gave a little wave. Hi, Moony.

“Molly Weasley’s free, since I’m staying here,” Danger answered aloud, her eyes cycling back to mostly brown. “She’s on her way up. And Moody says he’d be more of a liability on the Continent, since he can’t move fast with that leg. So that’s two.”

“Molly and Mad-Eye and me.” Sirius grinned. “Sounds like a song.”

“Gilbert and Sullivan, maybe. I’ll get your broom, it’s upstairs...”

Corona gasped as a shaggy tan wolf bounded up the stairs and vanished into the gloom.

“She’s an Animagus, you’ll get used to it,” Sirius said nonchalantly. “How do you like my sister?”

“Your what? But you don’t – you didn’t–”

“No, not by blood. Not even half.” Sirius considered the time period. “Well, I suppose it’s possible, but not unless there’s something she doesn’t know. And I sincerely doubt it. So no, we’re not actually related, but fourteen-odd years of living in the same house have to count for something.”

Corona stared at him. “I thought I knew what I was getting into,” she said faintly.

“Don’t worry. This happens a lot to people when they first meet us.” Sirius resisted the urge to chuckle. “Be grateful it was just Danger. All of us together can be a bit overwhelming.”

“A bit,” Corona said, moving to the banister to lean on it. “Just a bit.”

“Sirius!” called Molly Weasley, emerging from the basement stairs. “How are you – it’s good to see you again – and who’s this?”

Sirius introduced Corona again, and to Mad-Eye Moody as he followed Molly upstairs. Both of the Order members were dressed for flying, and Moody had two brooms under his arm. Danger descended the stairs again, Sirius’ Nimbus over her shoulder. “I haven’t told the Pride yet,” she said, handing the broom over the banister. “I didn’t want to deal with the stampede, and this way they can go crazy over you and Harry at the same time when you get back. Watch out for low-flying planes.”

“Oh, we’ll take care of him,” Molly promised as she accepted her broom from Moody. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

“I never do. I worry about several things at once.”

Moody snorted. “There are days I envy you and Lupin, Black,” he said. “And then there are days I don’t.”

Danger pretended she hadn’t heard this.

“Before I leave, I have to ask,” Sirius said, pointing to the curtains which he had thought masked his mother’s portrait. “What happened to her?”

Danger grinned. “She insulted me and Aletha,” she said blithely. “Remus took offense.”

Sirius pulled the curtains back and laughed aloud – they covered nothing but an enormous scorch mark on the wall.

“We’ll get that off eventually as well,” Molly said. “Or the house-elves will. Winky is here now, since the children are, and Dobby’s coming from Hogwarts tomorrow... and why we’re standing here chattering, when Harry’s still with his awful relatives, I have no idea.”

“You heard the boss,” Moody grunted, following Molly toward the door. “Let’s move.”

“Back in a while,” Sirius said, waving at Danger and Corona. Be nice to her, he signed to Danger. She’s scared.

Danger waved back, tossing the finger-sign for Understood into the middle of it. “See you when we see you,” she said casually. “Have a nice time.”

Sirius shut the door behind himself and sighed. “In and out, up and down, here and there,” he said reflectively.

“Welcome to real life,” Molly said. “We’ll need coordinates for Apparating, Alastor...”

xXxXx

Figures. I spend all day working, exercising, packing, staying out of Dudley’s way, waiting for sunset, and nothing. Nobody. Not even an owl.

Harry scowled at his window, reflecting his face clearly from the darkness beyond. It’s probably something to do with Hagrid, I hope he can get out of whatever it is... if they had to put off getting me because of that, it’s... no, it’s not all right, but I could live with it... but couldn’t they at least have told me?

The house was empty of everyone except him and Hedwig. The Dursleys had left as the sun was setting, Aunt Petunia nodding a brusque goodbye to Harry, Uncle Vernon and Dudley not bothering even with that much.

I think not liking me is the only thing they agree on.

Harry lay down on his bed and let his mind drift back over the month. Dudley stays out of his dad’s way a lot. When he wants something, he asks his mum, and she almost always gives it him. He never mentions magic, or Hogwarts, or anything unusual. And he doesn’t have any magical banners or posters on his walls, and his trunk and his schoolbooks are under his bed where nobody will see them...

It’s almost like he’s ashamed of being magic. Absently, Harry chewed on his lip. Or – he is a Slytherin, after all – like he wants to make someone think he’s ashamed of being magic. Someone like his parents. They were less than thrilled when their perfect little Muggle turned out abnormal, I know.

But he seems to like it well enough at school. He’s even in with the “purebloods good, Mudbloods bad” crowd. Wonder how he puts the two together?

A thump from the kitchen brought him upright immediately. Someone’s here. He flipped the light off, drew his wand, and eased the door open, twitching his nose. More than one person, and none of them Dursleys. All familiar scents, though...

“Anybody home?” called a man’s voice.

Harry took a firmer grip on his wand. “Who’s asking?” he called warily.

“Don’t you... oh. I came home early because of Hagrid, Harry. I’m for real.”

“Prove it,” said Harry promptly.

A gravelly chuckle. “Good boy, Potter,” said Moody’s voice.

“Really, Alastor, must you be so suspicious?” asked Mrs. Weasley testily.

“Ah-ha,” Padfoot said, apparently having thought of something. “The first thing Molly did when she found out who I really was, Harry. You remember?”

“No, not at all,” Harry retorted. “It only traumatized me for life.”

Padfoot laughed. “Thought so. You walked in with my DictaQuill, and she was kissing me.”

“And then she slapped you across the face,” Harry finished, listening to Mrs. Weasley chuckle as she remembered. “And you said something like ‘That’s more like it.’”

“Yes, I did. Convinced now?”

Harry dashed down the stairs, swung round the end of the banister, and demonstrated how convinced he was.

“Hi Mrs. Weasley, hi Professor Moody,” he said breathlessly when Padfoot let him go.

“Good instincts, Potter,” Moody said in lieu of a greeting. “Or should I say, good training.” He shot an approving look at Padfoot.

“Oh, Harry, you’ve grown,” Mrs. Weasley said, giving him a quick hug of her own. “I suppose I should have expected that, the other boys are all shooting up, Ron’s worse than ever...”

“Great Merlin, you have,” said Padfoot, looking him over. “You’re taller than Danger now.”

“I am?”

“I just hugged her a minute ago, and I don’t think she’s shrunk. You’re definitely taller.”

Harry’s mind detoured for a second on the possibilities this opened up before returning to the main event of the night. “Time to go?” he said.

“Yes, time to go,” Padfoot agreed, looking around at the Dursleys’ super-clean hall and wrinkling his nose. “Let’s get your trunk, and Hedwig.”

xXxXx

Ron waved his wand again to bring another load of chipped paint off the walls. Paint-stripping wasn’t his favorite way to spend an evening, but it beat sitting around doing nothing, which was the other option.

And at least this way I don’t have loads of time to be worried about Hagrid.

This particular room was on the second floor, next to the boys’ bedroom, and had been assigned to the entire Pride, to clean and refurbish as they pleased in their spare time. Mum had hinted darkly that there wouldn’t be much of this, as the whole house was in terrible condition.

But that’s what house-elves are for. Winky was almost crying with joy when she saw all there is to do here. Of course, then she met Kreacher, and she was just crying...

The Blacks’ old house-elf had recognized Winky as the Crouches’ house-elf – how, Ron didn’t want to know – and had asked her rudely why she’d been dismissed and what she was doing bound to unnatural blood traitors like the Weasleys. Meghan had stepped in and told Kreacher to shut up, and Kreacher had had to obey, but the damage was done. Winky had retreated into the basket in which she’d made the journey from the Den and was refusing to come out, and none of the Weasleys were hard-hearted enough to order her.

Note to self: don’t get on Meghan’s bad side. “Now get in the basement and stay there, Kreacher, and be polite or don’t say anything at all!” Ron grinned to himself. Little sod might never talk again.

He swept his paint chips into a pile, then levitated them into the rubbish bin in the center of the room. Hermione turned to do the same, and their eyes met over the masks they were wearing for the dust. She pulled hers down and smiled at him, before the expression was replaced by the same worry Ron could feel working inside his head. He nodded to her in acknowledgement and returned to his work.

What could get Hagrid into this much trouble? That was the question no one had been able to answer satisfactorily. Hagrid and Madame Maxime both, no one’s bothering to deny they’re together. They’re big enough to deal with most things even without magic, and Hagrid may not be as good with his wand as he could be, but Madame Maxime’s the bloody headmistress of Beauxbatons – I’ll eat every speck of paint off these walls if she’s no good.

But they were looking for giants. That was the point Hermione’d had confirmed at the Order meeting, the suspicion the Pride had been harboring since the end of last year. Hagrid and Madame Maxime, both half-giant themselves, had been sent to try to convince the giants either to fight on the side of the Light or to stay neutral.

Giants are so big, some spells just don’t work, because there’s so much of them. And they’re resistant to others, like Stunners and Memory Charms. Makes them great to have on your side, but I wouldn’t want to fight one. Unless the same trick works on them as on trolls... He snickered.

And one other thing no one wants to say. They might be getting chased, or they might have been caught, by Death Eaters. Because as much as we don’t want You-Know...

Ron stopped, looking over his shoulder at Hermione, systematically stripping her section of wall. He could almost hear her voice: “Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself.”

He grumbled under his breath. Oh, all right. Voldemort. As much as we don’t want Voldemort to have the giants, he wants them just that much.

Ron flicked his wand at the wall again, and a cascade of paint showered off it, rattling onto the floor and nearly coating him. There, I thought it, he thought sarcastically toward Hermione, brushing off his shoulder. Happy now?

As if she’d heard him, she turned to look at his section of the room. He could see her eyes dancing above her mask, and she threw him a thumbs up.

Suddenly a bit more cheerful, he returned it. You too, he signed with his left hand. Looks good.

Thanks, she signed back, one hand tapping her chin.

Smiling under his mask, Ron returned to work. Hagrid will be fine, he told himself. It’s not as if he hasn’t been in trouble before. What about the time he almost got busted for having Norbert in his house? But he got away with that, with a little help from us and the Pack’s parents...

He stopped, one hand on the wall. He’d said, or thought, something important in there, but he couldn’t figure out where.

All right, go back over it and don’t panic, Ron. Keep working. It might come back to you.

He stepped back to get the strip of paint next to the ceiling. I was thinking about Mr. Moony and Mrs. Danger, and Mrs. Letha and Mr. Padfoot... no, it’s not them. Something before that. The night we took Norbert out of Hagrid’s house, maybe?

The tingle of an idea was stronger. Norbert. Little Baby Norbert, except he isn’t such a baby anymore. And Charlie has to deal with him. I know it was a two-day deal, getting Norbert back to the preserve in Romania... wonder how he’s getting on...

The connections closed. Ron spun around, ripping paint from the walls all the way around the room. The Pride jumped back as one, the girls squealing, the boys shouting.

“Sorry,” Ron said breathlessly, shoving his mask back. “Just thought of something. About Hagrid. There might be a way we could help him. Or not us, but someone we can get a hold of...”

“What?” Hermione demanded. “Tell us!”

xXxXx

Aletha jumped as her pocket emitted a musical chime. Two curses came from the darkness around her, along with Kingsley’s quiet, urgent, “Shut that thing off!”

“Sorry,” Aletha said quickly, pulling the Zippophone from her pocket and flicking it open. “Freeman-Black, and this had better be good,” she said into it.

“We think we know how to help Hagrid,” said Hermione’s voice without preamble. “Do you know where Tonks is?”

xXxXx

Charlie Weasley’s eyes popped open. Someone was bending over him in the darkness, hand over his mouth. He grabbed onto the hand and yanked, bringing the person down on top of himself, then swung his legs into a clutch and rolled over to pin –

A hand slapped at his ear. “Stop it, it’s me!” hissed Tonks’ voice.

Charlie relaxed. “Could have told me,” he muttered, letting her up. “Instead of scaring me half to death. Something wrong, or did you just think it would be romantic to drop in at midnight?”

“Hagrid’s in some sort of trouble. We don’t know what, and we can’t find him – he’s not where Dumbledore thought he’d be.”

“Well, if he’s in trouble, that makes sense. What am I supposed to do about it?”

Tonks lit her wand, holding it below their faces. “This is official,” she said, in a tone of someone making sure her listener believes her. “Orders , if you understand me.”

“I understand. What about it?”

Tonks bent down and picked up a bundle of fabric, which she handed to Charlie. Unbundled, it proved to be a very large shirt, coarse flannel such as he had often seen Hagrid wear. “Give this to Norbert,” she said. “And then let him go.”

Charlie gaped at her. “Let him what? Are you mad? We can’t just let a dragon go! This is wild country, but there might still be people here, hikers or backpackers or something – Muggles! They wouldn’t stand a chance against a dragon!”

“He’s not going to be interested in them,” Tonks countered. “Not with that smell in his nose. He’s going to want to go and find his mummy.”

“He might not even remember his mummy. It’s been years.”

One of the other dragon-keepers groaned and turned over. Charlie and Tonks both froze, but the man only muttered something unintelligible before falling back asleep. Charlie sighed in relief, then pulled his own wand out and lit it, leading Tonks out of their camp.

“This is a bad idea,” he said firmly when they were a safe distance away. “Even if he does remember his mummy, his mummy’s going to look like food to him now.”

“Hagrid was the first thing he saw when he hatched, right?” Tonks had her hands on her hips, and Charlie was struck for an instant by how much she looked like his mother. “Animals imprint on what they see when they’re first born. And you’re always telling me how odd Norbert acts, how he doesn’t seem to know he’s a dragon, how he fights with the other dragons, and how attached to you and some of the other keepers he is.”

“Well, yes, but–”

“It might be our only chance, Charlie – it might be Hagrid’s only chance. Something’s masking his and Madame Maxime’s trail, and Kingsley thinks it might be Dark magic. But dragons have their own magic. Norbert might be able to find Hagrid where we can’t. Isn’t it at least worth a try?”

Charlie stared past his fiancée’s shoulder at the pen he and the other dragon-keepers had conjured before night fell. Norbert was asleep, of course – asleep was the safest way to move dragons – but magical creatures had been known to shake off spells unexpectedly, and the pen (covered, as was the entire area of the camp and their flight course each day, with Muggle-repelling spells) was a standard caution.

And if they can throw off spells, what else can they do?

“I’m out of my mind,” he mumbled to himself. “I am out of my bloody mind.”

“Out of it, in it, I don’t care,” Tonks snapped. “Make it up already.”

“Fine.” Shirt over his arm, Charlie nudged Tonks aside and started for the pen. “Just stay back, all right?” he said over his shoulder. “I know you’re good with your wand, but dragons are tricky.”

Tonks nodded and backed up a few more paces.

Charlie swarmed up the ladder on the outside of the pen, pausing for a moment at the top. I really am out of my mind. Hell, if this goes wrong, I might be out of a job. Or in Azkaban.

But my friend’s in trouble, and I have my orders.

He dropped to the ground inside the pen and started the spell which would wake the Norwegian Ridgeback.

Besides, what good is life without a little excitement?

xXxXx

Harry peeled his left hand off his Firebolt and flexed his fingers, then did the same with his right. Padfoot noticed and swooped in closer. “Cold?” he shouted over the rushing wind.

“Not too bad,” Harry shouted back.

Padfoot gave Harry a skeptical look, moved right alongside him, and drew his wand. “Hands,” he said.

Harry grinned, locked his legs around his broom, and took his hands away from it, holding them both out to Padfoot. Padfoot glared at him, then quickly conjured thin leather gloves around them. “You know I meant one at a time,” he grumbled, putting his wand away. “Show-off.”

Harry nodded cheerily and signed thanks. His fingers were already starting to warm up.

Now if my pendants just would...

xXxXx

Rubeus Hagrid had been in a lot of tight spots in his life, but seldom as tight as this. He and Olympe Maxime had spent the last hour dodging Death Eaters, and the job was getting no easier.

Trouble is, there’s more o’ them than there is of us. And I’m ruddy useless with me wand.

He sighed quietly, rubbing at his aching side. They’d found a place to rest, but at any moment one of their four pursuers might catch sight of their tiny fire, and the chase would be on again.

“I’m sorry abou’ this, Olympe,” he said quietly.

“Sorry?” Olympe cocked her head inquiringly. “Why should you be sorry, ‘Agrid?”

“Well.” Hagrid absently pressed a rock into the wall of the cave where they sat. “It’s just... I’m not a full wizard, y’know. Never made it through school.”

“Oui , you ‘ave told me. And also ‘ow eet was not your fault.” Olympe moved closer to him. “Are you thinking, perhaps, zat we might not be in zis trouble if you were a better wizard?”

Hagrid looked away. He could feel his face reddening. “That’s it,” he mumbled. “Jus’ about.”

Olympe chuckled slightly. “’Agrid, you are too funny,” she said, moving closer again, so that she could rest her hand on his shoulder. “I knew zat you ‘ad been expelled from school when Dumbly-dorr asked me to do zis, and still I said yes. Would you ‘ave ‘ad me sit at ‘ome, safe and sound, while you went out to do zis alone?”

Hagrid turned to face her. “No, o’ course not. But...”

“No buts,” Olympe said firmly, pressing two fingers against his mouth. “We ‘ave done our best, and wishing will not change zat. We will continue to do our best, and fussing will not ‘elp us. Now we must rest, rest our minds and our bodies both, so zat we can fight again when zey come...”

Her fingers lifted from his lips, but her face was very close to his. “Just one,” she whispered. “Since we might not ‘ave anozzer chance.”

Hagrid’s throat tightened at the thought, but his arms and his lips seemed to have taken Olympe’s point to heart.

Only trouble is, who stops at just one?

Some six or seven kisses later, they broke away. “Merci, ” Olympe murmured, smiling. “Merci beaucoup. ”

“Y’welcome,” Hagrid said automatically, his mind still recovering.

Suddenly, sounds like firecrackers exploded across the small valley.

“Apparation,” Olympe hissed, dousing the fire with her wand.

Hagrid nodded and edged to the front of the cave. A flicker of white across the valley, then another in a different spot. He held up two fingers behind him, added a third, then a fourth. “They’re all here,” he breathed. “They mus’ know we are.”

“At least one of zem will never leave ‘ere,” Olympe growled, her wand ready in her hand. “Show me where, ‘Agrid...”

Hagrid was about to point out where he’d seen movement when a screech from above froze them both.

“What is eet?” Olympe whispered, her eyes wide.

“Dunno.” Hagrid’s mind raced. He wished he dared look out of the cave – he knew what it had sounded like, but that was impossible...

Flames roared across the sky.

“Dragon! ” screamed a Death Eater, breaking cover.

Olympe’s Stunner hit him dead-center, knocking him backwards down the slope.

Wings flapped, and the dragon flamed again, this time where Hagrid could see it, setting some of the shrubbery on the mountainside afire. Scales glinted a lustrous black in the firelight.

Black... and two little horns, and orange eyes, and that nice little ridge down his back...

Snapping branches and crashing sounds brought Hagrid out of his astounded trance – two of the remaining three Death Eaters were charging their position, wands out, spells firing – he snatched up his umbrella and threw an Engorgement Charm at one of them, but it was blocked – Olympe was having similar trouble with hers, and he had scored on her with a partial Paralysis Charm –

A huge black claw descended in front of the cave. Then another, and another, and the great black scaled body settled into place. Hagrid was by Olympe’s side in a moment, using her wand to take the charm off her, then holding her, holding his hands over her ears, and she caught on instantly and snatched up her wand, casting a partial Deafener on both of them –

The dragon roared, the sound filling and shaking the mountain valley. Both half-giants winced, despite their protection. Hagrid could only imagine what it must be like to be out in front of that kind of anger.

Serve them right, scaring decent people like that.

Then the great coils of dragon were unwinding, turning, working their way around –

“’Agrid...” Olympe began, her eyes widening as she backed away.

The dragon’s head came into view.

“Norbert! ” Hagrid shouted happily. Then he noticed the look in the orange eyes and swallowed hard.

“Now, Norbert,” he said in the voice he used to command respect from the larger creatures, “yeh don’ want ter do that. Settle down, now.”

Norbert eyed him carefully, seeming to consider.

“Who’s a grand dragon, then?” Hagrid coaxed, switching tones. “Who’s his mummy’s best poppet? Lie down an’ let me get at yer eyebrows, yeh silly beast – I know yeh like a scratch up there, but you’re too big fer me ter reach all the way up there now.”

Norbert lowered his head dubiously, then lifted it back up.

“Lie down, I said,” Hagrid repeated, bringing his hand down to the cave floor to demonstrate. “Come on, Norbert, down.”

Norbert sighed gustily, filling the cave with smoke, then dropped his great head to the ground and lay down. Olympe coughed and quickly cleared the air with a spell.

Hardly daring to believe it, Hagrid approached his baby and began gently to rub at the ridges above Norbert’s eyes, where eyebrows would be on a person. Norbert rumbled in his throat, as he had when he was a tiny dragonet.

“So, ‘Agrid,” said Olympe in a carefully calm voice after a few moments. “You... know zis dragon.”

“Yeh could say that,” said Hagrid, letting his smile spill out onto his face.

“I did say eet.” Olympe approached them tentatively, then, when Norbert didn’t move, sat down beside Hagrid and gently stroked one of Norbert’s shining scales. “And I would very much like to know ‘ow eet came about.”

“Well...” Hagrid considered where to begin. “It’s a long story, y’know.”

Olympe chuckled. “And what do we ‘ave but time? Somehow I think ze Death Eaters will not be back so soon.”

“Think you’re right,” Hagrid agreed, grinning as he scratched Norbert’s brow ridges harder. “Well, then, I s’pose it starts in the Hog’s Head, one o’ the pubs down in Hogsmeade...”

xXxXx

Ginny let out her breath and hugged her brother tightly. “Ron, you’re a genius,” she said.

“Nice work, Redwing,” Draco agreed, knocking fists with Ron over Ginny’s head.

Ron shrugged. “Someone else would have come up with it eventually,” he said.

“But eventually might have been too late,” said Meghan. “You came up with it in time to save Hagrid’s life.”

“Maybe you should go to the Order meetings, Ron,” said Hermione. “Different ones than I get to go to. They could use you to help them plan what they need to protect, and who.”

“Maybe... what do you mean, different ones?”

“I’m sure they have meetings I don’t come to,” Hermione said. “Meetings where they discuss really secret things, things that we can’t know about yet. They can’t let me hear everything – it’s too dangerous.”

“But they know it’s also dangerous to keep us from knowing anything,” Neville put in. “Because then we’ll sneak and try to find things out, and we might hear things we’re not supposed to. If they tell us some things, we likely won’t snoop around and listen at doors.”

“We won’t,” said Ron. “The twins will.”

“Not if we keep them informed,” said Ginny. “And we can trade, you know. Information is valuable. We could get lots of free samples of whatever they’re working on these days if we just promise to tell them what we know...”

Speculative looks were traded.

Draco drew a tissue from his pocket and handed it to Luna without comment.

Halfway through the discussion of what the twins were making and what the Pride might reasonably demand for their information, a door slammed downstairs. Seven heads came up.

“Harry?” said Meghan, her eyes widening as her smile began to grow.

“I’m home!” shouted the voice they’d all been waiting for.

“Harry!” Meghan dashed out the door, Hermione and Draco only a second behind her. Luna blotted her eyes once more, then put the tissue in her pocket and followed Ron to the stairs.

“Aren’t you going to go down and say hello?” Neville asked Ginny, letting the scroll on which he’d been taking notes roll up again.

Ginny shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe in a minute.”

“All right.” Neville picked up the scroll and capped his ink bottle, putting his quill in his pocket. On his way out of the room, he paused and turned back. “I don’t think he’ll always be stupid,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Ginny hissed under her breath. “Why can’t he be more like you?” she asked, certain that Neville knew what and who she meant. “Nice, and smart, and not as dense as a rock about everything except what’s in front of his nose, and not always thinking he’s the most important thing in the world?”

“Because then he’d be me, not him.” Neville might have been talking about anything. “And you don’t like me that way. You like him.”

“But why? ” Ginny demanded. “It doesn’t make sense! He barely even knows I exist, except as just another part of the Pride!”

Neville shifted from foot to foot, fiddling with the edge of the scroll.

Ginny slumped. She knew the symptoms of “I know the answer but you won’t like it” as well as any child in a big family. “Go on,” she said dully. “Just say it.”

“A lot of the time, you don’t act like anything but ‘just another part of the Pride,’” Neville said. “And the Pride is really great, but we all need to have ourselves too. If that made any sense.”

“No, it does,” said Ginny. “It’s like a family. We have to be people before we can be a group, or the group turns into all there is of us. So you think I need to be more me?”

Neville nodded. “I like you,” he said. “And I think there’s a lot of you there.” He colored slightly. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I meant...” He looked flustered for a moment, then relaxed as he hit on the words he needed. “It’s like your statue, the one you made the other day. You said it was you, and it’s very complicated and not easy to figure out. There’s a lot to you, Ginny. You just have to let it shine out.” He smiled. “I think once you do, nobody will be able to ignore you anymore.”

“Thanks, Neville.” Ginny smiled back at him, and crossed the room to give him a quick hug. “Maybe you should be the official Pride cheerer-upper.”

“I’d like that,” Neville said thoughtfully. “Making people feel better is always good. Are you ready to go say hello to Harry, then?”

“Ready when you are.”

They left the room side by side, Neville leaning back in to shut off the lights.

xXxXx

Harry couldn’t keep himself from grinning like an idiot as he went down the stairs to the basement kitchen, the noisy, jubilant Pride all around him. Hagrid was going to be all right – everything was going to be all right –

His scar burned, and he felt a wave of cold, indignant anger. Couldn’t they get anything right? Even the simplest, most basic of tasks seemed beyond them – bungling fools! But they would learn. They would learn, if he had to beat it into them with his own two hands –

“Harry!”

Harry’s eyes shot open. Meghan was kneeling beside him, her hand on the back of his head. “You tripped and fell,” she said, her eyes wide. “And then... then...”

“Get off,” Harry said, pulling away. “Don’t touch me.”

Meghan stared at him in astonishment. “But you were hurt. I can’t just leave you...”

“You’ll have to.” Harry found a wall behind him and used it to pull himself up to sitting. “I don’t want you anywhere near me if I fall down like that again, you understand? It isn’t safe. Don’t you remember what happened to you when Draco had that curse on him? You can get hurt with this kind of thing. Promise me, Meghan. Promise you won’t touch me if this happens again.”

Meghan’s mouth formed a soft O of understanding. “Is that what I was feeling?” she whispered. “I mean... is that who?”

Harry explored the back of his head with his fingers and winced as he found the lump, but it was nowhere near as large or as painful as it should have been – Meghan must have done some healing on him before he woke up. “Yeah,” he said aloud. “It must have been.”

“Well, that didn’t take long,” Padfoot muttered. “What was it, Harry?”

“He was mad,” Harry said, letting his godfather help him up. He could hear footsteps on the stairs, someone else was coming in, but he didn’t particularly care who. His good mood had vanished, and all he could feel was tired. “He thinks they can’t do anything right.”

“Who thinks who can do nothing right?” inquired Snape, appearing in the stairway.

“Voldemort,” Harry said, leaning on the wall. A smile half-surfaced on his face as he watched Snape start. “And the Death Eaters, I guess. They must have bollixed something up.”

Snape gave Harry a hard look. “You know so much, Potter,” he said skeptically.

Harry met Snape’s eyes. “I was him for a second,” he said. “I don’t think I’m wrong.”

An expression Harry couldn’t quite identify flitted across Snape’s face. Harry inhaled deeply and coughed in surprise.

“You need to sit down, Harry,” Padfoot said, stepping between Harry and Snape and shooting Snape a glare over his shoulder. “Do you want something to drink? Or any of you others, while we’re waiting for the rest to get back?” He shepherded Harry towards a chair, then started for the pantry. “Danger’s probably upstairs somewhere, I don’t know why she hasn’t come down yet, she’s the one who knows where everything is...”

“I’m coming, I’m coming, you helpless man, you,” said Danger, dodging by Snape as he turned and hurried back up the stairs. “Honestly, anyone would think you’d never been in a kitchen before. Shoo. Go introduce your friend, I don’t think anyone else has met her...”

A young woman in finely cut robes stepped into the kitchen hesitantly, her fair hair spilling over her shoulders. Sirius hurried to her side. “Everyone, this is Corona Gamp,” he said, waving to them. “Corona, that’s Ron and Ginny Weasley there, Molly’s two youngest – I’m sure you’ll meet the other boys eventually, they’ll all be here at some point – Neville Longbottom there, Luna Lovegood...”

Harry tuned out in favor of thinking over what Snape’s scent had revealed.

He figured something out, or had an idea. And he thought it was a pretty damn good one.

I just hope we think so too...

xXxXx

Meghan fell asleep at the table during the Pride’s catching-up, missing her plate of goulash by an inch. “Wore herself out,” Sirius said, coming around the table to scoop her up. “I’ll get her to bed, just don’t let Harry eat my dinner.”

“I don’t want your dinner. It’s full of dog germs.”

“Ouch,” Sirius said, shifting Meghan in his arms. “How long have you been waiting to use that one? Since you were five?”

Harry threw him a hand-signed insult.

“There, that’s better.” Sirius mounted the basement stairs with his daughter in his arms, chuckling to himself as he passed the empty place where his mother’s portrait had hung. “Sorry, Mum, but it had to be done,” he said aloud, and amused himself imagining her shrill, indignant replies as he started up the second flight.

Meghan didn’t even move when Sirius laid her down in her bed, pulled her shoes off, and tucked the sheet over her. “Sleep well, sweetheart,” he whispered, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I’m so glad to be home.”

The light in the room suddenly dimmed. Sirius looked up at the wall, where the lighted rectangle which was the open door had been diminished by the shadowy shape of a human being standing in the doorway. A woman, it was a woman watching him, and not Danger or Corona either...

He inhaled, and her scent flowed over him, clean and fresh and sharp. It was one of the things he’d missed most for the last month.

But something’s wrong...

He rose from his knees and turned to face her. “What did I do?” he asked.

Aletha’s lips twitched. “You know, some men would try to dissemble in this situation,” she said coolly. “I admire your candor.”

“What situation?”

“There’s a blonde woman in the kitchen. I’ve never met her before. She claims she came with you.” Aletha looked him up and down. “Is there anything you want to tell me, Sirius? Or ask me, perchance?”

“Well, yes, there is something I want to ask you. Something I’ve been wanting to ask you ever since I met Corona – that’s her name, by the way, Corona Gamp. Lovely girl.”

“Yes,” Aletha said, still with the small half-smile on her lips. “A lovely girl indeed.”

“Not nearly as lovely as a lot of others I saw. A lot of the ones who wanted to dance with me, and talk with me, and maybe get their hooks into me.” Sirius hoped he wasn’t taking this too far. “I wish you could have seen some of them.”

“Do you? Why?”

“Oh, just so you could see how much more beautiful you are than all of them put together.”

Aletha was in his arms within a second. “I knew it had to be something like that, you horrid man,” she whispered into his ear after their first long kiss. “But I didn’t want to spoil my compliment.”

Sirius chuckled. “Good, then you’ll know not to spoil this.” He disengaged and went to one knee in front of her. “Aletha, will you marry me? Magically, this time? I don’t ever want to go through this again. I’m yours, and I want the world to know it. Will you?”

“Why, Sirius,” Aletha murmured, smiling although her eyes were very bright. “I thought you’d never ask.”

In her sleep, Meghan smiled.





Facing Danger

Chapter 5: Newcomers and Negotiations (Year 5)


Chapter 5: Newcomers and Negotiations

“I am very disappointed.” Harry looked down at the back of a black-hooded head and noted the slight quiver of the shoulders, the little wheeze in the breathing, the myriad signs that showed this follower fully understood the meaning of his master’s disappointment. “How was it that this plan went so awry?”

“My lord, the Headquarters was finished early. I had thought it would take at least another week to find and repair the trouble with the wards in the walls. And I was not present when Dumbledore and the rest decided when and how to conduct the move.” The man’s speech was careful, precise, but with a hint of desperation in its cadences. “It would have done us little good in any case. Any covert strike would have been traced to me easily, and attacking openly would mean attracting the sort of attention you have instructed us to avoid.”

“You rationalize your defeat well,” Harry said coolly. “But I am not accustomed to defeat, and yet it faces me at every turn. Two plans destroyed by the Order, a Death Eater killed and another two wounded by dragon fire...”

“My lord, the first plan is not yet destroyed.” The desperation was mounting in the usually controlled tones. “It must simply be delayed, put off for a time. They will grow careless, tired of the place they have chosen...”

“Of which you can tell me nothing more, I understand.” Harry seated himself, tapping his long forefingers together. “And I can send new envoys to the giants, though they will have less success in that area than those from the Order, since giants will surely be impressed by the strength displayed in the control of a dragon. So, in a sense, neither of my plans is destroyed. Still, even you will not deny that they have been gravely set back. Especially with Liebenburg’s death.”

“Liebenburg was new.” Sulkiness crept into the kneeling man’s voice. “He had joined us barely a week before he went out. I have been faithful from the beginning.”

“Have you?” Harry allowed himself a brief laugh. “But your faithfulness is not in question here. You had little or nothing to do with my ambassadors to the giants, though you did thoughtfully provide us with the path Dumbledore’s lackeys were taking. And you are correct that Liebenburg was new, and a loss easily afforded. Yaxley and Greco will recover in time. But if I now wish the mission to the giants to succeed, I must send one of my sworn ones, leaving me with only two to provide what I need even more. What do you advise me to do?”

“My lord, you will not like my advice,” the man said frankly. “Yet it is the best that I can give you, and I owe it to you to give you the best and the truth.”

“Speak, then. I am listening.”

“My advice is to wait. Make them wear themselves out with watching. Every defense flags in time, if no enemy attacks it. Time is on your side. They will become careless, they will make a mistake, and in that moment you will have them.”

“A good answer.” Harry drew his wand from his pocket and caressed it. “I like it.”

“Then... my punishment?” The whisper would have been inaudible if any other sound had intruded upon the room.

“Will be reduced. But not removed.” Harry let the wand’s tip drift lazily back and forth before him. “Failure is still failure, after all.”

The man tensed in place. The scent/taste/feel of fearful anticipation began to mount.

Harry smiled, licked his lips, and let it.

xXxXx

One second Moony-the-lion was chasing down a wild deer, anticipating the rush of the kill and the hot blood in his mouth –

The next he was lying awake in bed, one word resonating between his ears.

Harry.

Danger was already out of bed, pulling on her dressing gown. Remus followed suit quickly. An image of Sirius and Aletha passed between them, followed by wordless agreement. All of them would be best for this.

Harry lay in the second floor hallway, sucking air between his teeth, one hand pressed to his forehead. Remus made no attempt to disguise his approach, kneeling beside his Pack-son when he reached him. “Bad dream?” he asked quietly, shutting the door of the boys’ bedroom with his wand.

“Yeah.” The assent was barely audible, exhaled with the pain. “The spy... I saw him...”

“The spy in the Order?” The father in Remus wanted to tell Harry not to talk about it, but the warrior knew this was important. “You saw him?”

“Just his body. He was... you know.” Harry’s free hand waved up and down his prone body. “Covered up. Robe and mask and all. I heard him talk, and I know him... but I don’t know him.”

“You recognized the voice, but you can’t put a name to it,” Remus translated.

“Yeah, that.” A trace of the humor in the situation slipped into Harry’s tone, and was just as quickly gone as the boy’s body stiffened. “Scar...” Harry breathed, a whimper slipping out between his words. “He’s enjoying this...”

“Enjoying what?” Remus asked, a little too sharply. “Hurting you?”

“No... I don’t think... no, not me. Hurting him. The spy. Because he failed. He likes it. Voldemort does.”

All right, enough of this. Remus laid his left hand on Harry’s back and sent gentle warmth into painfully knotted muscles. Harry leaned into it, and Remus added his other hand after scent-touching Harry’s cheek.

Three sets of quiet footsteps sounded on the stairs, and the other Pack-parents were there, Aletha kneeling instantly to caress Harry’s face herself, Danger ducking around Remus’ back to sit down near Harry’s feet, Sirius holding back a moment until Aletha finished what she was doing, then leaning in as Remus moved out and lifting Harry into a sitting position.

“He just won’t leave you alone, will he?” the older wizard said, helping his godson lean against the wall. “Want to talk about it?”

“Already did.” Harry turned his head slowly to indicate Remus with his eyes. “Not much else I remember. Secret plan... and the spy told him where Hagrid and Madame Maxime were going to be... was there anything wrong with the wards in the walls here?”

“There was a mix-up,” Danger said. “Two teams thought it was their job to put them up.”

“He did that. The spy. He was trying to delay Headquarters being ready until something else was. Something of Voldemort’s. And he said he wasn’t here when Dumbledore decided about a move.” Harry’s eyes were open now, and his hand was off his forehead. “Whatever got moved is valuable, isn’t it? You don’t want Voldemort to have it, so you’re keeping it here.”

“Yes,” Aletha said, reaching up to catch the vial of potion she’d summoned. “You’re perfectly correct.”

“And I’m not allowed to know what it is.” There was tired acceptance in the tone, but Remus couldn’t decide if that was a function of some new maturity of Harry’s or of the late hour and the headache.

“It’s no secret,” said Aletha, pouring a dose of the potion into the cup Sirius had conjured for her. “But there’s no point in talking about it just now, either. You don’t need anything else to think about, or worry about, tonight. If you’re still curious tomorrow, ask again.”

“But only you,” Sirius added. “Don’t go spreading this one around.”

Harry’s eyes were speculative over the lip of the cup, but he said nothing, finishing the potion and leaning back against the wall again. The lines of pain on his face began to smooth out as the potion went to work.

“All right for now?” Danger asked, stroking Harry’s hair and continuing down onto his shoulder.

“Mmm,” Harry agreed, closing his eyes.

“Up with you, then,” Remus said, getting a hand under Harry’s arm. “I don’t think you want to spend tomorrow morning with a stiff neck and a sore throat from sleeping in the hall.”

Harry opened one eye. “Sore throat?”

“From answering all the questions the Pride’s bound to ask,” Danger clarified.

Harry smiled tiredly and let Remus help him up. As Danger rose too, Remus eyed their respective heights. Sirius was right, he said silently. Or if not right, then awfully close.

You think I hadn’t noticed? Danger’s voice was simultaneously tender and annoyed, one of those combinations only mothers could pull off. He’s the first, but I doubt he’ll be the last. Even Hermione might make my height in the end.

Remus shrugged, letting Harry lean on him. We’ll see. Meet you upstairs.

Aletha and Danger hugged Harry once more, and Sirius rumpled his hair and rubbed Harry’s scar with his thumb. “That’s enough out of you for one night,” he told it sternly, making them all smile. “Sleep well, Greeneyes.”

In the bedroom, Harry lay down, took one deep breath, and slumped into the loose-limbed oblivion all parents knew. Such an obedient cub, Remus thought, drawing the sheet over Harry. When he wants to be.

He bent and kissed Harry’s forehead, directly over his scar. “I love you, Harry-kins,” he whispered. “Stay out of trouble in your dreams.”

Though if you stayed out of trouble anywhere, you just wouldn’t be you.

xXxXx

Corona Gamp came awake all at once, her heartbeat sounding in her ears.

She was in a strange place, surrounded by strange people, about to be asked to take part in a war whose last battle had been fought when she was a child, a war that her only living relatives didn’t believe was beginning again.

But I am free.

The thought was heady. No more balls, no more endless days in the house, no more tedious etiquette and deportment. She didn’t expect barbarism, exactly, but she’d had a few Muggleborn acquaintances – despite Salazar Slytherin’s attitude towards Muggleborns, some of them still entered Hogwarts every year with enough ambition and drive to warrant their Sorting into his House – and she knew that the dry formality espoused by pureblood society had died out almost everywhere else.

Politeness is still expected, but the endless rituals are all but gone. And women are not expected to breed heirs. They marry and have children when it is right for them and for their spouses, not when their family requires it.

For that alone, she blessed the fate that had sent Sirius Black to her. She liked children, but at a distance, and had no desire to bear them herself. It was an attitude she had learned early to keep a secret.

But now she no longer needed secrets.

She had escaped.

She only wished that her sister could have come with her.

Maybe she will find her own courage someday.

And with that hope, Corona had to be content.

The guest bedroom she’d been given was on the first floor, and as she stepped into the hall, a burst of giggles told her she wasn’t alone. A closed door near the stairs was easily identifiable as the source of the laughter. At least two girls, probably more. I think there were four last night...

She descended the stairs to the main floor, then again into the basement kitchen, where a house-elf was stirring a pot of porridge and a red-haired, motherly woman was frying eggs. Several people looked up from their food and nodded to her or tossed her “Good morning”s. Corona answered in kind and slid onto one of the benches, trying to match names with faces. There had been a lot of introductions the night before, and she wasn’t sure she remembered everyone...

“Miss?” said a squeaky voice at her elbow.

Corona turned. The house-elf, dressed – dressed? – in a small pink blouse and skirt, was offering her a bowl of porridge. “Thank you,” she said automatically, accepting the food. The house-elf bobbed a curtsey and returned to the stove.

Add it to the list of things that are not as they seem.

Corona returned to scanning the table. Sirius’ wife, Aletha, sat next to Danger at the end of the other bench, their conversation laced with gestures using the hands not occupied by utensils. Beside the women sat a man whose remaining hair was as red as the cook’s, finishing a piece of toast in between sips of coffee.

Weasleys. I have heard the name, but never met them. She smiled to herself, blowing on a spoonful of porridge. Of course not. They are far too nice to be acceptable to my... former circle of acquaintances.

On her own bench, Remus Lupin sat at the far end, across from his wife. A tiny frisson ran down Corona’s spine at the sight of him. His ultimately successful bid for custody of a child had made him notorious among purebloods. The only reason the young wizards had not organized a werewolf hunt, or the older ones protested in more civilized terms, was that the only child officially involved was Muggleborn. Had any pureblood child been included in the custody request, Corona doubted the family would have got off so easily.

And yet a pureblood child is intimately involved, and lives in the household...

She shrugged. It is no longer my problem.

And Sirius was quite right about his friend’s deportment and social presence... when they are acting like themselves, that is.

Corona let her eyes travel to Sirius himself, sitting beside Lupin and wandlessly vanishing his plateful of cooked breakfast. Her suspicions from the season had been confirmed; the Sirius Black everyone had seen at the dances and parties was a veneer over the real man. She had been one of the only ones to see past the façade, to see what Sirius concealed.

And he’s so much more than they demand of their young men... he can fight, but he can also love, and he loves life in general, and his own life in particular...

Sitting closest to her though still two or three seats away, a young man about her own age absently poked at a sausage with his fork. A few scars marked his pale gold skin, a few threads of white touched his black hair, but if he’d had a good story to explain that away – fighting a dragon single-wanded, perhaps, or acquiring phoenix feathers to sell – he would have been entirely acceptable to any girl in Corona’s world.

Strange how we care about ancestry in one way and not in another. As long as his ancestors were magical, no one would ask from what country they came. Especially when the answer is so obviously China.

His face was familiar, too. Obviously, from his age, they’d been at Hogwarts together, though he hadn’t been a Slytherin or she would have known him.

I even think I remember his house – Hufflepuff – but I cannot think of his name...

As if he had read her mind, the young man turned to look at her, met her eyes, and smiled. It was a welcoming smile, friendly and open.

No one would ever smile like that where I come from. It would look contrived if they tried.

The young man scooted closer to Corona and offered her his hand. “Brian Li,” he said. “In case you don’t remember.”

Corona clasped the hand gratefully. “Corona Gamp, and thank you. I was wondering how to ask without appearing ridiculous.”

“You met a lot of people last night. I was in the same situation a few weeks ago. It can be overwhelming, and one friendly face makes a world of difference.”

“Yes.” Corona consciously relaxed her shoulders. “I think we went to school together,” she said. “Were you in my year?”

“I think I must have been, because I remember seeing you. Slytherins and Hufflepuffs didn’t have many classes together, though, so you likely wouldn’t remember me.”

Corona grimaced. “I was trained to regard anyone I hadn’t known from childhood as beneath my notice, Mr. Li,” she said. “I hope to escape my family’s grasp, but it will take time.”

“Call me Brian. And you’ll have company along the way. Not that my family has unrealistic and damaging expectations of me, but much of the rest of the world does.” Brian shifted nervously in his seat.

“Is there any particular reason?” Corona inquired, though a sudden suspicion came to her. A scarred man, graying prematurely, of whom the world had bad expectations...

Lupin is famous from the custody case, and a famous man cannot do undercover work. In fact, I could see how some werewolves – the ones who do act like the monsters in the bedtime stories I was told as a child – would resent and hate him for what he has done. But someone obscure, someone seemingly beneath notice, might be accepted more easily among them.

“I think that I understand,” said Corona, breaking into Brian’s half-coherent attempts to explain. “Are you... like Mr. Lupin?”

“Yes.” Brian gave a half-smile. “Or maybe I should say that I want to be like him someday. He gave me hope nearly a year ago when I saw no reason to hold onto it anymore. When he came to me himself and asked if I wanted to be a part of this...” The smile grew slightly. “I suppose I do hero-worship him, but there are worse people to do that with.”

“Yes,” Corona said surely. “Many worse.”

xXxXx

Don’t look now, said Aletha’s hands to Sirius, but something’s happening over there. A flickered finger indicated the other end of the table.

Sirius allowed time for two more swallows of tea before turning his head enough to see what Aletha meant.

At the end of the long bench, Corona was talking earnestly with Brian Li, both of their breakfasts forgotten.

Looks like good news, Sirius signed back. I like good news.

So do I. Aletha finished the sign by pressing two fingers to her lips and blowing the kiss towards Sirius. “I need to go, or I’ll be late for work,” she said aloud, rising. “I think I’ve taken as much time off as a brand-new Healer can without incurring true anger among the powers that be.”

“But you’ll find other ways to annoy them,” Danger said. “I know you.”

Aletha sighed. “I never mean that to happen,” she said. “It just does.”

“Amazing how that works,” Remus said blandly, scraping up the last of his eggs. “Have a good day, Letha.”

“Thank you, Remus, you too. And may you have an interesting day,” Aletha added to Danger. “In the Chinese sense of the word.”

“Huh?” Danger said to Aletha’s retreating back.

Sirius swallowed a mouthful. “Chinese curse,” he said. “May you live in interesting times.”

“Oh.” Danger made a face. “How come I get the curse? Remus was just as rude.”

“I’ve learned to finesse it,” Remus said. “You, my love, are still the blunt instrument type, as often as I’ve tried to teach you a little tact.”

Danger snorted. “You? Tact?”

“Better than me,” Sirius said, standing up to clear his place. “I’m an all or nothing bloke. Either I’m full-on charming and socially graceful – which I hate – or I’m a slob.”

“Too easy,” said Danger, shaking her head. “Not taking it.”

Remus applauded lightly.

xXxXx

Walking the perimeter of Hogwarts grounds, Albus Dumbledore had to admit he was well satisfied with the new wards. No hostile magic would enter these grounds unless it was so overwhelmingly large that the castle itself would not be left standing.

I doubt even Voldemort has that much magic at his disposal.

Better still, they had been able to tie the wards directly to the magic of the castle. Unless someone drained all of Hogwarts’ magic, the castle would power its own wards.

Now as long as none of the “unless” clauses come to pass...

But they would not. He was determined about that.

Besides, only someone with a legitimate tie to the castle and the correct bloodline is able to tap into the magic of Hogwarts, or indeed do anything directly with it at all. I am only allowed to do a few small things because I am Headmaster. And Hogwarts itself is the only place where Voldemort could likely find enough magic to breach the Hogwarts wards.

He smiled. I feel safe in saying that, as long as we maintain our vigilance, our students will be as safe this year as they permit us to make them.

xXxXx

Harry woke up with a slight feeling of potion-head, but it started dissipating as he got ready for the day and disappeared altogether over breakfast, which Winky was keeping hot for the Pride.

Not just me. The Pride.

And when I woke up last night, the Pack-parents were there.

I don’t care where we are, we’re together again.

But unlike Corona Gamp, he did know where they were, and his dim memories of the place were coming out of hiding. He didn’t miss Kreacher (currently sulking in his den under the water tank), but he wished Moony had left the portrait of Padfoot’s mum intact. It might have been fun to see her reactions to the people currently using her house.

Then again, bursting people’s eardrums doesn’t count as fun the last time I checked.

The Pride gave Harry the guided tour of the house after breakfast. There were three floors above the main one, not counting the attic, and many of the bedrooms were in use. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley slept on the third floor, along with both sets of Pack-parents and the Weasley twins. Harry and the male half of the Pride were on the second floor, with Brian Li a few doors down, and Bill and Charlie shared a room at the end of the hall, though that would change in the middle of August when Charlie married Tonks (the newlyweds would be swapping with the twins, and Bill would get his own room on the first floor).

“And you remember Fleur Delacour?” Ron said.

“How could I forget?” asked Harry. “What about her?”

“Gringotts is trying out having some humans as tellers, like they do in America,” Ginny said. “Fleur’s got a job there to ‘eemprove ‘er Eenglish.’”

Harry laughed at Ginny’s spot-on impression of the French girl.

“You haven’t even heard the best part yet,” Ron said. “Bill ran into her at work...”

“She probably saw the red hair and freckles and thought of you,” said Draco. “But an older, cooler, and much more available you.”

“No way!” Harry laughed again. “Fleur Delacour’s dating your brother?”

“Well, not dating exactly,” Hermione said. “At least he says not. Just private English lessons.” Her eyes turned naughty. “He’s probably teaching her how to say la foot.”

Draco grimaced. “That’s nasty.”

“What?” said Neville. “It’s just a word.”

“In French, it’s a nasty word.”

“Do we want to know what it means?”

“It means what you probably think it means.”

“But I don’t know what it means.”

“It starts with the same letter, does that help?”

“Enough,” Harry said loudly. “Let’s just keep going, please.”

The other room of interest on the second floor (besides the bathroom) was the Pride’s room, now with its walls bare and ready for repainting. Harry’s imagination furnished it with carpet and cushions, table and chairs, and he nodded in satisfaction. It would make a good den.

The first floor had the girls’ bedroom and the guest rooms, where Corona Gamp was staying. It also had a drawing room, which Harry avoided on principle. Anything that smelled like that had to be toxic.

“Mum was going to make us clean up in there,” Ron said as they returned to the main floor. “But she managed to talk Winky out of the basket once we told her Kreacher was under orders not to come out again, so we’re off the hook as long as we can find something else productive to do.” His manner suggested the last few words were a direct quote.

The front door rattled, and locks and bolts began undoing themselves. Harry dropped his hand unobtrusively to his wand, and noticed out of the corner of his eye the rest of the Pride doing the same, the Pack’s cubs checking their daggers as well, Meghan backing herself against the wall where she could see...

The door opened, and Professor McGonagall stepped in. Harry tried not to stare, but it was difficult. His mental concept of his Head of House included robes as a matter of course; she looked distinctly odd to him in a dress, and from the way she was moving, she felt odd as well. She had a large bag slung over one arm.

“Good morning, Professor,” Hermione said as McGonagall closed the door. The rest of the Pride picked up their cue and echoed her.

“Good morning.” McGonagall set down her bag carefully. “Are your parents downstairs?”

“Mostly,” Harry said. “Some of them left already.”

“Mostly will do. I’ll leave you eight to deal with this.” McGonagall nodded to the bag, a hint of a smile on her face. “I think you can handle it.”

Harry watched McGonagall to the stairs, then turned to look at the bag, feeling a trace of worry. “She wouldn’t bring in anything dangerous,” he said. “Would she?”

Meghan peered into the bag and giggled. “Depends on what you mean by dangerous,” she said, and pulled the flap open.

“Master Draco!” A blur of color impacted with Draco’s legs at high speed. Draco stumbled backward and would have fallen if Ron hadn’t steadied him. Hermione covered a smile.

“Hi, Dobby,” said Harry, grinning openly.

“Hello, Harry Potter sir!” said Dobby, letting go of Draco’s legs to show Harry his usual beaming smile. “And Miss Neenie, and Mistress Meghan...” He turned slowly. “...and Master Neville, and Miss Luna, and Mister and Miss Wheezy!”

“How come he gets my name wrong and not anyone else’s?” Ron asked.

“Why don’t you ask him?” Hermione snapped. “He can talk, you know.”

Ron sat down, putting himself almost at Dobby’s eye level. “Dobby, you can call me Ron,” he said. “I’d prefer it to Wheezy.”

“Dobby can do that, sir,” Dobby said cheerfully. “And what should Dobby call miss?” he asked, turning to Ginny.

“Ginny is fine, or Miss. That’s what Winky calls me. Speaking of which–” She raised her voice. “Winky! Come here, please!”

“Miss Ginny is too kind,” Dobby mumbled, staring at the floor, as Winky appeared with a loud crack.

“Miss is calling?” the female house-elf began, and then caught sight of Dobby. Her brown eyes widened even farther (which Harry hadn’t thought was possible), and she started to take a step forward before turning back to Ginny. “I is sorry, Miss,” she said, looking up at Ginny appealingly. “I is sorry for having troubles with Kreacher, but please, I is not needing help here, I is not complaining about the work...”

“No, of course you’re not,” Ginny said quickly, sitting down herself. The rest of the Pride did the same. “Dobby isn’t here because we don’t think you can do the work, Winky. He’s here because he wanted to come.” She waved to Dobby. “Ask him yourself.”

Winky looked at Ginny doubtfully. “Miss is wanting me to ask Dobby?”

“If you want to. It’s up to you.”

“Actually, why don’t you both take a little while off?” Harry said. Nine pairs of eyes centered on him. He swallowed inconspicuously and kept going. “Winky, you can show Dobby around the house, and you two can catch up. We can take care of whatever needs to get done this morning.”

Winky swelled with indignation. “Winky is not being such a bad house-elf as all that!” she said shrilly, glaring at Harry. “I is not going off with Dobby and leaving my little master and mistress to be doing my work!”

“Not even if they ask you to?” said Ginny.

“Master and Miss is being mixed-up,” Winky said with dignity. “I is thinking it is because they is never meeting a proper house-elf before they is getting me.” She sighed. “And I is hardly proper, with clothes and all...”

“Ah-ah,” Ron said quickly, holding up his hand. “You’re not allowed, remember? No more beating yourself up over that.”

Winky crossed her arms and looked down her nose at Ron. “And Master Ron is not allowed to be doing my work, when I is a perfectly healthy house-elf who is able to do it her own self,” she said firmly. “That is what it is meaning to be a master.”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Neville, drawing all eyes to him this time. “My family has a house-elf – his name’s Tapper – and that’s not how he acts. He cleans up the big messes in the house, but he expects me to keep my bedroom clean myself in between times. He’s never been free, and I think if Mum or Dad tried to free him he wouldn’t go.”

“And we’ve always done chores at our house, so we’re used to it,” Meghan added. “We never had a house-elf.”

“Nor did we,” said Luna. “House-elves like to do work, but that doesn’t mean they should work all the time. Just like human beings like to rest and relax, but they shouldn’t do that all the time. It’s bad for them. People shouldn’t always do what they like.”

Hermione signed something to Ron, who cleared his throat. “Winky, this is an order,” he said. “Take the rest of the morning off and do something you like. Something other than work,” he added quickly. “There has to be something else you like.”

Winky rocked back and forth on her feet, looking indecisively from Ron to Dobby, who was sitting between Meghan and Neville clutching his hands together. “Master Ron is truly not angry with me?” she asked in a tiny voice. “Nor any of my family?”

“You’re terrific, Winky,” Ron said. “We’re not mad at you.”

“We want you to be happy,” added Ginny. “Aren’t you and Dobby friends?”

“Yes, miss... but...”

“No buts,” Ginny said briskly. “Go have a nice morning with your friend, and we’ll see you at lunch. Not before.” She made shooing motions with both hands.

After one more disbelieving look, Winky crossed the circle to Dobby’s side. Dobby sprang to his feet and seized Winky’s hand, and with a loud crack, both house-elves disappeared.

One second of silence ensued, then Harry caught Ginny’s eye and they both started snickering. Ron lost control next, then Draco, then Hermione and Meghan, and Neville and Luna fell prey a moment later.

Mrs. Weasley, coming downstairs to see where Winky had disappeared to, found the Pride lying on the floor of the front hall, laughing helplessly.

xXxXx

Back in his office, Dumbledore returned to his thoughts about the proposal he’d received the night before, regarding Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort.

I must say, I would not likely have thought of it myself. But it is perfectly characteristic of Severus. The trouble is, it would also be perfectly characteristic of Voldemort.

But no. I trust Severus, and we stand to gain more from this move than Voldemort does. He sighed. Though if it backfires, Harry will be left holding the wand.

Then he smiled at himself. And you know what to do about it if things come to that, you old fool. Simply insist that Harry and Remus carry out their blood-bonding at once. Lupus is no light matter, but if Voldemort batters at Harry’s mind without protection, Harry will be destroyed just as surely as if a disease took his life. And with the proper potions, the symptoms can be controlled and kept from progressing.

What a pity we cannot extend magical healing to Muggles...

Dumbledore regarded the endless complexities and troubles of the world with a sigh.

I know that an offer may someday be extended to me by virtue of certain words that I have spoken, an offer that many would die for. He smiled wryly. But I think that I will likely refuse it.

One hundred fifty years, give or take, are long enough for me.

xXxXx

As promised, the Pride took Winky’s place until lunch, disinfecting the drawing room Harry’d been so eager to avoid earlier that same morning. A few people slipped away for short periods, but there was a general feeling that if they had to do this, they might as well do it together and have the stories to tell later. The twins got roped in as well, though they managed to get something out of the experience by sneaking a few of the doxies that had infested the curtains.

“Just one of these can produce almost half a cup of venom every week,” George told Harry. “You just have to know how to milk it.”

“Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know,” Harry said, looking warily at the tiny black thing in Fred’s hand. “And don’t tell me what you’re doing with it, either.”

“If you insist, oh wise financial backer,” said Fred, pocketing the doxy. “Probably better not to know what you’re eating, anyway.” He lowered his voice. “While we’re on the subject, there was some talk last night about a deal being cut...”

“Information for certain controlled substances,” said George, closing in on the other side.

Harry held up his hand. “We’ll talk terms after lunch,” he said. “Hold it until then.”

The Black family tapestry on the opposite wall occupied the Pride’s attention for a time when the curtains were de-doxified (Fred and George had vanished immediately when their presence was no longer required). “Look, here’s me,” Draco said, pointing. “So I guess this is where Mother used to be, and Aunt Andy.” He was looking at two small burns near the bottom, next to the embroidered name Bellatrix.

“Excuse me,” said Neville, and hurried out of the room.

“Here’s where Padfoot was,” said Harry, pointing at the burn under the names Orion and Walburga , next to Regulus . “If his mum knew we were here... I can see her now...”

“No, you can’t,” said Luna. “Mr. Moony burned up her portrait.”

Harry, about to argue, caught the wicked twinkle in Luna’s eyes and groaned instead. “I can’t believe I almost fell for that.”

“Sometimes you do fall for it,” said Luna. “You’re very funny then.”

Harry sighed. “Remind me to get a girlfriend that doesn’t like to make jokes at my expense,” he said to Ron and Draco. “One in the family is enough.”

Neville came back into the room, carrying a small plant in a pot. “Uncle Algie sent me this for my birthday,” he said. “It came this morning, and I had to open it to take care of it. It’s a Mimbulus mimbletonia, from Algeria.”

“Is it sick?” Ron asked. Harry couldn’t blame him. The plant seemed to be covered in small boils, which were all quivering slightly.

“No, that’s how it always looks.” Neville looked around the room, then set the plant on an end table and started dragging it towards the tapestry. Harry quickly grabbed the other end of the table and found Ginny beside him, and Meghan beside Neville. Together, the four lifted the table and set it, and the Mimbulus mimbletonia, in front of the tapestry.

“All right, everyone take cover,” Neville said, taking his quill out of his pocket. “If the book is right about it, it spurts pretty far.”

“I generally take cover anytime the word ‘spurts’ is involved,” Hermione said, backing away and crouching behind the large sofa. Ginny and Meghan joined her there, and Ron wedged himself in on the end. Luna and Draco took refuge behind a moldering armchair, and Harry knelt behind a wing chair and peered around the side. Neville was kneeling as well, most of his body actually under the table. Just his one arm was above it, with the quill in his hand, reaching up to jab the Mimbulus mimbletonia ...

Harry ducked as thick, dark green liquid squirted from every boil on the plant.

Well, that’s not so bad.

Then he inhaled, and choked.

From behind the couch came the screech of a profoundly unhappy cat, echoed more loudly a moment later.

“What. Is. That?” said Draco through his nose, which he was holding.

“It’s what they make the stuff in Gobstones out of,” said Neville, emerging from under the table. “It’s called Stinksap.”

“I can’t imagine why,” said Ron thickly. “It’s worse than Fred and George’s socks. Put together.”

“Worse than yours, too,” Ginny retorted. “Neville, that’s awful. ”

“I thought they deserved it,” said Neville, looking with distaste at the Stinksap-soaked names on the tapestry. “I just wish I could do it to the real people. To Bellatrix Lestrange, and her husband, and his brother.”

“No, you don’t,” said Draco, standing up. “That would mean they were out of Azkaban, and we really don’t want them out of Azkaban. It’s where they belong.”

“Weren’t there four people?” Meghan asked.

“Yes, but the fourth one is dead. He was Mr. Crouch’s son.”

“Oh, right.” Meghan pinched her own nose shut, looking around the room. “And now who gets to clean this up?”

“I’ll do it.” Neville drew his wand. “Scourgify ! ”

“Wow,” said Ginny, looking around the suddenly clean room. “You do that almost as well as Mum does.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Ginny stepped out from behind the couch, Neenie the cat in the crook of one arm. “Here,” she said, handing Neenie to Ron. “Hold this.”

Ron looked down at Neenie.

Neenie looked up at Ron.

Luna developed a quiet case of the giggles.

Meghan didn’t bother with the quiet part.

xXxXx

“What was that about?” Harry asked Ginny over lunch.

“What? Oh, what I did to Ron?” Ginny shrugged. “Because I could, I guess.”

Harry grinned. “Yeah, it was pretty funny watching him just stand there. He didn’t know what to do, and neither did she.”

“Well, it’s not every day somebody hands you your friend like a parcel.” Ginny looked down the table. “I hope Dobby and Winky are all right.”

Harry stared at his sandwich while he reconstructed the logic of the conversational jump. Not every day somebody hands you your friend... all right, we went from that to small people... and from there to house-elves... there, got it. “I’m sure they’re fine,” he said, looking back up. “You and Ron told them to take the morning off, so they did. It’s barely lunchtime. I’m sure they’ll be back soon.”

“Who’ll be back soon?” said a man’s voice behind them.

“Padfoot!” Harry twisted in his seat. “What’re you doing back already?”

“Figured since I live close by now, I’d come home for lunch,” Padfoot said, taking a seat beside Harry. “Hi, Ginny. Hi, everyone.”

A chorus of “Hi” floated down the table, and Meghan set down her crisps and trotted over to get a hug. “Neville sprayed Stinksap on your family tapestry,” she said.

“Way to go, Neville,” said Padfoot, throwing Neville a thumbs up.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t let me forget,” Padfoot said to Harry, Meghan, and Ginny. “Aletha and I have an announcement to make tonight at dinner.”

“A good announcement?” Meghan asked.

“Yes, Pearl, good news.” Padfoot grinned. “At least I think it is.”

A pair of snapping noises beside the table made everyone look around. “And there they are,” said Harry, gesturing to the house-elves.

“Oh, is we late?” said Winky worriedly.

“Not at all,” Ginny said quickly. “You’re just fine. Did you have a good time?”

“Oh, yes, miss!” Dobby was bouncing slightly on his feet. “Dobby and Winky had a marvelous time!”

“Where’d you go?” Harry asked.

“We is going to the attic,” Winky said, pointing upward. “We is finding many old things there, and many things that is strange and interesting...”

“And made a decision,” Dobby said strongly. “Dobby and Winky talked for a long time and made a decision.”

Winky twisted her skirt with the hand that wasn’t holding Dobby’s. Clearly, she was less than happy with this decision, whatever it was. The rest of the Pride, scenting something interesting in the air, had stopped eating to watch.

Dobby whispered something to Winky, then slid his hand out of hers and marched down the length of the table, stopping beside Draco. “Master Draco,” he said formally. “May Dobby speak to you a moment in private, sir?”

“Sure.” Draco swung his legs over the bench and headed for the pantry door, Dobby behind him.

Padfoot snapped his fingers. “Kreacher’s still in his den, isn’t he?” he asked.

“He should be,” said Meghan. “I told him to stay in the basement, and not to speak unless he had something nice to say.”

Padfoot snickered. “That’ll show him. It must drive him up the wall to have to take orders from you, Pearl – but there’s nothing he can do about it, you’re Black by blood, and he’s bound to the family... still, if Dobby’s talking about what I think Dobby’s talking about, I might have an idea...”

Draco emerged from the pantry, Dobby behind him. “I have an idea,” he said. “Dobby’d like to stay here as the Order’s official house-elf – Winky would stay too, of course, since the Weasleys aren’t at the Burrow just now – but that would leave Hogwarts short, and Dobby doesn’t like that...”

Padfoot chuckled. “I think you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”

“I think I’m thinking it too,” said Harry, looking towards Kreacher’s door.

Ron grinned. “This’ll be fun.”

Padfoot cleared his throat. “Kreacher!” he called. “Come out of there!”

The door wobbled open, and Harry took as long a look as he wanted, which wasn’t very long. Kreacher hadn’t looked very good when Harry was seven, and eight years hadn’t done much for the house-elf.

At least now he’s not muttering stuff.

“Kreacher, I want you to go to Hogwarts and work with the other house-elves in the kitchens there,” Padfoot said, smiling smugly. “Don’t give anyone any lip, do what you’re told, and don’t leave unless I say you can.”

Kreacher stared furiously at Padfoot, then vanished with a crack.

“There,” Padfoot said, dusting off his hands. “That’s sorted. Dobby, pending a final decision by Albus, you’re hired.”

“Thank you, sir!” Dobby ran over to Winky and seized her hands. “Then Dobby and Winky can make their announcement right now!”

“Dobby, you is being silly,” Winky scolded. “Masters is not wanting to hear about house-elves’ affairs.”

“But we do,” Hermione said quickly. “Please, tell us.”

“Yeah, come on,” Ron said, putting down his sandwich. “What’s up with you two?”

Dobby took a deep breath. “Dobby and Winky – with Winky’s masters’ permission, of course – are going to jump the broomstick!”

The girls of the Pride shrieked collectively. “You’re getting married!” Hermione cried. “Congratulations!”

“Somehow I don’t think they’ll say no,” said Padfoot over the noise, grinning. “Cheers, you two.”

“Must be something about the house,” said Ron, looking up fearfully as if expecting the ceiling to collapse.

“No, Charlie and Tonks got engaged before Headquarters was ever here,” Draco said. “I think it’s just something that happens sometimes.”

“Yes, I think you’re right.” Padfoot looked around the room. “Well, I suppose I can anticipate our announcement a little to you. It’ll cut down on the noise at dinner.”

Harry looked at his godfather suspiciously. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m not doing anything. Yet.” Padfoot chuckled. “I’ll be doing something in about four weeks, but I’m not doing anything yet.”

“All right, what will you be doing in four weeks?”

“Accounting for species differences, the same thing Dobby will. Though I think...”

Whatever Padfoot thought was drowned by renewed shrieking from the girls.

xXxXx

The twins, who had been closeted in their room since the drawing room curtains were finished, emerged to eat, and to congratulate Dobby and Winky. Then ten Hogwarts students trooped upstairs to the Pride’s room.

“Where’d Mr. Li go?” Harry asked everyone in general. “And the witch who came with Padfoot, what’s her name, Corona?”

“Out,” Hermione said. “Nobody’s looking for them, so they can. And I think Miss Gamp wanted to learn more about Muggles and how they live. She’s pureblooded.”

“Oh.”

Chairs were transported in from various of the bedrooms, the door was locked, and serious negotiations ensued. The twins, it seemed, were developing a full line of trick sweets, prank items, and other things necessary to run a fully-stocked joke shop. A few of the questions the Pride asked made them look at each other in surprise, and Ron asked to see one of the items demonstrated, causing Fred to Apparate upstairs for it.

“We haven’t got it working right yet,” George cautioned as Ron examined the wristwatch at close range. “I wouldn’t...”

A squirt of greenish liquid shot from the watch and up Ron’s nose. Ron sneezed and started coughing.

“Sorry,” George said, retrieving the watch from where Ron had dropped it. “The idea was to make it do the same thing Gobstones do, only have it be changeable, so that you could get someone with nasty stuff one time and sweet the next, so they never know what’s coming. But we can’t get it to spray accurately at more than six inches range, and people don’t read wristwatches at six inches.”

“If you want something really nasty, I can get you some undiluted Stinksap,” said Neville. “My supply’s limited, though, and I’d want to trade for that too...”

Ron wiped his eyes on the tissue Hermione had given to him and held out his hand. “Give me that back,” he said hoarsely.

“Your funeral.” George handed it over and started whispering with Fred, who had looked intrigued by Neville’s revelation.

Ron stopped the watch, popped its back off and used his wand to pop a connection off one gear and stick it on another, then twiddled the knob on the side and strapped the watch onto his wrist. “Look what time it is,” he said, holding it out.

Automatically, Fred looked.

Green liquid sprayed into his left eye.

“You fixed it!” George said. “How’d you do that?”

Ron shrugged. “You had the spray regulator on the wrong gear. Not a big deal.”

Hermione handed Fred another tissue. “Close your mouth,” she said to George.

Eventually, Pride and twins came to an agreement. Every week, each member of the Pride would receive what the twins determined to be one Galleon’s worth of goods. Neville would barter separately for whatever volume of Stinksap he could produce that the twins wanted, and Ron after each item that he fixed or improved. In return, the Pride would keep the twins updated on what they learned from the Order meetings Hermione attended, unless they were specifically told not to.

Something jogged loose in Harry’s brain at that. As soon as the meeting adjourned, he went looking for Danger.

xXxXx

“Last night? Oh, of course.” Danger rolled up the scroll she was reading, tucked it back into the cubby of the desk, and stood up. “Let’s get out of the War Room, shall we? It depresses me.”

“This is the War Room?” Harry looked around the study. “Cool.”

“Glad you think so.” Danger led the way out of the room and into a living room across the way, where she plopped down on a dusty window seat. Harry pulled up a chair and straddled it, leaning on the back.

Danger waved away the cloud of dust and leaned back, basking in the sun that came in through the dirty glass. “Now, what is it?”

“Last night. What’s here that’s so valuable? You said it wasn’t a secret.”

“It’s not.” Danger laughed, then sobered. “But I thought you knew what the Pack values most of all.”

“Each other,” Harry said promptly.

“Exactly.”

Harry frowned. “But I don’t see...”

And then he did.

“Hostages,” he said, his hands tightening around the top of the chair. “He doesn’t want things. He wants people.”

Danger nodded somberly.

“He thinks he can make me do what he wants by threatening people I care about.” Harry stared at the glass in the window. “Can he?”

“I don’t know,” Danger said softly. “Can he?”

Harry opened his hand and let the sunlight play across it. He tried to imagine someone he loved in trouble, in the hands of the Death Eaters.

Thoughts came in flashes:

Danger unconscious in the night, lying abandoned on the ground and shivering in fever, while far away Moony howled in fury and threw his werewolf body against the silver bars of a cage...

Letha held by the Petrificus, her eyes filled with tears of rage, while Padfoot writhed on the ground before her, twisting in and out of dog form as the Cruciatus racked him...

Luna in Starwing’s form and Ron as Redwing, tied to a perch side by side, eyes dull and feathers broken, ignoring the meat jeering Death Eaters tossed towards them...

Meghan lying across Hermione, both of them far too still, Hermione’s arms and legs torn savagely and her wounds no longer bleeding...

Neville, blank-eyed under the Imperius, holding back a struggling Draco as Lucius Malfoy readied his wand...

Ginny, her face slack and her movements jerky, one in a vast army of Inferi...

And why does she get to come all by herself?

Harry snapped back to the moment. He was safe, so was everyone else. He was in number twelve, Grimmauld Place, watching the sunlight on his palm, with Danger waiting for his answer.

“I don’t know either,” he admitted. “I really don’t.”





Facing Danger

Chapter 6: Blood and Gold (Year 5)


Chapter 6: Blood and Gold

“One of my better efforts, I think,” said Alex, holding out the roll of parchment to Danger. “We can dispense with the special effects this time, since you already know where it’s coming from.”

“Thank you ever so.” Danger accepted the scroll and snapped her fingers. A chair trundled up behind her, and she sat down, already unrolling the parchment.

“Can she do that?” Alex asked the air. “I didn’t think she could do that.”

Her attention focused on the lines, Danger barely heard him.

Seek black and white, for each holds part

Of answer that will gladden heart;

The lion’s son no harm shall take

From that which gold and red shall make.

The questioner unwelcomèd

May soon depart to clear her head,

But left alone, she will remain

And undeservèd places gain.

A flagging spirit must be fed;

Sing, then, O twin, of royal red,

And bring twofold rewards of glee

And necessary foolery.

The winter days bring sorrows all:

The once-endangered then shall fall;

The beast tries, as he said, to own,

And half-succeeds—but not alone.

Then flame shall rise to champion’s hand,

Alighting fires to cleanse the land,

For death and pain shall bring to light

The hidden, unacknowledged might.

He bows to fate, but not to yield;

He’ll use it to make fair the field.

And thus the path shall be begun

Which leads unto The Man Who Won.

“What do you think?” Danger asked, laying the parchment on her lap.

“I already told you,” said Alex, brushing fussily at a crumb on his robe. “I think it’s rather good.”

“I think she was asking me.”

Alex jumped. “You walk too quietly,” he accused Remus.

“You don’t pay attention.” Remus sat down on the arm of Danger’s chair. “I think, that like the others, it will likely come true in its own time,” he said, picking up the parchment to have a look through his own eyes. “The first two lines are in command form... something we have to do?”

“An answer to a problem of yours,” Alex confirmed. “You’ll work it out, don’t worry. It may even come and find you.”

“I like it when answers do that,” said Danger, closing her eyes to concentrate on what Remus was seeing. “Then the next two lines are related to those. A reassurance, I’d say, that whatever we’re doing won’t hurt Harry.”

Alex nodded, fiddling with the hem of his robe. “That’s all you really need for the moment,” he said. “The rest doesn’t come into play until the fall. That gives you a month or so to sort it out.”

“All right.” Danger opened her eyes and accepted the parchment back from Remus, scanning the lines in earnest in preparation for committing them to memory. “If you’re sure.”

“Would I lie to you?”

“Yes,” Remus and Danger said together.

Alex shrugged. “What can I say? It’s a family failing.”

xXxXx

Snow Fox crept down the hallway, ears pricked. The four Ravenclaw women had swooped down on Luna and carried her off as soon as they’d arrived, and she hadn’t been back since. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them...

Yes, it is.

Shifting back to human form, Draco shrugged. People who’d been dead for a thousand years were bound to have different priorities than people who were still alive. He didn’t think the Ravenclaws would hurt Luna on purpose, but they might not realize that something they were doing was hurting her or making her unhappy.

Thus, I snoop.

He changed again and sniffed. They’d taken the next right... the second left...

Ah-ha!

Voices rose behind the closed door of a room.

“You’re getting closer, dear. Try it again.”

“All right.” Luna’s voice was shaky. “But it hurts when I try it.”

Snow Fox growled deep in his throat, his fur beginning to bush out.

“Yes, it does hurt. But it will hurt much more if you don’t do it properly. Now, draw yourself in. Make all of you enclosed within your skin.”

What? Even Draco’s human form couldn’t make much sense out of that. How can you be out of your skin? It’s what keeps you inside you in the first place.

“Don’t forget up here, Luna. Draw it all in evenly.”

“I can’t do it all at once!” Luna cried. “It’s too hard!”

“You must learn how.” Rowena Ravenclaw’s voice was unmistakable. “You’ve made a good beginning, but it will be worthless if you don’t progress. Release and try again. This is too uneven.”

Luna’s sigh said more of her frustration than another girl’s scream would have. “Yes, ma’am,” she said wearily.

“And you stay where you are, young man,” Rowena’s voice arrested Draco in the act of leaping to his feet. “If you want to come into this room, you come politely. Knock on the door and ask for admittance.”

Draco clenched his teeth briefly, then walked across the hallway and knocked three times on the door. “May I come in?” he called.

Sophia Ravenclaw opened the door. “You may,” she said, stepping aside.

Draco knelt beside Luna, who was seated cross-legged on a cushion on the floor, and wrapped his arms around her. “Is it bad?” he asked in her ear.

“Some of it,” Luna answered into his collar. “But they’re right, Draco. I do need to learn this. If I’d known it before, I could have stopped myself seeing the bad things as soon as I understood them, so that I didn’t always have to watch them. It just makes me very tired, and I feel as if I’ll never get it.”

“Everyone learning something new feels that way,” said Margaret, sitting down beside them. “You felt that way yourself when you were learning Animagus, didn’t you, Draco?”

Draco eyed her. “You know too much,” he accused.

“An occupational hazard. Do you perhaps have a question for us?”

“Why should I bother to tell you? You already know.”

“There are rules about these sorts of things, Draco Black,” Brenna chided. “We can only answer the question you ask. And that requires that you ask one.”

Luna nestled closer to Draco, and he stroked her hair. “What Luna Saw about us, while her Seeing was out of control,” he said. “Will that really happen?”

“It will.” Rowena’s face was impassive. “Everything that she Saw will come to pass.”

The chill around Draco’s heart deepened a few degrees, and his arms tightened around Luna. “I thought the future was changeable until it happened,” he said. “I thought that’s why Seeing was so unreliable.”

“It is, in both instances,” said Sophia, seating herself next to her sister. “But in this case, two wildly different possibilities converge in that moment. It will happen. We know this.”

“What we do not know,” Brenna added, “is what it means. Or what will happen after it, or, to some degree, before.”

“You don’t know what’s going to happen before it? Really?” Draco laughed a short, humorless laugh. “I think I could tell you that.”

“You could. But what would you or we profit by it?” Rowena looked across the room at them, her face softening slightly. “Do not despair, child,” she said. “You will have fullness in your life, no matter its length. The love that binds you reaches beyond such petty things.”

Draco stared at her for a moment. “I never thought I’d hear anyone call death petty,” he said.

Rowena smiled. “Having experienced it does change one’s outlook somewhat.”

xXxXx

Albus Dumbledore arrived at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, early the next morning, and sought out Corona Gamp and Brian Li. “I understand there was a disturbance in Diagon Alley yesterday,” he said.

“That’s putting it mildly, Headmaster,” Corona said. “Though I admit I was grateful for it.”

“So was I.” Brian chuckled. “You couldn’t have ordered two sets of people more likely to annoy each other.”

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. “Tell me more.”

“We had been around Muggle London, to see the sights and the people,” Corona began. “And we thought we would stop for something to eat before we came back here.”

“So we went to Diagon Alley,” Brian picked up. “And we were sitting outside at Florean Fortescue’s when two witches came running up behind Corona, one older and one younger...”

xXxXx

“Corona!”

Corona stiffened. “Oh no,” she breathed, turning.

“There you are!” Sempronia Gamp descended upon her granddaughter. “Dear Corona, we’ve been so worried! Has he hurt you? Are you under some compulsion to return to him? We will make him pay double for every injury and slight...”

“Grandmother, what are you talking about?” Corona freed herself from her grandmother’s embrace. “No one has hurt me, or put me under compulsion. Why would you think such a thing?”

“Because I told her so.” Elladora stepped out from behind Grandmother, her head lifted proudly. “It came to me shortly after my failure to stop you from leaving with him. The only reason for such a failure—and for your agreeing to go with him in the first place—is a coercive spell, likely one of a subtle nature. The sooner you come home, the sooner we can find it and remove it.”

Corona swallowed a desperate desire to laugh and gathered her dignity. “Grandmother, sister, please, sit down with us,” she said, waving to the empty seats at the table. “I would introduce you to a new friend of mine, and speech is more comfortable when all are seated. I believe there is much I must explain to you.”

“You need explain nothing, my dear Corona,” said Grandmother firmly. “We understand that it was not your fault in the least, and no stigma will attach to you as long as you come home immediately.”

“Grandmother, that is part of what I must explain. Please, will you sit down?”

“If you insist, child. For a moment.” Grandmother’s expression and tone combined to give the impression that Corona was five years old and demanding more time in the sweetshop.

Brian rose quickly to pull out a chair for Grandmother. His eyes met Corona’s as he did. Courage, the unspoken message passed between them. You are not alone.

Elladora drew out her own chair and sat down in it. “And who might you be?” she asked brusquely.

“My name is Brian Li, and I am honored to meet two such lovely ladies,” Brian said easily. “Corona has told me only a little about her family. I hope to learn more from your own lips.”

“Li,” Grandmother mused. “Is your family recently come to our fair isles?”

“My mother and father were born here, madam, but their parents were not. I believe that is recent enough to count as such.”

“It is. And your bloodline?”

“My...”

“Are you pureblooded, or do you have Muggles in your background?” Grandmother clarified. “I will not permit my granddaughter to fraternize with mongrels.”

Corona had to put her hand over her mouth, recalling the breakfast table. Elladora shot her a suspicious look.

“My parents were magical, as were their parents,” Brian said cautiously.

“Excellent.” Grandmother was practically purring. “I will give you our direction, so that you know where you may call as soon as Corona is restored to herself...”

“There he is!” shouted a hoarse voice from across the street.

Brian’s shoulders went up, and his jaw clenched. “I apologize to you, ladies, for what you may witness in the next few moments,” he said, standing.

“So you’ve finally come out of hiding, Li,” sneered the man who swaggered out of the crowd. He was of medium height, rather thin, with scars marking his face in several places. At his shoulder lingered a short, burly man with a dangerous look in his eye, likewise scarred. Elladora wrinkled her nose and edged her chair away from them. Grandmother was staring, aghast.

“Not with any interest in taking your offer,” Brian said quietly. “Simply to enjoy an afternoon with a new friend.”

“A new friend?” The taller man eyed the three women contemptuously.

“Her sister and grandmother have joined us unexpectedly. Now if you will excuse me, we were in the middle of a conversation.”

“And what if I don’t want to excuse you?” A nasty smile curled the man’s lip. “What if I want to have a conversation with you? I think I outrank them, don’t you?”

“How dare you say that!” Grandmother shouted, rising to her feet. “My granddaughters and I are pureblooded members of the House of Gamp! We bow to no one, and this young man is a prospective ally of ours! Leave at once, before I summon the authorities!”

“The authorities aren’t very interested in people like us, old witch,” the man said, smirking at her. “And you’d bow to me in my world. You’d be nothing but food, there.” He looked her over. “I probably wouldn’t even take you. You’re too stringy and bony.”

Grandmother’s complexion was turning mottled purple.

“So this is how Sirius Black treats the women he kidnaps,” Elladora said coldly. “Not even a day after ravishing them away from home and family, he hands them over to inhuman creatures to be devoured.”

“I don’t know about Sirius Black, but you have the other bit right, miss pureblood,” the man said, bowing mockingly to Elladora. “Li’s no human, though he may pretend.”

Brian closed his eyes for a moment, and Corona watched well-worn resignation pass over his features. A tight restraint within her chest, one she had worked on all her life, broke at the sight.

“Enough!” She was on her feet, her wand in her hand, pointed straight at the two men. “Go away! Take your filthy lies and your filthy selves elsewhere!”

Brian’s eyes flew open. Surprise warred with gratitude and something else Corona feared to name, before all was wiped away by a careful serenity. “Ladies, I’m afraid you’re mistaken about Corona,” he said, turning to Elladora and Grandmother. “She came away from your home of her own free will, and if she comes home, it will be because she wants to, not because you bring her.”

“Go now, before I find out if you still bleed red,” Corona snarled at the men.

“I would suggest you leave this to us, unless you care for fighting,” Brian counseled the women.

The shorter man, who had been silent all this time, backed up a pace, then stopped as the taller man growled under his breath. “I hope you like fear, girl,” he said, his eyes boring hatred into Corona. “You won’t live a day without it if you stay with Li.”

“I wish you joy of my granddaughter,” Grandmother snapped. “Selfish, heartless bitch that she is.”

Brian’s expression changed not at all, and Corona kept her own face still. After a long moment, the two werewolves backed away, keeping their eyes on Corona’s wand until they had several people between them and her. Corona watched them around the corner, then relaxed.

Elladora stood up and went to Grandmother’s side, taking the old woman’s arm. “This may be the last time we see each other, sister,” she said to Corona. “I hope you find happiness in your choice.”

“As do I for you.” Corona lowered her wand. “May you find what you seek.”

“May you also.”

“Enough,” Grandmother snapped. “You will not speak to her again, Elladora. You will forget that you ever had a sister. She is outcast, as low as the filth she consorts with. Let us go home.”

Corona sank weakly into her chair and watched her past walk away from her. “All bonds are broken, all ties unbound,” she whispered, reciting part of the Outcasting that had come down through the centuries in pureblood society. “She never was, and is no more, and will be never again.”

“I’m sorry.” Brian seated himself across from her. “I wish that hadn’t happened. Either part of it.” A smile worked its way reluctantly onto his features. “Though I think it’s rather ironic that both our pasts caught up with us at the same moment.”

“Ironic. Yes.” Corona began to smile as well. “You could call it ironic.” The smile grew larger. “Or you could call it utterly ridiculous.”

“That works as well as anything.”

They met each other’s eyes for one moment, then broke into helpless laughter.

xXxXx

“Yet despite their actions, you will miss your family,” Dumbledore said to Corona.

“Of course. I still love my sister, and as much as I hate what my grandmother wants from me, I can understand it. In her world, the only possible interpretations of my actions are heartless and selfish.” She looked around at the room where they sat. “I sought a wider world.”

“Wise of you.” Dumbledore met Corona’s eyes and held them for a long moment. When they looked away, Corona was blinking hard, as to hold back tears, but Dumbledore was smiling.

“Are you all right?” Brian asked anxiously, passing Corona a tissue.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Corona dabbed at her eyes. “I was just... I mean...” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

Dumbledore rose to cross to them. “Allow me to be the first to welcome you, Miss Gamp, to our side of the war,” he said quietly when he was close enough for her to hear. “The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.”

Corona’s eyes widened as this information sank in.

“Would you like me to explain, sir?” Brian asked, a hint of challenge in his dark eyes.

“If you would be so kind.”

Dumbledore did not smile again, or even look as though he might, until he had left the room, when he allowed himself the luxury of chuckling.

Young men are so touchy about their dignity.

Then he went in search of the adults of the Pack.

xXxXx

“Two ideas?” Aletha said. “You have been busy.”

“One of them is not mine,” Dumbledore admitted. “Severus Snape originated it, but I believe it has merit.”

“Don’t worry,” said Sirius, raising a hand. “I’m through rejecting anything he came up with just because he came up with it.”

“Yes, you’ll listen to it and find some other reason to reject it,” Danger said.

Sirius grinned with no trace of self-consciousness. “She knows me so well.”

“We’re listening, Albus,” said Remus, raising his eyebrows at Sirius and shooting Danger a mental Behave yourself.

“Severus’ idea is that he, in his role as Voldemort’s spy, should tell Voldemort about Harry’s strange experiences and dreams,” Dumbledore began. “He will lay emphasis on the fact that I am interested in them—which I am, but not for the reasons Voldemort will assume.”

Aletha frowned. “Voldemort will think you want to know what he’s thinking,” she said.

“Yes, and for that reason, he will likely block off the connection between himself and Harry, to deprive me of this source of information. It will accomplish our goal immediately, without endangering Harry’s health.”

“Key word there,” said Sirius. “Likely. Voldemort’s never been one for likely. He’s unpredictable, and for all we know, he’s got some way to hear every word we say.” He raised his voice a little. “In which case, up yours, Snakeface.”

Danger snickered.

“He does have his spies, as we have ours,” Dumbledore conceded. “But I know who his spy in the Order is, and I shall continue to take precautions against him, as I did in the matter of bringing the children safely here.”

“Precautions including not telling us who he is?” Aletha asked.

“I would not want you to act differently around him. That will tell Voldemort immediately that his spy has been found, and that above all I wish to avoid.”

“Because as long as you know about the spy, and he doesn’t know you know, he won’t put in another one that you’d have to find out about,” Danger said.

“Precisely.” Dumbledore nodded. “Simply do not share information with anyone you have not been instructed to, and things should go well enough.”

“We got off track,” Remus said. “Sirius brought up a good point, Albus. What happens if Voldemort decides to strike back at Harry rather than blocking himself off? He’s always believed in attacking rather than defending, and Harry’s Occlumency is starting to come along, but it’s still very shaky. He can’t even stop these little, unintentional invasions—he couldn’t possibly repel one with Voldemort’s full strength and will behind it.”

“That is true. Which brings us to my idea—which, sadly, is not truly mine either.” Dumbledore sighed, but his eyes were twinkling. “I was visited by an old friend last night, a friend I believe we have in common. A lovely lady named Maura.”

“Yes, we know Maura,” Aletha said. “What did she have to say?”

“A great many things with which I shall not bore you, mostly dealing with my mental capacity and my age. One thing greatly to the point. ‘Not everything in life must be permanent.’”

“Very philosophical,” Sirius said. “Not very helpful, unless, as always, I’m missing something.”

“If you’re missing it, I’m missing it too,” said Danger. “Albus, what exactly doesn’t need to be permanent here... wait a second, do you mean what I think you mean?”

“I believe it would address Aletha’s objection.” Dumbledore sketched a bow towards her.

“Is there some way to do that, though?” Aletha looked skeptical. “That serious a thing, can it be done on a temporary basis?”

“It can. It will entail more paraphernalia than the permanent form, but Harry wears his pendants constantly in any case.”

“The temporary form involves linking it to an amulet, doesn’t it?” Remus said. “So that Harry would have it when he wears the amulet, and lose it when he takes it off.”

“Yes.”

Sirius sighed. “Would somebody please just give me a hint of what we’re talking about?” he said plaintively.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard about it yet,” Remus said. “A blood-bond between me and Harry, to counteract the one he has with Voldemort.”

“That’s a good thing...” Sirius’ eyes narrowed. “But it’d give him lupus, wouldn’t it? Like Danger has?”

“We think so. That’s Aletha’s main objection to it.”

“Do you mind if I join you?” Sirius asked his wife, waiting only for her nod before turning back to Remus. “You’re out of your mind. What could possibly be worth that?”

“Voldemort couldn’t touch him mentally if we went through with it,” Remus snapped. “Or maybe you’d rather he blood-bond with Snape. That was suggested as well.”

Sirius rocked back on his heels. “Blood-bond... with...”

“Told you he wouldn’t like it,” Danger said.

“But what Albus has just suggested makes sense,” Remus said, pressing Danger’s hand to calm himself. “If Harry and I place blood in a locket, with the right spells, we’ll be bonded so long as he wears that locket. And he’ll have lupus for just that long. As soon as he doesn’t need the bond anymore—when he’s learned Occlumency, or when the war’s over, or whatever happens—he can take it off and destroy it. No more bond, no more lupus.” His voice acquired a trace of bitterness. “Is that good enough for you?”

Sirius, recovered from his shock, snorted in exasperation. “Remus, you know it’s not you I’m objecting to. I just don’t want Harry sick.”

“And you also don’t want to be supplanted,” said Aletha. “And somewhere in your irrational mind, you’re afraid that’s exactly what might happen.”

“Am not,” Sirius said automatically, frowning in thought.

“He is,” said Aletha, nodding. “He just has to come to the conclusion himself.”

Sirius gave her a dirty look.

xXxXx

Ginny set the Order of Merlin, First Class, presented to one of Mr. Padfoot’s ancestors aside. “I don’t think he’ll want it, but we should ask,” she said.

“Photograph Quidditch!” Fred called, grabbing two photographs off the shelf. “George, Keep for me!”

George grabbed the rubbish sack and spread it wide, waggling it back and forth irregularly. Fred charged at his twin, followed his fakes for a second, then dived at him and smashed the photographs into the sack, ignoring the squeals from the frames’ occupants. “Ha-ha! Twenty points to Gryffindor!”

“My turn,” George said, handing the sack off to Fred. “Ron, toss me one!”

The photographs lasted long enough for everyone to have a turn throwing. “What’s this?” Neville asked after his turn, opening the lid of a small box.

A tune tinkled out, slow and winding. Everyone stopped what they were doing, sitting down to listen. Even Mum was sitting, covering a yawn with her hand. Ginny felt a wave of lassitude. It would be so nice to rest, to lie down and sleep...

Oh no you don’t. Ginny pinched herself hard, reached over, and slammed the lid of the box shut. Everyone blinked and stared around at each other.

“I don’t think we’ll listen to that again,” said Hermione, tossing the box into the sack.

Ron lifted a large, ornate locket from the shelf. “Got a snake engraved on it,” he said, peering at it.

“Like everything else around here,” said Draco. “Open it, see who’s inside.”

Ron fiddled with the catch for a few moments, then shook his head. “It won’t open. You try.”

Draco took the locket and likewise tried the catch. “I think it’s jammed,” he said. “Either that, or it’s magically shut. Anyone else want a go? Luna?” He held it out to her.

Luna’s eyes widened more than Ginny had ever seen before. “Draco, I think you should put that down right now,” she said quietly.

“Why? Is something wrong with it?”

“Yes.”

Draco set the locket on the floor and backed away warily. “Now what?” he said. “Is it going to go off?”

“I don’t know.” Luna closed in, staying two paces from the locket at all times. “I don’t know what I’m Seeing, but I don’t like it.”

“Do you think a bit of magic would set it off, Luna dear?” Mum asked.

Luna considered, then shook her head.

Mum drew her wand and levitated the locket, moving it to a back table and conjuring a glass dome over it. “That should keep people away from it, until you have some time to figure it out,” she said. “Let’s keep going.”

Ginny smiled to herself. Nothing flustered her mum for long.

“I wonder what’s keeping Harry,” Hermione said as they continued to pull items off the shelves. “I know the Pack-parents wanted to talk to him, but I didn’t think it would take this long.”

Meghan went to the door to get a fresh sack, since even with Mum’s wizardspace improvements (or would that be witchspace, Ginny wondered whimsically), they were starting to run out of room in this one. “Here he comes!” she called, disappearing around the corner.

Ginny went to the door. Harry looked as if a star had fallen on him and he hadn’t adjusted to it yet, but he was responding to Meghan rationally. “It’s all right,” he said, holding out his hand to her. “It’s not him. It’s safe.”

Meghan grasped his hand, then moved in to hug him tightly. Over her shoulder, Harry’s lips moved.

Ginny blinked. It might never be him again? What does that mean?

Meghan pulled away, and Harry smiled at her. “That always makes me feel better,” he said. “Thanks, Pearl.”

“You’re welcome.” Meghan squeezed his hand, then danced back up the corridor and slipped past Ginny into the room.

“Hey, Ginny,” Harry said, following his sister.

“Hi, Harry. You look confused.”

“I am confused. Hoping you can help me sort it out.”

“Me?”

“Well, everyone, but everyone includes you, so yes, you.” Harry turned to Mum. “Mrs. Weasley, can I steal the Pride for a little while? Something’s come up.”

“Yes, go ahead. We’re nearly finished here, the twins and I can take care of the rest. Send your parents up here if you happen to see them, and Luna when you’re finished, there’s something we need to take care of specially.”

“What’s that?” Harry asked Luna as she passed.

Luna shrugged, then stopped, looking speculatively at Harry’s forehead.

“Look, Luna, it’s bad enough when everyone else does it,” Harry said in exasperation. “Do you have to?”

“Maybe.” Luna was still staring. “Harry, do you know what Voldemort used to look like?”

“You mean when he was young, about our age?”

“A little older than that, but yes. Before he got scary.”

“Ginny and I saw a memory of him in the Chamber of Secrets,” Harry said. “He was sixteen there, I think.”

Ginny nodded. “He had dark hair and a strong face,” she said. “He was handsome, but frightening.”

“But he didn’t frighten everyone he saw,” Harry said. “He couldn’t have, not and get away with pretending to be just an innocent kid.”

“Maybe he didn’t bother to wear his ‘ordinary person’ mask with us,” Ginny said. “He was trying to frighten us, to flaunt how strong a wizard he was, that he could bind a memory into a diary and have it last there for fifty years.” She frowned. “How would you do that, anyway? Most spells fade over time, but that one didn’t.”

Harry shrugged. “The Map still works,” he said. “Is that what you need to know, Luna?”

“Sort of. We can talk more later. What’s bothering you, Harry?”

“You know, that’s going to get annoying,” Harry said, starting down the hall towards the stairs. “If you can see everything that’s wrong.”

“I won’t tell anyone. Just the Pride.”

“That’s bad enough,” Harry muttered. Ginny chose to pretend she hadn’t heard.

Ron locked the door of the Pride’s Den behind him and took his place in the circle on the floor. “Spill, Harry,” he said, putting his wand away. “What happened?”

“It’s not what happened, Ron.” Harry had his hands in front of his face and was flexing the fingers, staring at them as if memorizing them. “It’s what could happen.”

Ginny listened carefully, shaping the situation as she might a statue she was copying from life. Here was the predicament—Harry’s mind linked to Voldemort’s, to the extent that Harry had been having dreams where he was Voldemort, along with dreams that smelled like Voldemort but consisted only of long windowless corridors ending in locked doors. Here were possible solutions—Harry learning Occlumency, Voldemort choosing to block the connection himself, Harry blood-bonding with Mr. Moony—and here were the problems with those solutions...

And that’s where it gets really complicated.

“I’m starting to get the hang of Occlumency, but every time I think I have it, it gets away from me,” Harry was saying. “It’s just that it takes a couple seconds longer to get away now. At this rate, I might be able to keep Voldemort out of my mind for a full minute by the end of this year.”

Ginny noted in passing that Ron hardly shivered at the name.

“I don’t like the sound of Voldemort finding out about the connection,” Hermione said. “It sounds much too dangerous. What if he decides that it would be worth more to go digging in your head?”

“That’s why Snape’s not doing anything until Dumbledore says he can,” said Harry.

“Snape came up with that, didn’t he?” said Neville.

“Yes, and don’t even start. I don’t like Snape either, but if he told Dumbledore he wouldn’t do something, then he won’t.”

“Unless he’s gone back over to You-Know...”

Harry and Hermione fixed Ron with a double glare.

“Oh, all right. To Voldemort. Happy now?”

“Some,” said Harry. “I’ll be even happier when you do it without us having to look at you.”

“But my point hasn’t changed, Harry. What if Snape’s back on the Dark side? What if he suggested this so... Voldemort can have a bloody good rummage in your head?”

“What’s he going to find out?”

“That you’re an Animagus,” said Draco. “That we’re all Animagi here, or well on the way.” He nodded to Meghan. “That the other three Founders all have Heirs in our group—don’t you think he might like knowing that?”

Meghan laughed suddenly. “I just thought of something,” she said. “Do you realize Voldemort used Gryffindor blood to come back to life?”

“Huh.” Harry smiled. “The Heir of Slytherin has Gryffindor blood.”

“It sounds like an advertising slogan,” said Draco. “New and Improved Heir of Slytherin! Now with Gryffindor Blood!”

When the Pride was done laughing at that, Harry finished his story, explaining what he’d found out just today. “So now I have to decide what I want to do,” he wrapped up. “If I take the blood bond, even if it’s temporary, I will have lupus while I’m wearing the amulet. Letha knows some of the potions I can take to help with the symptoms, but I’d still be sick.”

“But Voldemort couldn’t get into your mind at all,” said Neville.

“Not at all,” Harry agreed.

“Even if he knew about the connection, it wouldn’t make any difference,” said Hermione.

“Right.”

“And you’d stop being sick as soon as you ended the bond, or took off the amulet,” Luna said.

“Yes.”

“Would there be any permanent damage?” Meghan asked. “Would you get better after the bond was over? Or don’t you know?”

Harry shrugged. “No one’s ever done this before, so they don’t know for sure. But Danger got her prophecy last night, and these are the first four lines here. She thought they might be about this.” He took a scroll out of his pocket. “Have a look.” He passed it to Hermione, and she read the lines aloud.

“Black could mean Professor Snape,” said Neville musingly. “And white, Professor Dumbledore. Each of them has part of the answer that will make us happy.”

Ginny’s mind pounced on a possible answer to the other two colors. “You’d wear it on your pendant chain, wouldn’t you?” she asked Harry, who nodded. “Then you’d probably use a gold locket to match, and blood is red. That’s what gold and red will make. The amulet.” She held out her hand, and Hermione gave her the prophecy. A quick look found the place she wanted. “And here. The lion’s son no harm shall take. That’s you, Harry. This means it won’t hurt you.”

Harry’s grin flashed out. “Ginny, I need to ask you things more often,” he said.

“What am I, dragon dung?” Neville asked the room at large.

“No, but you’re not nearly as cute as she is.”

Ginny felt her face heat. Can’t hide it. Might as well play it up. “Oh, Harry,” she said in a trembling falsetto. “You think I’m cute. Shall I faint at your feet now?”

“No thank you.” Harry held out his hand to ward her off. “I have enough girls do that, thanks. I don’t want you there too.”

“Oh, come on, Harry,” Draco objected. “No girl’s ever really fainted at your feet.”

“They were coming close before the Yule Ball.”

“And if they’d thought it would work, they would have tried it,” Hermione added. “But Harry doesn’t go for helpless damsels in distress.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Harry said. “I don’t like seeing damsels in distress, but I don’t think I’m quite ready to see them out of dis dress.”

Everyone groaned, and the impromptu den disintegrated into a bad joke session.

“What did you see on the locket, Luna?” Neville finally asked when the Pride had worn themselves out laughing. “Is it cursed?”

“I don’t know. I see...” Luna scowled. “I wish you could all see it too,” she said. “I can’t think of the right words to tell you about it.”

“So show us,” said Meghan, reaching over and hooking Luna’s chain out of her robes. “Put it on us, and take us there.”

Luna closed her eyes for a second. “I feel silly now,” she announced.

“Don’t worry, we love you anyway,” said Harry. “In the most proper of senses, of course,” he added hastily at Draco’s glare.

Within moments, they were within Luna’s memory of the drawing room. Everything seemed to have an aura around it, or a second shadow, Ginny noticed. Even Meghan was beginning to show the shape of a graceful, slim-legged deer. She’s only two spells away from Animagus, I think...

“Anyone else want a go?” asked memory-Draco, the fox-shadow behind him flickering as he turned. “Luna?” He held out the locket.

Luna froze the scene. “Do you see?” she asked, pointing to it.

Ginny felt her lips peel back off her teeth. The locket had its own aura. A wavering man-shape stood between memory-Draco and the Pride.

“I can’t see its face,” she murmured aloud. “It’s like it keeps changing.”

“It does keep changing,” Harry said coldly. “But I’ve seen two of the things it’s changing between. It’s him.” He took a step closer and stared up at the man. “It’s Voldemort.”

Meghan shivered. “I knew Dadfoot’s family was Dark,” she murmured, “but why would something of Voldemort’s be here?”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “Padfoot’s parents thought Voldemort had the right idea, but they were never Death Eaters, and his brother Regulus was, but he tried to leave. Voldemort wouldn’t have given him anything important—or if he had, he would have come and taken it back, after Regulus got killed.”

“Mother liked Regulus,” Draco said, his voice tentative, as if he wasn’t sure of what he was saying. “Father didn’t want me named after him, but Mother said he’d picked my first name and she should be allowed to pick my middle. They argued for a long time. Mother won. She always did, if it was something important.”

“And she turned out good, in the end,” Ron said thoughtfully. “She probably wouldn’t have liked anyone who was really bad.”

“Besides, he tried to leave.” Ginny walked around the memory-figure, watching the shape of Voldemort change blink by blink, from the boy she remembered from the Chamber, to a young man with hunger in his eyes, to an older man with pale skin and a strangely flat nose, to a red-eyed monster with slits for nostrils. “Regulus tried to get out. So he can’t have been all bad.”

“Did he try to get out just to get out, I wonder?” Harry said, joining Ginny beside Voldemort. “Or did he run because he had to?”

“Sorry?” said Draco.

“If you steal my homework and I find out, what’s the first thing you do?”

“I run... oh.”

“You think Regulus stole this from Voldemort?” asked Ron, hardly hesitating over the name at all, though he wasn’t looking directly at the figure.

“It has to have been his at some point,” Neville said. “But why can Luna see him in it? Did he love it that much?”

An idea flickered in Ginny’s mind. “Neville, the ring you gave up for the Pride-pendants,” she said. “It had an H on it, and it was your dad’s...”

Neville laughed briefly. “He was a little mad when he heard what I did with it, but when he found out what these do, he understood.”

“But why was he mad?” Ginny pressed. “Why was that ring so important?”

“It was Helga Hufflepuff’s. It came down in our family.”

“So at least one thing survived from the days of the Founders,” Ginny said.

“Two,” said Harry. “That sword I pulled out of the Sorting Hat. And three, if you count the Hat itself.”

“What are you getting at, Ginny?” asked Hermione.

“A reason for Voldemort to love this locket,” Ginny said. “Luna, can you back this up a little? To where Ron was talking?”

The memory figures moved quickly backwards several steps, then reanimated. “Got a snake on it,” Ron said, peering at the locket he’d just lifted from the shelf.

“That’s what I thought you said.” Ginny smiled in satisfaction. “And we all know who could talk to snakes.”

“You think this might have been Slytherin’s,” said Luna, looking at the locket dubiously. “That would be a reason Voldemort would love it, but I don’t think that’s all of it.”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“I have an idea,” Neville announced. “Can we get out of here?”

“Remigribus, ” said Luna, and the memory scene blinked out. There was a brief feeling of flying through lightning-filled skies, and then Ginny was wincing at the tingling of her very real feet, which had fallen asleep while she was elsewhere.

When everyone could walk again, Neville led them back to the drawing room. The Pride gathered around the table where the glass dome covered the innocent-looking locket.

“Can anyone get through this?” Neville asked, rapping on it with his knuckles.

“Maybe,” said Hermione, frowning. “I could try a Cutting Spell, but I don’t know if that would work or if it would just break it...”

“We can always fix it again,” said Ron.

“I hate to break up a good discussion,” said Harry, “but have any of you considered this?” He put his hand against the dome and pushed. It slid across the table’s surface. Draco, on the other side, hooked his fingers under it and lifted. Luna and Hermione, on either side of him, caught it smoothly as it turned over, and the three of them together set it down on the floor.

“We can put it back when we’re done,” Harry said. “No one will ever know.”

“Unless we tell them.” Neville took Meghan’s hand in his. “I don’t think you’ll like this,” he said. “But will you still do it, please? For us?”

Meghan made a small gesture with her free hand. Ginny hid her smile. For you, she says. How are they ever going to wait until she’s seventeen?

Neville was reaching out now, Meghan’s hand still joined in his. Together, they lowered their hands over the locket, Meghan’s skin touching a part of the chain, Neville’s the smooth metal of the locket itself.

Both of them jerked back as if they’d been burned. Meghan made a little mew of distress and shook her hand hard. “Slimy,” she said with a shudder, then looked around at the Pride. “Whatever that is, it’s not normal,” she said firmly. “There’s some nasty magic on there, and I don’t want to be anywhere near it.”

“Then you won’t be,” said Harry, nodding to Draco, who bent to pick up the half-globe. “Neville?”

Neville nodded. “What Meghan said,” he agreed. “Except I’ve felt something like this before. It wasn’t so strong, or maybe it was strong in a different way. But the only other thing I’ve ever touched that felt like this was Tom Riddle’s diary.” He smiled across at Ginny. “And I wouldn’t have thought of that if you hadn’t brought it up.”

Harry caught the other side of the dome. Ginny stepped up quickly to help him, placing her hands on the curve of the dome rather than under its lip, slowing its progress with friction. Harry nodded thanks to her as the dome settled smoothly back into place. “So it definitely belonged to Voldemort,” he said. “And he did something complicated to it, possibly something like the diary. Do you think there might be a memory in this too?”

The Pride looked at the locket, lying innocently beneath its sheltering glass.

“I think we need to tell the Pack-parents about this,” said Hermione.

“I think you’re right,” said Harry.

The Pride filed out of the room. Ginny closed the door behind her, resisting the urge to look back at the locket one more time. It was under glass, and she’d never touched it. It couldn’t hurt her. She was safe here.

“Oh, there you are!” Mum came bustling up the stairs. “We’ve been looking all over for you. I have some good news, Ron, Ginny. Percy’s coming to dinner tonight!”

“Er, great,” said Ron feebly. He leaned back to Ginny. “Move to keep him out of the drawing room,” he muttered as Mum went past.

“Seconded. All in favor say aye.”

“Aye,” said eight voices.

“Vote is unanimous,” Ginny droned. “Motion carried.”

“Bet Percy’d love to hear that,” said Ron with a nervous grin.

“Oh, and Harry, I have a message for you,” said Mum, popping back into sight at the end of the hall. “Your parents want to know if you’ve decided yet. They’re down in the kitchen.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.” Harry looked at the Pride. “I’m doing it,” he said.

“All in favor say aye,” said Ginny promptly.

Harry tried to say something, but was drowned out by the chorus of seven “Aye”s.

“It’s not a vote,” Ginny said, having been close enough to hear the gist of Harry’s protest. “We’re just telling you we approve.”

“Oh. Thank you, then.”

“Good luck, Harry,” said Hermione, moving up to hug him. Meghan latched on from the other side, and Draco stroked his cheek before shaking Harry’s hand in the special pattern Ginny had noticed they only used with each other. Ron gave Harry a brief hug, then ducked back as if embarrassed, and Neville shook his hand firmly and grinned at him.

Then Luna stepped up and kissed his cheek. “For luck,” she said as Harry blushed and the other boys chuckled. Hermione hid a smile, and Meghan giggled. “Because I can’t do it the other way.”

Ginny got a firm grip on her emotions. “More luck is always good,” she said, and stepped around Harry to his other cheek.

Harry turned his head to watch her move.

Ginny pulled back not quite in time, as her lips brushed his.

She caught a hasty breath and pulled in a random memory, one of being backstage before the performance of Joseph . “Break a leg, Harry,” she whispered, looking anywhere but at him.

“Thanks. I will.”

Was it her imagination, Ginny wondered, or did his voice sound faintly flustered?

She didn’t look up until Harry’s footsteps changed from the hollow thuds of the stair treads to the softer thumping on the threadbare carpet below in the hall.

Six people were doing their best to look somewhere else.

“Move that never happened,” Ginny said as firmly as she could manage.

“Seconded,” said Hermione quickly. “All in favor.”

“Aye,” said five voices together.

“Motion carried,” Ginny said, breathing a silent sigh of relief.

“If it never happened, does that mean we’re not allowed to talk about it?” said Ron wistfully.

Hermione hit him.

xXxXx

Harry used his dagger to peel another shaving of pine off the wood chip. “Enough?” he asked Moony.

“Two more that size, and I think you’re good.” Moony looked critically at his pile of dogwood, then set his own knife aside and started to measure drops of potion into the golden bowl. “We’re lucky to have Aletha here,” he said, frowning at his work. “We can trust her to brew correctly, even if she doesn’t agree with what the potion will be used for.”

“She probably did it to get you to stop talking about it,” Harry said.

“Probably,” Moony agreed. “Now if I’d brewed these, I’d be the first one to tell you not to go through with this.”

“And I’d be the first one to take your advice. You or Padfoot.” Harry finished the second shaving, set the pine aside, and blew the dust off his dagger, then sneezed.

“Don’t put that away yet,” Moony said without looking up. “We need these both chopped fine.”

“Separately or together?”

“Separately. Let’s not mix them before they need to be mixed.”

“I should use your knife for the dogwood, then.”

“Good thinking.”

Moony finished measuring the two potions at the same time Harry chopped the last shaving into splinters. The two wizards looked at each other.

“Ready?” Moony asked hoarsely.

Harry swallowed. “As I’ll ever be.”

Moony pulled up his left sleeve. “Of my own free will do I give this blood,” he said, nicking the skin of his forearm near the elbow with Harry’s dagger. “I give it for this binding and for this binding only. So I speak, so I intend.”

“So let it be done,” Harry said softly. He closed his hand around Moony’s, and together they held the dagger high over the saucer. Three drops of blood dripped from its point to mix with the two potions.

Moony let go of the dagger and drew his wand. “Scourgify, ” he muttered, cleaning the blade, then pointed the wand at his arm and conjured a bandage for it. Harry took the opportunity to gulp. Here we go...

He placed the point of the dagger against his skin. “Of my own free will do I give this blood,” he repeated, surprised at how little the cut on his arm hurt. “I give it for this binding and this binding only.” Blood welled onto the blade, and he pulled it away, worried that it might be too much. “So I speak, so I intend.”

“So let it be done,” Moony said, lifting his hand to place it around Harry’s on the dagger, holding it over the saucer together. Three drops fell, then Harry lowered the dagger, and Moony released his grip to clean its blade once more.

Harry sheathed the dagger and looked up. From beneath the table, Moony had produced a tiny gold locket, devoid of chain, and was just now placing it into the potion-blood mixture.

Harry took a deep breath to calm himself. One of the tricky parts was over, but the other was just beginning.

Moony swept his pile of dogwood into the center of the table. Harry did the same with the pine. Together, they lifted the saucer and held it over the shavings.

“You know your lines?” Moony muttered.

“As well as you do.”

“Let’s find out.” With one quick gesture, Moony set the wood on fire and began to speak.

“Fire of dogwood, fire of pine,

“Make this boy a son of mine.

“Join our bloods in secret gold,

“Where no foeman may behold. ”

Harry spoke up, obscurely proud that his voice was steady. The liquid in the saucer was boiling furiously, the fire burnt bright, but he felt no pain in the hand holding the dish above the flames.

“Pine and dogwood, burning here,

“Make this man my father dear.

“In this gold our bloods conceal,

“So no enemy them steal. ”

The fire in the shavings went out even as Harry spoke the last word.

The liquid in the saucer was gone. The tiny locket lay there alone.

Moony began to lower the saucer to the table. Harry quickly did the same. “Did it work?” he asked.

“I know one good way to find out.” Moony picked up the locket and held out his hand. Harry quickly took off his pendant chain and willed it open, and Moony slid the locket onto it. Harry watched it slide down the chain and clink gently against the engraving of the stag on his first pendant.

“Put it back on,” Moony prompted.

Harry did. “I don’t feel any different,” he said.

“Just wait.” Moony stood up, motioning Harry to do the same, and to come to one side of the table. He placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “By the power that is in me and by the blood that we share,” he said formally, “I do release any bindings that may be on the power of the line of Godric Gryffindor within you, Harry James Potter, my blood son. I charge you to use this power always for good, never for evil, and to remember that even the very wise cannot see all ends.” His hands tightened for a moment. “And also to remember that I love you.”

A peculiar feeling ran through Harry’s body, starting at Moony’s hands and working its way down and up simultaneously. It was like a shiver, except that a shiver was cold, and this was hot, burning hot—but it didn’t hurt...

No, it tickles.

Especially in my nose.

Harry sneezed violently, twice, feeling rather than seeing Moony dodge aside. “Ugh,” he said, pressing at his streaming eyes. “Sorry.”

“It’s quite all right,” Moony said, sounding amused. “Here, try this.” A handkerchief found Harry’s hand. “And then you may want to deal with these.”

“Deal with what?” Harry wiped his eyes and looked where Moony was pointing.

Three tiny fires smoldered merrily in the carpet below.

Harry dropped to his knees. Holding his breath, he slid his hand under one of the flames.

It came up with no more trouble than a dropped Knut or quill. A faint warmth radiated down from it, but nothing worse.

“I did it,” he breathed. “I really did it...” He looked up at Moony. “Where did these come from?”

“They came from you.”

“I know that, but where?”

“Do you honestly want to know that?”

Harry considered the process of sneezing. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“I don’t think you do either. But I do think it worked.” Moony bent and picked up another of the flames. “I believe this belongs to you,” he said, adding it to the one on Harry’s palm. “Congratulations, Harry, and many happy returns of the day. Your father would have been proud of you today.”

“My father is proud of me today,” Harry corrected. “Aren’t you?”

The remaining flame on the carpet was extinguished by water from above.





Facing Danger

Chapter 7: Joinings and Partings (Year 5)


Chapter 7: Joinings and Partings

Albus Dumbledore lifted the heavy locket from the table and traced the snake marking on it with one finger. “Fascinating,” he murmured.

A small noise from the direction of the door made him smile. “You may come in,” he said aloud. “All of you.”

“I told you so,” Hermione hissed at Ron as the Pride filed in, looking chagrined.

“I had meant to speak to you about this at some point anyway,” Dumbledore said, turning to face them. “This will merely facilitate things. Luna, you say that you can see Voldemort’s shape around this locket?”

“It changes,” Luna said, “but Harry says it’s all Voldemort. I believe him.”

“Harry.” Dumbledore beckoned the boy forward. “Have you touched it at any point?”

“No, sir. Just held up the dome so Neville and Meghan could try.”

“And they disliked how it felt.” Dumbledore looked at the mentioned two.

“Very much, sir,” Neville said as Meghan nodded hard. “I don’t want to touch it again.”

“I will not ask you to. But I will ask Harry.” Dumbledore held up the locket. “If you will, Harry.”

Harry reached out tentatively and laid a finger on the locket. A shudder ran through his body, and he snatched his hand away, clapping it to his forehead. “It burned,” he said. “But with cold, not hot. Does that make sense?”

“It does. And your scar?”

Harry took his hand away. “It hurt for just a second. It’s stopped now.”

“But I held it,” said Ron. “And Draco, too. We didn’t feel anything.”

“And I would imagine any of the rest of you could hold it without discomfort,” Dumbledore said. “Though Luna might not care for it.”

Luna pointedly clasped her hands behind her back.

“Blood Heirs,” said Ginny. “Harry and Neville and Meghan are, and we’re not. And Voldemort is, too. He put some kind of enchantment on it that blood Heirs of the Founders respond to...”

Her tone was doubtful, questioning, but Dumbledore nodded. “Well spotted, Ginny,” he said.

And better than well, as she does my work for me. Now I must maintain it here, and plant the doubts elsewhere.

He slid the locket inside his robes. “If you ever see another item with that exact look to it, Luna, you must tell me immediately, no matter what else is going on,” he told her. “Objects with this enchantment can be dangerous if mishandled. Fortunately, your handling of the situation was perfect.” He made that a general statement, and more than one person beamed. “Now, if I may ask you all to leave Harry and myself alone for a short time? I wish to speak with him, now that it is safe to do so.”

The rest of the Pride vacated the room, several signing comments to Harry as they went. Harry sat down in an armchair when they were gone, tucking his legs up under him. “I feel like I can still feel it,” he said, rubbing the finger that had touched the locket. “Doesn’t it bother you to have it there?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “I do not have your particular sensitivity to it. And on that subject, Harry, I want to thank you for your willingness to take on this new burden.”

“New... oh, that.” Harry shrugged. “Letha’s being so motherly, I can’t even turn around without her asking if I feel all right. That’s the worst of it just now.”

“It may grow worse.” Dumbledore considered his position carefully. “Harry, I encourage you not to give up your Occlumency practice because of this new level of safety. Voldemort may, at some point, find a way around it, or some problem with the spell may arise. I ask you to develop your other lines of defense, should this one some day fail you.”

“Why don’t you just tell me to do it?” Harry’s tone made it a serious question, as free from sarcasm as any question asked by a Marauder’s child could ever be. “Why ask?”

“Courtesy, perhaps.” Dumbledore regarded the boy sitting across from him with an inner sigh. “In our world, a boy is a man at seventeen. You are fifteen as of yesterday—many happy returns, belatedly—but you are approaching manhood rapidly. As well, whether we care for the fact or not, you will be an inevitable part of this war. I feel it incumbent upon me to treat you with courtesy.”

“Do you treat Tonks like that? Or Padfoot, or Moody?”

Dumbledore frowned, unsure where Harry was going. “I attempt to be courteous to all.”

“But do you just ask them to do things? Or do you tell them? We’re in a war, Professor, and you’re leading us, unless something changed and I don’t know about it. We swore to you, the Pride and I, that night after the third task.” Harry’s legs came down, and he lifted his chin. “Maybe we’re just kids, but we can fight. And we can take orders.” A grin lit his face, reminding Dumbledore sharply of James Potter. “We don’t like it, but we can do it.”

“Though I run the risk of having those orders reinterpreted.”

“Only if we need to, sir.”

Dumbledore hid his smile. “In that case, I will tell you to continue your Occlumency practice, even though I understand you find it a hard discipline to follow.”

“Yes, sir. To both.”

“You have strong feelings, Harry, and you have never learned to hide what you feel. It has never been necessary, living as you do within a loving family. Those who have lived with trouble and worry frequently make better Occlumens.”

Harry’s eyes were far off. Dumbledore let him think. After a moment, the boy nodded. “I can do that,” he said quietly, as though finishing a conversation, and turned back to the Headmaster. “Is there anything else, sir?”

“There is, Harry.” Dumbledore smoothed an imaginary wrinkle out of his robes. Why was this so hard? The boy’s future would not change merely because he knew about it.

But his outlook will change. His feelings and his thoughts will change. And thus, he will change, and you do not want to be the one to change him, because you love him.

He banished the treacherous voice and looked up. “You know the beginning of the prophecy which names you as the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. I believe it is time you knew the whole of it.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Now?” he blurted.

“Do you have somewhere else to be?”

“No—but...”

Dumbledore waited, letting Harry put his thoughts together.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” Harry said finally. “I don’t know if I want to know it.”

“You will have to know it eventually,” Dumbledore pointed out quietly.

“I know...” Harry’s shoulders slumped. “But you never think eventually will come until it does.”

“Would it help your decision if I told you that Voldemort is seeking a way to find this prophecy, since he knows only the part you know yourself?” Dumbledore watched Harry carefully, and knew he had the boy’s attention when Harry’s head turned slightly. “And that some of your unusual dreams while staying with your relatives relate to this?”

“Is it written down somewhere?” Harry asked after a moment of thought. “Does the Ministry keep records of prophecies?”

“It does, but not written ones. And the safeguards on the records are extreme. The magic placed on them is such that only someone who the prophecy is about —someone like yourself—would be able to touch them.”

Harry frowned, wrinkling his nose. “Do you mean if he wanted it, he’d have to use me to get it, sir? But it’s about him too, isn’t it? Couldn’t he get it?”

“He could, but Voldemort has long believed in taking as few risks as possible with his own body, and after thirteen years disembodied, he will likely be more careful than ever. Especially now, with the Ministry refusing to recognize his return.” Dumbledore kept the anger light in his voice, though he felt it thoroughly. “Voldemort will not jeopardize such a valuable fact by appearing in public.”

“So since he won’t get it himself, he might try to use me to get it, by...” Harry looked up. “Threatening someone?”

Dumbledore let some of his approval show. “He might. Or he might work through someone else, someone you have reason to trust, or think you do.”

“And that person asks me to... what? Take a record off a shelf at the Ministry?”

“Basically.”

“It’s easy, then, sir. I just say no. Why would I even be at the Ministry in the first place?”

“There could be reasons. And the record could be disguised, or the reason why it is needed falsified. You might even be led to believe that someone is in peril of his life, or hers, and that the record is the only thing which will save them.”

Harry smiled. “That’s what these are for, sir.” He hooked a finger around his pendant chain.

“And if your pendants tell you the same story as the person in front of you?” Dumbledore sighed. “Voldemort will not skimp on this, Harry. It is one of the driving forces of his life at the moment, to hear in full the prophecy he believes shapes his life.”

“He believes, sir? Doesn’t it really?”

Dumbledore chuckled dryly. “In a way, it shapes his life because he believes in it. If he had not believed, he would never have attacked you. Your parents would never have died. You would never have known your Pack, nor become this young man seated here before me. You would still have been Harry Potter, but a very different Harry Potter. Voldemort, likewise, would have been different. Perhaps he would never have fallen, or perhaps some other circumstance would have brought about his downfall.”

Harry looked somewhat crestfallen. “But I thought I was the only one who could defeat him.”

“A prophecy is only words, Harry. It takes belief to make it come true. Because Voldemort believes in the prophecy, which states that you have the power to defeat him, you do. He fears you. You are his weakness.”

Harry stared at him. “So it’s only true because he believes it is?”

“Do not discount belief, Harry. Belief is behind every great act of magic. And the end result is the same as if the prophecy was magically binding. Because Voldemort believes that you are the only one who can defeat him, you become the only one.”

Harry nodded slowly. “I think I understand,” he said. “But I still don’t see why you want me to know the whole prophecy, Professor. If the only thing that makes it important is that Voldemort knows it, and Voldemort doesn’t know the end of it, why does the end matter?”

Dumbledore laughed aloud, surprised. “Neatly done, Harry,” he said. “I find myself trapped in my own logic.”

“Thank you, sir.” Harry inclined his head.

“I suppose my ultimate reason is as simple as human curiosity,” Dumbledore said. “The prophecy has to do with you. I cannot imagine that you have not wondered what it says.”

Harry shrugged one shoulder.

“If you know, you are less likely to be tempted when you face the recorded form of the prophecy. You would also be more able to destroy it, which may yet have to be done.”

“Destroy it?”

Dumbledore hid a laugh at the sudden interest in Harry’s eyes. “It would be tipping our hand to do so now,” he said. “Voldemort has not yet indicated interest in it, except through your dreams. Also, I hate to do anything which cannot be undone, and destruction of a recording of this sort is final.”

“And every minute Voldemort spends chasing the prophecy is another minute he’s not hurting people,” Harry said.

“Indeed. So will you hear the prophecy, then?”

“Yes, sir. May I tell anyone else about it?”

It was the question Dumbledore had been expecting. “Your parents already know, as I am sure you are aware. And I cannot imagine you would have kept the general contents of the portion you were given secret.”

“It’s actually why we made the Pride,” Harry confided. “So I could tell them the first part of the prophecy as a den-secret.”

“Then let this second part be a den-secret as well.” Dumbledore took a breath, composing himself, then began to speak the words which had branded themselves into his mind that day more than fifteen years ago.

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...”

xXxXx

Someone knocked on the door of Sirius and Aletha’s bedroom.

“Come in,” Aletha called from her chair by the window, where she was studying some notes she’d taken at St. Mungo’s.

Harry opened the door and stepped in. “Is Padfoot around?” he asked.

“No, he’s still at work. Will I do?”

“I guess.”

Aletha set her notes aside and stood up. “What is it, Harry?” she asked, worried by his tone. “What’s happened?”

“I know now.” Harry shut the door behind himself. “I know what has to happen.” He looked up at her. His eyes held the same lost, frightened look they had when he’d awakened from his nightmares as a baby.

Except that now I can’t tell him it was all a dream.

Aletha crossed the room and gathered her Pack-son into her arms. “The prophecy,” she said, making it a statement. “Albus told you the prophecy.”

“Mm-hmm,” Harry said into her shoulder, holding onto her tightly.

“Come on, over here with you.” Aletha pulled him across the room and half-lifted him onto the bed. “Lie down.”

“Wha...”

“Lie down, I said.”

Harry curled up on his side, craning his neck to look up at her.

“You can change forms if you like.” Aletha reached down to stroke Harry’s hair, but settled for the neck of the yearling Wolf. “There now. You’re safe.”

Wolf shook his head.

“No, you’re not safe?”

Wolf snorted in exasperation and changed forms again. “I’m not ever going to be safe,” Harry said bitterly. “Either I have to kill Voldemort, or he has to kill me. That’s not safe. That’s just... wrong.”

Aletha shut her eyes for a moment, then released the barriers she usually held between her feelings and the outside world. When she looked at Harry again, she wasn’t surprised to see him flinch, just a little. “You’re right,” she said softly. “It is wrong. I’ve been thinking about how wrong it is for a long time, and wishing it was some other way. But it isn’t.”

“So what? I should just stop whining and try to ignore it?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Harry James Potter. I never said anything of the sort.” Deliberately, Aletha adopted the tone she’d use if she’d caught Harry trying to bend a household rule. “I was attempting to offer you some comfort, but if you’re going to snap my head off, you can leave.” She tapped the tip of his nose with one finger admonishingly. “And you can take your self-pity party with you.”

“I am not having...”

“You’re feeling very sorry for yourself and looking for people to make it all better. Do you have a better definition?”

Harry’s fist clenched.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Aletha said. “I hit back.”

“It’s not fair! ” Harry shouted, sitting up, both fists balled now. “I never wanted this! I still don’t want it! Dumbledore even said the prophecy doesn’t matter, except that Voldemort knows about it, but it does and it’s not fair! ”

Aletha shook her head. “You’re so right,” she said. “It’s not fair. And you bear the brunt of the unfairness. I hate it just like you do.” She refrained from saying “just as much,” since Harry didn’t need anything else to yell about. “But Voldemort is going to come after you, whether you like it or not. Still, I think he’s likely to put it off for a while, for the simple reason that he can’t get at you here.”

She reached out and laid her hand on Harry’s shoulder for a moment. “You are safe, Harry. Right here and right now, you are safe. You won’t be forever, and you wouldn’t want to be, but you need it now. So here it is. You are safe.”

Now as long as you believe me...

Harry slumped, then changed forms and crawled towards her as Wolf, whining. Aletha pulled her legs up onto the bed and crossed them, presenting as much space as possible, and Wolf plopped his front half into her lap and pushed his nose under her arm. Aletha didn’t try to hide her smile, since he would smell it on her anyway, but busied herself rubbing around his ears and along the sides of his jaw.

“You can’t get away from this by shouting about it, Harry,” she murmured. “But you don’t have to face it right away, and you don’t ever have to face it alone.”

Wolf gave her a skeptical look.

“I mean that. Even when you’ve fought alone, you’re never really alone, are you? Our love is always with you.” Aletha smiled, stroking Wolf’s forehead over the white-furred line of his scar. “And we usually manage to get some practical help in there as well.”

Wolf sighed and laid his head back down.

They sat until the door opened without a knock. “I’m home,” Sirius said, “and what a... Harry?”

Harry tumbled off Aletha’s lap and ran to his godfather.

Aletha let Sirius see her smirk over Harry’s shoulder. “And you thought he’d forget about you,” she mouthed at him.

Sirius shrugged the shoulder Harry wasn’t leaning against.

Take care of him, Aletha signed, and slid off the bed. As she closed the door, she made a mental note to put Unbreakable Charms on the lamps and other valuables in their room later on.

It might not be a bad idea to do every room in the house while we’re at it. Or ask Dobby or Winky to do it...

She’d done her best, but there were times when a boy needed a man.

And Harry has two. Lucky boy.

A growl from within the room made her chuckle quietly. “Just remember you have to clean it up, you two,” she murmured. “And don’t hurt each other too badly.”

Humming to herself, Aletha made her way downstairs.

xXxXx

The Pride met once more in their new Den, this time in full secrecy, with no outside members allowed (Ginny had wheedled Tonks into teaching her the Imperturbable Charm, and placed it on the door to discourage Fred and George from listening in). “What’s going on, Harry?” Draco asked. “You disappeared after Dumbledore was here, and we didn’t know where you were.”

“I had to talk with Letha and Padfoot for a little while, about what I found out.” Harry breathed deeply, reminding himself that he was in-den and safe. “It’s dangerous. It’s probably one of the most dangerous things in the world to know right now, because it’s what Voldemort wants to know. And now I know it.”

“Are you going to tell us?” asked Ron, his eyes lighting up.

“Do you want to know?” Harry looked at his friend. “I mean that, Ron. Do you really want to know this? Voldemort’s going to be after anyone who knows, and he doesn’t play around. You could get hurt. Or killed.”

“I can’t talk if I’m dead.”

“There are lots of things that hurt worse than dead.”

Ron scoffed. “How’s he going to get me? I’m with you everywhere you go, and you’re protected out your arse. Besides, how’s he going to know I know? He doesn’t even know you know, does he?” He stopped. “Did that make any sense at all?”

“No, it did,” Hermione said quickly. “If Voldemort doesn’t know we know about whatever it is, he won’t try to get it out of us. Ron’s right, Harry. You don’t have to worry about us.”

Except that I always do.

But Hermione had a point, Harry had to admit. This was the kind of information Voldemort would never have dreamed of telling anyone else. Why would he think that Harry would do differently?

Hell, he might not even think Dumbledore would tell me. We’re safe enough.

He just wished he didn’t have the feeling that he was making a terrible mistake.

“Dumbledore told me the rest of the prophecy,” he said. “The one that could have been me or Neville, but turned out to be me.”

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord,” Neville recalled. “The rest of it must be pretty bad, Harry. You look like you want to throw rocks at something.”

“You could say that.” Harry bowed his head to remember. “I’m supposed to be marked as Voldemort’s equal and have power he doesn’t know about.”

“That’s not so bad,” said Draco.

“But that’s not the end,” Luna countered. “Is it, Harry?”

“No, it’s not.” Harry looked up. The Pride was watching him closely. “The end... the end says that either I have to kill him, or he has to kill me. Neither one of us can live while the other one does.”

A shocked silence reigned. Hermione broke it. “That doesn’t make any sense,” she said passionately. “You’re alive right now, and so is Voldemort. How can the prophecy say you can’t both be alive at the same time?”

“What does it say exactly?” Ginny asked.

Harry closed his eyes. “‘Either must die at the hand of the other,’” he recited, “‘for neither can live while the other survives.’”

Ginny’s forehead wrinkled in thought.

Without a word, Meghan moved across the circle and embraced Harry. Her skin was ashen pale, she shivered in his arms, but her embrace was as tight as though she were already denying him to death.

“I think it may mean being really alive,” Ginny said after a moment. “The prophecy. It may mean Harry can’t have a real life until Voldemort’s dead.”

“Define real life,” said Harry, feeling a surge of indignation. “Does it mean I can’t have friends? Or a family? Or go to school? I do that all already, Voldemort or no Voldemort, and I’m not giving it up.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Ginny flared back. “I just meant you’re always going to have to think about him, until he’s gone. And he has to think about you, because he has to be afraid of you.”

“Voldemort has to be afraid of Harry?” Ron said. “Doesn’t that go the other way around?”

“It goes both ways,” said Hermione. “Harry even has the advantage. He has power Voldemort doesn’t know about... how did that bit go, Harry?”

“‘He shall have power the Dark Lord knows not,’” Harry recited. “It’s kind of ambiguous.”

“Prophecies like to do that,” Luna said. “Then they can claim they meant whichever one actually happened. This could mean that Voldemort doesn’t know about your power, or that he does know about it but that it’s something he doesn’t understand or can’t use.”

Harry looked down at the top of Meghan’s head, and something came back to him. The night after the third task, before the moment he’d mentioned to Dumbledore earlier—another conversation between the two of them, when Harry had been close to despair because he thought that what he wanted most of all would be impossible to have ever again...

“I think I know what it is,” he said. “Dumbledore told me that night, after the third task.” He held Meghan a little tighter. “It’s love.”

“Love?” Draco sounded skeptical. “The power the Dark Lord knows not is love?”

“He doesn’t love anyone,” Meghan said, turning in the circle of Harry’s arms to face Draco. “He doesn’t care about anyone, except what they can do for him. And no one cares about him, not the way we care about Harry. All the Death Eaters stay with him because they’re afraid, or because they think they’ll get ahead with him.”

“And we’re with Harry because he’s our friend,” Ron said. “If things get really bad for Voldemort, a lot of the Death Eaters will probably bail. We won’t.” His look was challenging.

“You think I’m going to bail?” Draco demanded.

“Stop it,” said Hermione, glaring alternately at her brother and her friend. “No one’s going to do that. None of us, at least. Pride together.”

“Pride forever,” came a ragged chorus.

“Pathetic,” said Ginny. “Say it like you mean it.”

The response this time shook the room.

Hermione exchanged smiles with Ginny.

Harry hid his own smile behind Meghan’s braids, remembering one part of his conversation with Padfoot.

xXxXx

They’d wrestled in Animagus form, then talked some as humans, then gone back to wrestling. They were lying on the floor catching their breath when Harry thought of a question he’d been meaning to ask.

“Padfoot? Is it possible to like two girls at the same time?”

Padfoot rolled over to look at Harry. “Girlfriend like?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, it’s possible. Not the best of ideas, but it’s possible.” Padfoot’s expression clearly said, What are you up to now?

“Thanks. I just wanted to know.” Harry sat up and turned away.

“Oh no you don’t.” Padfoot reached over and caught Harry’s shoulder, bringing him back around. “You can’t just ask a question like that and run away. Who’re the lucky girls?”

Harry leveled a glare at Padfoot.

“No teasing, I promise. Or how about this—you tell me one of them, and the other one stays secret. Deal?”

“Deal.” Harry leaned back against the bed. “Her name’s Cho Chang. She Seeks for Ravenclaw. She’s really pretty and really smart, and she used to be Cedric Diggory’s girlfriend.”

“Ouch.” Padfoot winced. “That could hurt your chances.”

“She kissed me before term ended last year.”

“Maybe not, then.” Padfoot nodded several times, his eyes speculative. “Now tell me a little about the other one. Not who she is, but why you think you like her.”

“She’s...” Harry thought hard. How could he describe her without Padfoot guessing? “She’s my friend. I know her, and I like her. She knows me, and I think she likes me, but I don’t know if she likes me as anything more than a friend, but she might. We like a lot of the same things, and I trust her. And she’s smart and nice and pretty,” he added almost as an afterthought.

“I’m sure she’d appreciate that,” Padfoot said with a straight face. “But you still like the Chang girl.”

“Yeah.”

“She’s not your actual girlfriend, is she? You’ve never gone anywhere with her?”

“I wish.”

“Maybe you’ll get the chance this year,” Padfoot said. “Harry, if there’s one thing I’ve learned...” He stopped. “Merlin’s beard, I’m turning into Moony.”

Harry leaned over and poked him. “You still feel like you.”

“Har har.”

“Just say it.”

“Don’t ruin a friendship over liking a girl. That was my biggest mistake with Letha. I thought that because I liked her, we couldn’t be friends. I had to show off and make her impressed with me, because if she actually got to know me, she’d hate me.”

Harry frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Now you tell me.”

Both of them laughed.

“Harry, if this other girl is really your friend, keep her that way,” Padfoot advised when they were done. “If she’s meant to be something more, it’ll happen. But don’t give up... Cho, was it? Don’t give up Cho just because you think you might like someone else too. That’s the point of being young. You try lots of things. Some of them work, some of them don’t.”

Harry grimaced. “And the ones that don’t let your friends tell embarrassing stories about you your whole life.”

“Now you’re catching on.” Padfoot grinned. “Just remember to get adequate dirt on them while you’re at it, and you shouldn’t have a problem.”

xXxXx

Dirt on the Pride from the summer wouldn’t be too hard to come by, though it wasn’t the sort you could sell to a newspaper, Harry mused. It was just the funny little things that happened in life, like Ron running away screaming from the teacup-sized spiders in the third-floor closet, or Draco fighting with a homicidal robe from the attic, or Ginny and Meghan getting locked in the bathroom for two hours before anyone noticed they were missing.

Neville’s expression the day they’d been introduced to their new Defense teacher was definitely on the list. His mouth had dropped open, and he’d gone a shade of yellow Harry’d never seen on a human face before croaking one word.

“Mum? ”

“Do close your mouth, dear,” Mrs. Longbottom had said fondly. “I am a qualified Auror, you know.”

“Yeah, but...”

“You could ask Harry what it’s like to be taught by a parent, or Draco or Hermione,” she’d suggested. “I’m sure they could tell you.”

Neville had watched her out of the room, his jaw still hanging loose.

“Problem?” Hermione said.

“My mum is teaching Defense!”

“Is she not a good teacher?” Draco asked.

“I don’t know!” Neville sat down at the kitchen table and put his head in his hands. “It’s just... it’s just...”

“She’s your mum,” Harry suggested.

“Yes!”

“It was a little strange for us, too,” said Hermione. “But we got used to it. And they knew what they were teaching us, so why does it matter?”

“Because...” Neville looked appealingly at the rest of the Pride.

“It is odd to think about your parents doing something else,” said Luna. “Especially if you haven’t seen them work before. I always knew what Dad did, and Mum, because they worked at home, but if you don’t see your parents working, you just think of them as your parents. You don’t think of them as grownups like your teachers.”

Neville shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m making such a big fuss over this. Mum and Dad are both good at what they do, and we need a good teacher this year like never before.”

“And it’s getting hard to get a good teacher,” said Ron. “Do you think the job’s really jinxed?”

“That’s part of the reason I don’t like Mum there,” Neville confessed. “If it really is jinxed, what’s going to happen to her?”

A moment of silence fell as the Pride thought about that.

xXxXx

Another marvelous moment, Harry thought, had been the opening of the Hogwarts letters, a day or two after they’d found out Mrs. Longbottom would be the new Defense teacher. Dumbledore had talked with him a little about the prefect appointments, and Harry’d agreed that he got into too much trouble to be a good choice for prefect. “Besides, I lead the Pride already,” he said. “If I try to be a prefect too, I’ll get mixed up.”

“Precisely.” Dumbledore had smiled. “And I think a taste of responsibility would be no bad thing for the young man in question.”

Harry contrived to be watching Ron at the moment when his friend realized his Hogwarts letter was too heavy to be just a piece of parchment. He only wished he’d remembered to bring the camera.

One not-so-wonderful part of the summer, of course, was Harry’s lupus, but as he’d told Dumbledore, Letha was watching him like a jarvey with a gnome, and had a potion ready for him if he so much as winced. Apart from occasional stiffness in the mornings, the only symptom he really experienced through August was the thick aftertaste in his throat that came from drinking too many potions.

“You’ll have to keep track of it yourself while you’re at school,” Letha reminded him some days. “Madam Pomfrey knows about it now, enough to keep an eye on you, but you’re the first line of defense, Harry. The potions won’t hurt you, so take them if you need them.”

But of course, the greatest events of the summer were the three weddings.

xXxXx

Dobby and Winky’s wedding came first, since it was a simple ceremony, requiring only the two of them, a broomstick, and a witness. Ginny and Mrs. Weasley, however, insisted on something more for Winky’s special day, and Dobby admitted with a slight look of shame that he’d been saving his wages at Hogwarts for just this kind of chance.

And so it was that Dobby and Winky were the first house-elves in centuries to be married in house-elf-sized wedding robes, crisp black for Dobby and ruffled white for Winky. They made the traditional house-elf promises to be faithful as far as their prior loyalties to their masters would allow, and Ron and Draco set Harry’s Firebolt on the living room floor for them to jump.

“The better the broomstick, the better the jump,” Draco had wheedled Harry that morning. “And what could they do to it?”

Harry had looked tentatively at his beloved broomstick before relinquishing it. “If it gets damaged,” he’d told Draco, “you get to buy me a new one.”

“Deal.”

But both house-elves cleared the broomstick on the first jump, making all the wedding guests cheer. The party adjourned to the kitchen for the wedding lunch, prepared, as was traditional, by the newlyweds.

Charlie and Tonks’ long-awaited event was next, held, as promised, on 19 August. Like Dobby and Winky’s wedding, it happened at Headquarters, but the preparations were more elaborate. Both house-elves worked unceasingly to get the house ready, and the Pride was pressed into service at every turn.

Harry escaped some of the more onerous labor because he was helping Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and Danger in the kitchen, preparing as much as possible ahead of time for the wedding dinner. Remembering Padfoot’s advice, he tried to treat Ginny as he always had, as if she were his little sister as well as Ron’s (minus the teasing, of course).

At least she doesn’t blush every time she sees me anymore.

“How are the maid of honor rehearsals going?” he asked on the 17th, carefully steering the magical icing bag around the side of the wedding cake.

“It’s not that hard, really,” Ginny answered from behind him, where she was placing a tiny candy heart in the center of each flower Harry’s bag laid down. “I walk down the aisle, stand behind Tonks, take her bouquet when it’s time for her and Charlie to exchange rings and touch wands, give it back to her when she’s done, and walk up the aisle with Bill. Nothing too exciting. But then, being in Joseph wasn’t either, until I realized how many people were going to be looking at me.”

“You did fine there,” Harry said. “You should do fine here.”

“Thanks. How about you? How are you doing with being a groomsman?”

Harry laughed. “Like you said, walk up the aisle, walk down the aisle. Not too hard, even for me.”

“Who are you paired with, Meghan or Hermione?” Padfoot and Letha hadn’t had much trouble choosing people to be in their magical wedding—Padfoot, in fact, had joked that they’d have done it earlier if they’d realized they had a built-in wedding party in the house.

“Hermione. I’m taller than Draco right now, so they thought it’d fit better.”

“That’s true, you are,” Ginny said musingly. “I saw it, but I didn’t really notice. How long has that been going on?”

“Since I got back. I shot up while I was with the Dursleys. Draco’s starting to catch me up, but he probably won’t make it before the end of the month, so he’ll walk with Meghan.”

“And Mr. Moony with Mrs. Danger, of course. Do you think they’ll ever get magically married?”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe someday, if it’s ever a problem. They’re not pureblood, so it’s not as big a deal.” Two seconds too late, he realized his blunder. “I mean, not that it’s a big deal only if you’re pureblood. Getting married is always a big deal. It’s just that they were married, they’ve been married, and they don’t need to get married magically to be really married the way Padfoot and Letha do—and they don’t either, it’s just that...”

“Harry.”

“Yeah?” He looked over his shoulder.

“It’s all right. I understand.” Ginny was grinning at him. “You don’t have to explain it to me.”

“Good, because I was doing a piss-poor job,” Harry said, then bit his lip. Why did I say that to her?

Ginny laughed. “Yes, you were.”

Oh, that’s right. Because she doesn’t mind.

Padfoot knew what he was talking about, Harry decided. Ginny was a very good friend to have.

xXxXx

Tonks woke up on her wedding day with excitement tingling through her entire body. It was like the feeling she got on stakeouts, but stronger and far more joyous. Stakeouts resulted in fights, arrests, and at the very best, someone’s life ruined, even if he was a berk who deserved nothing better. This, though...

Well, if it ruins my life, at least I’ll go out happy.

Winky delivered a tray of breakfast just as Tonks finished buttoning her day robes. “Best wishes for your day, miss!” the house-elf said, bobbing a curtsey. “I is looking forward to calling you a new mistress of mine!”

“Thanks, Winky.” Tonks picked up her spoon, then put it down. She didn’t feel like eating.

Eat, girl, Mad-Eye Moody’s voice growled in her head. You’re no good anywhere if you faint from hunger.

She managed to swallow a good bit of the porridge, and a strip of bacon and a few bites of egg followed before her throat closed again. A few sips of tea eased the tightness, and she was able to eat an entire piece of toast, rounding out the breakfast.

Not nearly as much as I usually have, but it’ll do...

The day passed in a blur. Fred and George delivered her Charlie’s compliments on the hour, every hour, which was how she kept track of time. There was an outbreak of indignant squealing when George tried to gain access to the dressing chamber at three, shortly before the ceremony was set to start, but he managed to shout out, “He can’t wait to see you!” before Aletha shut the door in his face.

Or was that Aletha? Tonks blinked. No, Aletha was off to one side helping Meghan with her makeup. The woman who had just shut the door on George was older, with white hair and glasses.

“Aletha’s aunt, Amy Freeman,” said Danger close to Tonks’ ear. “She works for Noxet Bank in America, she’s here for a few weeks to help the Gringotts goblins with their little experiment with human tellers.”

“Oh.” Tonks recalled this vaguely now, and the introduction of a tall, willowy, blonde girl with an accent as well...

“Fleur Delacour,” Danger said when Tonks mentioned this. “She’s back there with Hermione, doing something with her hair. I might ask her to do the same with mine, it certainly seems to be working. She’s come with Bill. You and Charlie are the first, but Bill may not be far behind.”

The Weasleys were having an interesting summer all around, Tonks thought. Charlie was getting married, Bill was dating a part-veela girl, the twins were laying plans for their joke shop, and Ron and Ginny got to spend almost all their time indoors because it wasn’t safe for them to go out without an escort. Even Percy, usually the golden boy, was apparently becoming more and more unsatisfied with his parents’ politics.

Tonks, like the rest of the Order, knew that Percy’s dissatisfaction was in appearance only, that in reality the third Weasley son was firmly on his parents’ side, and Crouch’s, since Crouch sided with Dumbledore. However, Fudge had been making overtures towards Percy for most of the summer, hinting that a job might be opening on the Minister’s personal staff, and he’d finally come out and offered it to Percy at the end of July. Percy had brought the story to Order Headquarters under the guise of coming to dinner, and he, Crouch, the Weasleys, and Dumbledore had spent nearly three hours working out what to do.

I’m glad he can be here for our wedding, even if the “final break” is going to be tonight. The Weasleys had decided that it would fit the picture their enemies had of them as vulgar and uncivilized to fight with one son in the middle of another’s wedding. Only the family, the Pack, and Dumbledore knew that what Percy, Arthur, and Molly would be doing tonight had been carefully planned.

I’ll probably get lots of people consoling me on how my wedding was ruined. But as long as they don’t do anything in the middle of the ceremony, honestly, I don’t care.

But then she looked into the mirror and saw herself, dressed in white, with the veil over her long brown hair (she’d decided to go with her most natural look, in honor of the way she’d looked when she and Charlie first met), and she felt tears welling up in her eyes, because the one woman she’d always hoped would be there on her wedding day, couldn’t...

They say every bride gets a wish on her wedding day—well, here’s mine. I wish to find whoever murdered my mother, and to make sure they never do that to anyone else, ever again.

It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. But the tears receded, and she was able to smile again, and to blow a kiss to the ceiling before she finished getting ready for the happiest day of her life.

Because even though she can’t be here, I’m sure she’s watching.

xXxXx

“Quite a house,” Amy commented to Sirius and Aletha during dinner.

“You should have seen it three weeks ago,” Sirius said. “It was a mess.”

“What happened?”

“House-elves,” Aletha said. “Decent ones. Sirius, is there any way you can get rid of Kreacher without him becoming dangerous? The Black family house-elf,” she explained to Amy. “If Sirius frees him, the other side might realize there’s something up with this house. They won’t be able to find us, but they’ll know we’re in London. The trouble is, he gives me the creeps, and once we’re magically married, he’s tied to me too.”

“He’ll never be back here, you know,” Sirius said. “I sent him to Hogwarts, and he can just stay there. Dobby and Winky have this place under control.”

“I still don’t like it.”

Amy chuckled. “Is it just that he’s small and annoying, or does he have other endearing qualities?” she asked.

“He treated everything my mother said as gospel truth,” said Sirius. “Which means he calls everyone vile names and tries to steal things that used to belong to my parents. Or he did, until I kicked him out.”

“Still bound, but serving elsewhere...” Amy’s eyes were distant. “Think I heard something about that once, from a pureblood I worked with... it can be trouble, if I remember right. Take a house-elf out of his house for too long, and the family tie starts weakening. He only obeys you because he has to, right, Sirius?”

Sirius nodded. “I’m a blood traitor in his book, and Meghan shouldn’t even exist,” he said. “He has to obey us, but he hates every second of it.”

“So if you leave him at Hogwarts too long, that tie starts getting weaker. He might be able to disobey some of your commands.”

“How long is too long?” Aletha asked urgently.

“Not sure, but it was definitely more than a year, so you have some time to think about it. Just don’t forget. Now, let’s talk about something more uplifting. Tell me about these two lovely young people.”

xXxXx

Outside their bedroom, Charlie scooped Tonks into his arms. “Quite a fight there at the end,” he said. “I’m glad I knew they were pretending, or I would have been scared.”

“I knew they were pretending, and I was scared. I thought your dad was going to hit Percy.”

“I think he got carried away. On the good side, whoever the spy is, he’ll be pretty well convinced Percy’s on the outs with Mum and Dad.”

“As long as he’s not listening right now. Are we going to stay out here all night, or are we going inside?”

“After you, my love.” Smiling broadly, Charlie carried her across the threshold, laid her on the bed, and shut the door with his wand.

xXxXx

29 August dawned bright, warm, and musical.

I’m getting married in the morning,

Ding-dong, the bells are gonna chime...

The singer paused a moment, as if thinking how to change the song to fit her situation better.

Boys, come and kiss me,

Show how you’ll miss me,

But get me down the stairs on time!

Sirius frowned as he combed his hair. “I hope that superstition about seeing the bride on the wedding day doesn’t go to hearing her too,” he said to his reflection.

“I doubt it does,” said Remus, coming in from the bedroom. He and Aletha had swapped rooms the night before, so that Sirius and Aletha wouldn’t see each other by accident in the morning and ruin the wedding. “Are you worried?”

“Just a little. I suppose I’m getting all my wedding day jitters now, since my actual wedding day wasn’t much to speak of.” Sirius chuckled. “Even though it was one of the best days of my life. I was free, I finally had everything I’d ever wanted... what did I care about dress robes or a fancy hall?”

“And now you’re getting that, too.” Remus leaned against the wall, waiting for his friend to finish at the sink. “I guess some people have all the luck.”

“I guess.”

xXxXx

Sirius swallowed hard as he stepped into the living room, where the entire Order sat in neat rows of conjured chairs, all of them staring at him.

“Just like in rehearsals, Padfoot,” Remus murmured to him, then smirked for some unknown reason.

Easy for you to say, Moony. You’re not the one getting married here.

Dumbledore, in his gray-and-blue best, nodded gravely to them as they stopped in front of him. Although most of his titles were currently lacking thanks to Fudge’s untiring efforts to discredit him, all that was really necessary for a magically binding marriage was that the ceremony be carried out by both members of the couple before three witnesses, who were then magically implicated in the vows as well. Remus, Danger, and Dumbledore would be Sirius and Aletha’s three, as Ted Tonks, Molly, and Dumbledore had been for Charlie and Tonks...

Sirius jerked himself back to the moment as Luna, at the piano, began to play the beginning of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier series. It was the piece he’d heard the night he’d escaped from Azkaban, the piece he’d used to convince himself he was mad and hallucinating the swim to shore, unaware that Danger’s magic had formed a connection among the four adults who would soon become the Pack, that thinking of Aletha had allowed him to actually hear the music she was playing at that very moment in her home in London...

The Order oohed and aahed as Draco and Meghan came into sight around the corner. Sirius let his nervousness out in one great sigh of wonder.

Would you look at them.

Aletha had selected a pale yellow as the color for her bridesmaids’ robes, since it would flatter all three of them. Sirius wondered if she’d realized that this would make Draco and Meghan look rather like backwards reflections, light and dark in equal proportions.

Never mind.

Harry and Hermione rounded the corner, and the noise increased a little. Some of these people obviously hadn’t realized how tall Harry was getting, or how adult he looked these days. Hermione, on his arm, held herself like a queen, her robe nearly touching the floor and making her seem to float.

“Right out of a dream,” Sirius breathed, and it wasn’t until he heard Remus’ small noise that he realized he’d spoken aloud. He risked a sideways glance. Remus’ face was impassive, but his eyes were all too active.

All right, what’d I say?

But there was no time to think about it. Danger was halfway up the aisle already, smiling warmly at Sirius, her eyes at first whirling, then sinking back to brown. Her hand moved from the small bouquet she carried as matron of honor. Good luck, she signed before taking her place.

The music changed to Pachelbel’s Canon in D . Strange, Sirius mused, how he’d heard the piece hundreds of times over his life with Aletha, but never known its name until two weeks ago...

Aletha stepped into the room. The Order of the Phoenix rose to its collective feet.

Her robe was white and deceptively simple, until the light struck it and it shimmered with the silver thread woven into the fabric. A sapphire pendant hanging from a gold chain lay against warm brown skin above the neckline of the robe. More sapphires sparkled in her ears, and the gauzy veil on her head covered only her hair. Her radiant face was visible to all, but her eyes were fixed on one man.

On me.

What did I ever do to deserve this?

xXxXx

Danger smiled as she watched Sirius watching Aletha. I wonder if he knows he’s got his heart in his eyes?

Remus watched Aletha hand her bouquet to Danger without taking her eyes off Sirius. I don’t think he cares. And I know she doesn’t.

And those are the only people really qualified to say anything, so we can just shut up.

What a good idea.

Danger inhaled deeply, and Remus caught the scent of white roses and baby’s breath. Her voice, when she spoke again, was wistful. Do you think it ever will really happen, the way we dreamed it?

It could. The cubs were all grown, or nearly, so we still have time.

Let’s plan on it, then. Three years from now, no more, less if we can.

Remus used the excuse of checking his pocket for the ring box to smile at his love’s impulsiveness. It’s a date.

xXxXx

Dumbledore cleared his throat as Luna brought the Canon to an end. “Dear friends,” he began, “we are gathered here today to witness one of the most important events in these two lives. This man and this woman have come here today to dedicate their lives to one another.” He paused. “Again.”

The Order of the Phoenix chuckled.

“Though their marriage by Muggle means was legal in the eyes of our magical government, they have decided to bind their lives together with a bond that can never be broken. They have chosen to be married by a custom which is still observed in some levels of our society, but in a twisted form. They have taken that custom and they have restored it to its original intent.” Dumbledore nodded to Neville, who was standing nearby, and the boy carried the small writing desk forward. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the marriage contract of Sirius Black and Aletha Freeman.”

Applause, and Dumbledore stepped back. He would do nothing more until the very end.

Of course, the contracts signed by purebloods in our days restrict only the wife and not the husband, and most magical folk merely speak these words to one another, or variations thereof... still, I find beauty in this form of the marriage.

Sirius picked up a long black quill and held it loosely in his left hand. “I, Sirius Valentine Black, do on this twenty-ninth day of August, 1995, give myself as husband to Aletha Carina Freeman,” he announced in a carrying voice. “I swear to love her and only her as a husband should love his wife, and to name our children heirs to all that I possess, including a father’s love. I swear to support her with my gold and my bronze, to fly by her side in clear skies and in fog, to remain with her always in good times and in bad, until death does part us, though that shall not be for long. And to this oath, I do sign my name, in my own heart’s blood, to bind it firm, and in token of this oath do I give her this ring, engraved with her name and mine and this date of our marriage.”

Draco watched the signing impassively, his throat working only once as he swallowed, and all trace of the brightness in his eyes was gone by the time Sirius slid the sapphire ring onto Aletha’s hand.

Aletha repeated the vows, singing them out for all to hear, before she wrote her name in her flowing script under Sirius’. Setting down the quill, she slid the plain gold band onto Sirius’ finger, then held out her hand behind her. Danger passed over her wand. Sirius took his own from Remus and placed its tip against the tip of his wife’s.

“If I should ever draw wand against you, my husband, may my magic turn to fire in my veins,” Aletha said clearly. “May my power rebel and refuse my call, and strike me down where I stand.”

“If I should ever draw wand against you, my wife, may my magic turn to ice in my heart,” Sirius answered. “May my power turn inward and freeze my life, to punish me as I deserve.”

Dumbledore stepped forward, placing his own wand’s tip against the pair. “As you have spoken, as you have written, so let it be done,” he said. “From this day forward, where there were two, let now there be one.”

A flare of golden light from the place where the three wands met made everyone exclaim.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Dumbledore said, “I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Sirius Black.”

He would have finished with the traditional instruction to the groom, but it seemed that Sirius needed no prompting.





Facing Danger

Chapter 8: Love, Hate, Marry, Date (Year 5)


Chapter 8: Love, Hate, Marry, Date

“It was a lovely ceremony,” Corona told Aletha the morning after the wedding. “Very traditional. But I would have thought...”

“You can say it,” said Danger, accepting a plate of breakfast from Winky. “We’re notoriously difficult to insult.”

Corona colored up nonetheless. “Well, with your... background, and the way some of...I mean, some people treat you, and how that must make you feel...”

“Do you mean you hadn’t expected a Muggleborn to want a traditional magical wedding?” Aletha asked.

Corona nodded.

“You can call it greed if you like.” Aletha smiled. “This way, Sirius has to buy me two anniversary gifts.”

Molly and Corona laughed, while Danger looked speculative.

“But I suppose I was also admitting to myself that there’s a part of Sirius that goes beyond what I’ve always known of him,” Aletha continued. “He did grow up as a pureblood, and that means the earliest things he saw and knew were all in that tradition. The things you learn when you’re very little are part of you in a way that’s almost impossible to overcome. Since they’re not in any way wrong, what’s the matter with taking a few of them and using them ourselves?”

“I never thought of it in that way,” said Corona.

“It takes time, and distance, before the pain goes away enough that you can think rationally about things you’ve left behind,” Molly said quietly. “And it won’t happen on its own. You have to work at it. Don’t force it, dear. Remember the good times, and let the bad ones go.” She sipped at her tea, then put it down. “You did have good times, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” said Corona with a tinge of heat. “I loved school. And even the season was seldom bad, so long as my friends were there. But as soon as we had left school, most of them were married, and by the time I saw them again, they were exactly what their husbands wanted them to be.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” said Danger.

“You shouldn’t.” Corona’s eyes were far away. “If I think about it in the abstract, without my friends’ faces on those women, it could all be some colossal joke. Historically, women have had great freedom in magical society. Women made many of the greatest discoveries, women held important jobs and worked as hard as men—and yet, the people among whom I was born insist that women be subject to their husbands.”

“And the husbands insist too, don’t they?” Aletha asked.

“Oh, yes.” Corona smiled bitterly. “Why should they not? They have learned from their own fathers how to behave, and so the cycle continues.”

“But not forever,” said Molly. “Not even close. People are starting to pack up and leave, Corona, and well before they’re thrown out. What Sirius did was marvelous, I’m not disparaging it at all, but he was a rebellious teenager. You are a woman grown, and correct me if I’m wrong, but before this, you had never given your grandmother even a moment’s cause for alarm.”

“She did wonder why I kept inventing excuses to keep from being married, but she was sure it would come in time,” Corona said with a wan smile. “The most frightening thing about what happened to my friends is that they were part of it. They were eager for it. Most of them chose their own husbands, and they seemed to enjoy what happened to them, to welcome it.”

“We might be able to break the purebloods out of their little insanities while we’re fighting this war,” Danger said flippantly. “If by no other means than by removing all the perpetrators.”

“That’s horrible,” said Aletha.

“So is what’s happening to those women,” Danger shot back. “And so will this triple-damned war be.”

xXxXx

“Ridiculous!” The shout echoed through the house.

“Professor McGonagall,” said Neville, looking up from his Potions text. “Should we go downstairs and say hello?”

“She doesn’t sound like she wants to see anyone just now,” said Hermione, but she was already marking her place and closing her book.

“Absolutely ridiculous!” Professor McGonagall was stalking up and down the hall, looking as if she wanted to throw things. Mrs. Longbottom stood near the front door, her face carefully neutral. “Teaching me—me— to...to...”

“To what?” Ron asked from the stairs.

“To teach ,” Professor McGonagall snapped. “The Ministry of Magic has decided that teachers—all teachers, regardless of their age or experience—will not be allowed to remain in the schools unless they have attended a conference, designed to teach them how to teach. And, of course, they hand down this ruling two days before the opening of school! Sabotage is what it is, deliberate sabotage!”

“Minerva, the conference is only one day,” Mrs. Longbottom said delicately. “I think we can all live through one day.”

“One day, yes.” Professor McGonagall came to stand near the wall which had once held Mrs. Black’s portrait. “This year. What of next year, or the year after that? Must I allow my summers to be taken up by overfed, overeducated fools who think they know more about my profession than I do, even though their last time in a classroom was likely as a student—one of my students?”

“Speaking of your students,” Mrs. Longbottom began, waving towards the stairs, but Professor McGonagall wasn’t listening.

“And to add to that, this new post—a Liaison was humiliating enough, as if Albus weren’t perfectly capable of owling Fudge, but an Inquisitor? What, I ask, has ever been done at Hogwarts that would warrant such treatment?”

“Dumbledore does not fall precisely in line with Fudge’s policies,” said Mrs. Longbottom loudly, “and Fudge is a badly scared man. Despite what he says out loud, he knows that Albus Dumbledore does not lie and is very seldom mistaken. Fudge wants nothing less than to be caught in the middle of another war—except to lose his position and prestige, all the more because he has already lost them once.”

“And thus, Hogwarts must play host to one of Fudge’s toadies, and attempt to keep from becoming just another branch of the Ministry,” Professor McGonagall said bitterly. “At least Albus was able to block Fudge’s first brilliant idea. Thank you again, Alice, I have no idea how I would have survived a year of calling that disgusting woman my colleague.”

Mrs. Longbottom discreetly cleared her throat and nodded towards the stairs.

“What—oh!” Professor McGonagall seemed startled to see the Pride. After a moment of confusion, she looked directly at Harry. “You heard none of this,” she said briskly.

“None of what, Professor?” Harry said.

Professor McGonagall nodded in satisfaction. “However,” she added, “you may pass along that a new post has been added to the staff at Hogwarts. Madam Dolores Umbridge, a secretary to the Minister of Magic himself, has been graciously spared from her duties in the government to join us as the Hogwarts High Inquisitor.” Her tone was mocking.

“What are they inquiring into, Professor?” Ginny asked.

“Anything and everything,” said Professor McGonagall coldly. “Including many things that they would have done better to keep their noses out of.” She shook her head slightly. “However, you will address her as Professor Umbridge, and you will treat her with all the respect you give to your other teachers.”

“Yes, Professor,” said Draco, a wicked smile starting on his face.

“Make that more respect,” Professor McGonagall said, looking sternly at him. “This is no laughing matter, Mr. Black. Dolores Umbridge is a powerful woman, and more powerful than ever with this new post.” She made a shooing motion with her hand. “Go and finish your homework, all of you, I’m sure you’ve not done any of it yet this summer...”

xXxXx

“So what’s an Inquisitor anyway?” asked Ron when the Pride was redispersed over the floor in their den.

“Someone who asks questions,” said Ginny. “Like you.”

“Someone who asks questions for the government,” Luna corrected. “Fudge has a lot of them, but they’re usually secret. They have powers like the people in those double-up-heaven stories.”

Harry let this one pass. “So Fudge wants more power at Hogwarts,” he mused. “I think I’m almost sorry for him.”

“Why?” asked Ron. “Because Dumbledore could kick his sorry arse without even trying?”

“That’s part of it.” Harry stood up and went over to the pull-up bars Moony had installed in the ceiling for them.

“What’s the other part?” Meghan asked.

“The other part...” Harry chinned himself and came down. “...is that...” Again. “...we could do it...” Again. “...without trying much harder.”

“And that’s probably what he’s afraid of,” said Hermione. “Fudge, I mean. He’s afraid Dumbledore could use us, could make us into something dangerous.”

“Dangerous to who, though?” said Draco. “Dangerous to Voldemort, hell yes. Dangerous to Fudge...why would we bother?”

“He thinks he’s important,” Luna said. “He has to, or his whole world falls down. He’s spent his whole life making himself important, and if he let anyone else be more important, he wouldn’t know who he was anymore.”

“Sounds like Percy,” said Ron.

“Not really,” Ginny said. “Percy could be that way, but I don’t think he will. Not now.”

Harry finished his tenth pull-up and dropped to the floor. “Have you heard from him at all?” he asked, flexing his arms. “From Percy?”

“Just a note a couple days ago,” said Ron. “It said he’d got that place on the Minister’s staff after all...something about someone taking a higher position and leaving a place free for him...” He frowned. “Could it have been What’s-Her-Face, Umbridge, who left?”

“It could,” said Neville. “It probably was. Dad says Fudge is getting paranoid. He doesn’t want anyone around him he can’t trust.”

Ginny snickered. “He should never have hired a Weasley, then.”

“Don’t ruin it for him,” said Meghan. “Let Percy do that himself.”

The Pride all laughed.

xXxXx

“So how’s married life?” Remus asked Sirius the night of the 31st.

“About the same as it was before. Were you watching the bouquet toss?”

“Yes.”

“How did Ginny end up with it, exactly?”

“Luck. Danger wanted it, but Letha misjudged which shoulder to throw it over, and Ginny just happened to be in the right place.”

“Are you sure it was luck?” Sirius sat down at the kitchen table. “Ginny’s been giving Harry some interesting looks lately.”

“Don’t look now, but Harry’s starting to look back.”

“I know. He asked me about her, very vaguely, of course, but it’s not hard to guess. I mean, what other girls does he know well? His sisters and Luna, and Luna’s taken.”

“We do have some verification, you know,” Remus reminded his friend. “Remember Danger’s first?”

“I remember. But that one said Ron and Hermione, too, if I’m thinking of the right one, and at the moment that looks about as likely as...”

“As James and Lily in our fifth year?”

“Point,” Sirius conceded. “That particular pair did look about as likely to happen as a meteorite ending our Voldemort-problem.”

“And yet, Harry exists. So I think it’s a bit early to be making decisions.”

“True.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Sirius broke it. “Lay you money Harry makes his move first.”

“I won’t take it.”

“One Knut? Just a friendly bet?”

“Not against Harry, no.”

“You’re no fun.”

“You’ve noticed. Go try your luck with Arthur.”

“Are you crazy? He won’t know which way to bet.”

“Yes, he will. Ginny’s much more proactive than Ron. She’ll have Harry tied up before Christmas, and that I will lay money on.”

“Before Christmas? You’re on.” Sirius dug in his pocket. “Name your stakes.”

xXxXx

Platform nine and three-quarters was as busy and noisy as ever. The news that the wizarding world was at war again seemed not to have made much of an impact.

Harry, standing near the train as the other members of the Pride said their goodbyes, snorted at his own stupidity. Of course it hasn’t. Most of these idiots believe the tripe the Prophet has been printing for two months, about Dumbledore going senile and me being a pathological liar, and possibly insane to boot.

“Brian!” shouted a girl’s voice.

Brian Li turned quickly around to catch the shouter, a girl of Harry’s age whom Harry thought might be a Ravenclaw in his year. “Su!” They held each other in a tight hug for a moment before Brian let go. “How have you been?” he asked, holding the girl at arm’s length.

“Well, big brother. And you? Where have you been?” The girl looked Brian up and down. “All you told Mother and Father was that you had a place to go and things to do, and we haven’t heard from you since.”

“I’ve been well. I’m doing important work, Su, very important. Have you been reading the newspaper this summer?”

The girl frowned. “Yes, but it seems so strange. Mother and Father aren’t sure what to believe.”

“I’ll write to them tonight, but I can tell you now. The Prophet is wrong, Su, very wrong.” Brian looked over his sister’s shoulder and beckoned to Harry tentatively. Harry nodded and started toward him, hearing footsteps at his shoulder before he’d gone more than a pace or two. Too light for the boys, too heavy for Meghan, wrong rhythm for Hermione or Luna...

“Do you know Harry and Ginny?” Brian asked his sister.

“Only by sight. We’ve never been introduced.”

“Then allow me. Su Li, Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter. They’re part of what I’m part of now. Ginny, Harry, my sister, Su.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Ginny said, shaking the girl’s hand.

“Likewise. And you, Mr. Potter.”

“Harry, please.” Harry shook Su’s hand in his turn. “It seems wrong that I don’t know everyone in my own year. It’s not as if the school’s too large...”

“It’s the Houses,” said Su certainly. “They’re good for promoting unity within themselves, but they divide us in other ways. When was the last time you saw two people from different Houses sitting together to eat?”

“Maybe that should change, then,” said Ginny. “What do you think, Harry?”

“It won’t change as long as we have the House tables,” Harry said. “We’re too used to them.”

“So get rid of the House tables!” Su said emphatically. “Keep them for big feasts and the like, but have a lot of smaller tables instead of the four huge ones. Let people sit with their friends, no matter what House they’re from.”

“It would be harder on the house-elves, though,” Ginny pointed out. “How could they make sure everyone had what they wanted?”

“We all have legs,” Su said impatiently. “We can get up and get platters from other tables. Or have one large serving table in the center, and everyone gets their food from there.”

“I like that better,” said Harry. “Then people won’t always be complaining because they didn’t get whatever they liked on their table. If we’re going to break with tradition, we should go all the way.”

“Yes, that’s what I’ve always...” Su broke off, looking at Harry again. “You have a good mind for a Gryffindor,” she said.

“You have a lot of guts for a Ravenclaw,” Harry countered.

Su laughed. “So my big brother has a famous friend,” she said. “And you’re not nearly as mad as the Daily Prophet says you are.”

“No, he’s madder,” said Ginny. “It just doesn’t show.”

“Ginny!” Harry could feel his face beginning to redden.

“You’ll have to tell me more later,” said Su speculatively. She looked back at Brian and suddenly hugged him again.

“Come on,” Harry muttered to Ginny, pulling at her sleeve. “I think they want to be alone.”

“I didn’t know he hadn’t been home for two months,” said Ginny, shaking her head, once they were out of earshot. “I can’t even imagine.”

“We stay away from home longer than that every year,” Harry objected.

“But we’re at school. Our families know where we are, and they can visit us if they like. His parents had no idea where he was.”

Harry smiled humorlessly. “Try having them know, and hate it, and not be able to change it.”

“No thanks, I’ll leave that to you.” Ginny grinned at him and scampered away as the train whistled.

Harry stood on the platform, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong.

xXxXx

“Don’t tell me,” said Draco in a long-suffering voice when Ron and Hermione returned from their prefects’ meeting. “Nott is our year’s prefect from Slytherin.”

“Actually, that would be me,” said a voice from behind Ron.

“Zabini,” said Harry in greeting, standing up to shake Blaise’s hand. “How was your summer?”

“Uneventful. Yours?”

“Hard to describe.”

“I’d imagine.” Blaise stepped into the compartment. “May I?”

Hermione scooped up Crookshanks and sat down where he’d been. “If you can find a seat,” she said.

Blaise seated himself across from Harry. “My mother takes the newspaper very seriously,” he said. “She only let me come back to school because she thinks I’ll be safe in my dormitory, and that I can defend myself in the halls.”

“From what? Me?”

“To be honest, yes.”

Ron looked up from polishing his prefect’s badge with his sleeve. “So be a little more honest,” he said. “Do you believe the Daily Prophet? Because if you do, there’s the door. You can leave, or I can help you out.”

“Is he always this belligerent?” Blaise asked mildly.

“This is actually one of his better days,” said Draco. “I think it has something to do with the hair. All that red means it leeched the blood out of his brain, so he’s got nothing left to think with.”

“And yours is so pale because there’s no blood going to your brain at all,” Ron retorted.

Draco clapped a hand to his chest. “A hit, a very palpable hit.”

“Stop it,” said Hermione wearily, stroking Crookshanks so that his rumbling purr filled the compartment. “Blaise, you don’t believe what the Prophet’s been printing, do you? It’s all rubbish. Harry’s telling the truth, and Fudge doesn’t want to admit it.”

“Who would?” Absently, Blaise rubbed his own prefect’s badge with a corner of his robe. “It’s much nicer to think about pleasant things. But pleasant things won’t save us if there really is a war coming.”

“There is,” Harry said quietly. “It’s already started.”

“Then you can count me your friend.”

Harry got to his feet and held out his hand again. “We’re going to need friends,” he said. “Welcome aboard.”

They shook on it.

“Two,” said Luna absently, looking out the window.

“Two what?” said Ron.

“Oh...two sheep.”

Ron looked at Draco, who looked back at him with a shrug, as if to say, How should I know?

xXxXx

Meghan frowned, worried. “You haven’t seen Graham at all?”

Natalie shook her head. “We wrote a few times at the beginning of the summer, but not since then.”

Meghan bounced on her toes. “I thought maybe his owl couldn’t find me,” she said. “We’re staying at my grandmother’s house, and she made it Unplottable a long time ago, so I thought maybe...but if you didn’t get any letters either...”

“And I don’t think he’s on the train,” Natalie added. “I’ve looked everywhere.”

Meghan sucked on her teeth for a moment. “We’ll look for him at the Welcoming Feast,” she decided. “And if he’s really not here, we’ll tell Professor McGonagall. She’ll know what to do.”

“Do you think it’s...bad?” Natalie whispered. “With what happened to your brother...”

“But Graham’s a pureblood. He ought to be all right.” Meghan spoke with a confidence she didn’t feel. “He’s probably just in a compartment you missed.”

“But Meghan, I looked everywhere! Twice!”

Meghan hugged her friend. “It’ll be okay,” she said firmly. “It has to be.”

“Why?”

“Because I say so, that’s why.”

The girls shared a giggle, and everything was okay, at least for the moment.

xXxXx

“Three,” Luna murmured, holding up a handful of Cauldron Cake crumbs for Pigwidgeon.

“What are you really counting?” Ginny asked quietly.

“Friends.” Luna smiled as the tiny owl shook his feathers, sending crumbs everywhere. “We’ll need as many as we can get.”

“No argument.”

xXxXx

Harry backed out of the crowd, holding his cloak over himself and Meghan, who was clutching Hedwig’s cage close. As he turned, he caught his breath in shock.

“What is it?” Meghan asked, looking around.

“Thestrals,” Harry breathed, recalling what Hermione had told them in second year. “I can see them now.”

Meghan freed one arm from Hedwig’s cage to wrap it as far as it would go around Harry’s waist. “Neville says they’re ugly,” she said as they walked forward. “Are they?”

“Very. They don’t have any meat on them—they’re just skin and bones...” Harry laughed at the sound of one of Danger’s favorite expressions coming from his mouth. “But really, they are. Here, feel.” He handed Hedwig up to Hermione, who was already in the carriage, then took Meghan’s hand in his and guided it to the thestral’s side. The thestral snorted warningly.

Meghan jerked her hand back. “It’s smart,” she said in surprise. “Not like a human, or even like a dog, but it’s smart.”

“They can find any place that their riders need to go,” said Neville, coming out of the crowd to join them, keeping a firm hold on the little toad-leash his father had made for him. Trevor dangled from a tiny harness on its other end with a sulky look on his wide toad face. “And they eat meat. Most animals that are smart do.”

Meghan backed up a step. “Maybe I shouldn’t pet it anymore,” she said.

“Maybe not,” Harry agreed, offering Meghan his hand to help her into the carriage. “Since when do you like animals, Cap’n?”

“I thought I might as well learn about them, since I can see them,” Neville answered, following Meghan in and holding out his hand to help Harry climb in after them. “They’re really almost as interesting as my Mimbulus mimbletonia. ”

Harry didn’t trust himself to answer this, so he let it go.

xXxXx

“Strange,” Ginny said after the Sorting Hat had finished its song.

“What?” Harry asked.

“We were just talking to Su Li earlier about this. About how the Houses have become too divided.” Ginny looked across the Great Hall as Professor McGonagall called the first name on her list (“Abercrombie, Euan!”). “And now the Sorting Hat says it too.”

“The Sorting Hat has Gryffindor’s brains in it,” said Harry, watching the boy squirm on the stool. “Maybe it knows something.”

“GRYFFINDOR!”

“So what are we going to do about it?” Ginny asked under cover of the clapping.

“We?”

“We, the Pride. And you, the alpha of the Pride.” Ginny gave him an appraising look. “You are the alpha of the Pride, last I looked.”

“Yes, of course I am.”

“And you are Harry Potter, Boy Wonder.”

“No, I am...” Harry found his voice cut off by Ginny’s hand, just in time, as the clapping died away suddenly. If she hadn’t stopped him, he would have shouted out that he “was not” to the entire Hall.

I don’t need the Prophet’s help to look mad. I’m doing a bang-up job on my own.

“Thanks,” he muttered as Ginny took her hand away.

“Any time.” Ginny wiped her hand on her napkin. “So what are you going to do about it?”

“About what?”

“About what we were talking about. The way the Houses are separated.”

“Why should I do anything about it? Why do you think I’ll be able to? Half the school probably thinks I’m going to attack them, and the other half knows better but would like to kill me anyway, because they have parents working for Voldemort...”

“That’s not true.” Ginny applauded for “Baker, Jon” (“HUFFLEPUFF!”) before going on. “Even if it was, that’s all the more reason you have to do something about it. If people see you working to unite the Houses, to do good things and make a difference, they’ll know you can’t be mad. And I don’t think half the school has Death Eater parents.”

“So I exaggerated some. Who cares?”

“I do.”

“You do?”

“I do.” Ginny crossed her arms firmly. “Don’t start acting like nobody likes you and everybody hates you. You know it’s not true, and besides, worms don’t taste good.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“It’s a song.” Ginny hummed the tune.

“Oh, that.” Harry clapped for “Cauldwell, Amanda.” (“RAVENCLAW!”) “Ginny, has anyone told you recently you’re odd?”

“You just did.”

“I mean...never mind.”

“You mean never mind? I’ll remember that.”

Harry leaned over to Draco. “Are all girls mad?” he asked conversationally.

Draco looked across the table at Hermione and Luna, then leaned closer. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“Thought so.”

xXxXx

As the desserts melted away from the golden plates, Professor Dumbledore got to his feet. “The usual start-of-term announcements will now commence,” he said. “Those of you who have heard them before, I beg your indulgence for the repetition. Those who have not, please pay close attention, as they are important. Firstly, I would like to introduce two new additions to our staff. Joining us this year in the role of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts is Auror Alice Longbottom.”

Mrs. Longbottom rose and inclined her head as the school applauded her politely.

“Second is a new position on our staff this year,” Dumbledore went on as Mrs. Longbottom—Professor Longbottom, Harry corrected himself mentally—sat down again. “The Ministry of Magic, in response to recent events, feels that Hogwarts needs careful supervision, and has created the post of Hogwarts High Inquisitor to this end. Madam Dolores Umbridge joins us from the Ministry to take up this post. Although she teaches no subject, you will address her as Professor Umbridge, and treat her with the same courtesy and respect that you would me or any other teacher in this school.”

“He’s looking at us,” Ron said out of the corner of his mouth.

“He’s looking at the Gryffindors,” Hermione corrected.

“We are Gryffindors.”

“I mean all the Gryffindors.”

“Shush,” said Harry and Ginny together.

As Professor Umbridge stood up at her place, Harry got a good look at her.

I’d say she looks like a toad, but that’s rude to Trevor.

Professor Umbridge’s face was very wide and flat, with eyes that bulged most unattractively (as opposed to Luna’s, which gave her face its constant air of mild surprise). She wore a bright pink cardigan and a matching bow in her mousy hair, and she was beaming insincerely around the Great Hall as she acknowledged the unenthusiastic clapping.

Professor Dumbledore waited for the applause to die away, which didn’t take long, then continued. “Tryouts for Quidditch teams will begin...”

“Hem, hem. ”

Several hundred heads whipped back to Professor Umbridge, who hadn’t sat down. She was simpering girlishly at Professor Dumbledore. “If you don’t mind, Headmaster,” she said in a breathy voice which grated on Harry’s nerves, “I had a few words I would like to say to our dear students.”

Dumbledore inclined his head and seated himself, looking attentively at her.

xXxXx

“If this is a few words, I’m a Blast-Ended Skrewt,” Ron muttered partway through Umbridge’s speech. “What is she even talking about?”

“Shh, I’m trying to listen,” Hermione said absently.

Harry, too, was trying to listen, but it was hard going. Professor Umbridge had used more words with multiple syllables in the last five minutes than even the Pack usually used in a day, and the words twisted around each other in his mind. What did it mean to “understand that stepping forward is not always progress, or that not all progress is good progress,” or to “acknowledge that only change which betters ourselves and our society should be encouraged, and that change which does not should be discouraged as quickly as possible”?

Luna was watching Umbridge quietly, her eyes half-shut. Harry leaned across the table. “What do you see?” he asked her in a whisper.

“Not much,” Luna replied. “She’s not an Animagus, or someone else pretending to be her. There is a little red around her, though, and some of the red is redder than the rest of the red.”

“Right. Thanks.”

She makes less sense than Umbridge does.

Finally, Umbridge delivered herself of a triumphant-sounding conclusion and took her seat. Professor Dumbledore applauded her, as did Ron.

“What are you clapping for?” Hermione hissed. “That was horrible!”

“Because it’s over.”

“Oh.” Hermione let go of Ron’s wrist. “Good point.”

“How was it horrible?” Neville asked. “It didn’t make sense.”

“It made perfect sense...” Hermione looked around. “I’ll tell you later. I think we should den tonight.”

“I think so too,” said Harry. “I mean, seconded.”

“All in favor?” said Draco.

“Aye,” said six voices.

Meghan rapped the butt of her fork on the table. “Motion carried,” she said in a deep voice.

The Pride cracked up.

When the announcements were over, the Hall began to buzz with chatter as people started getting up to make their way to bed. Ron started for the door, but Hermione stopped him. “We have to show the first years which way to go,” she said. “Come on, help me.”

“Oh. Right. Oy, midgets!”

“Ron!”

Harry took the opportunity to escape the Hall, the Pride behind him.

“Mr. Potter!” called a high-pitched voice as Harry emerged into the entrance hall.

Harry swore under his breath, plastered a smile on his face, and turned around. “Professor Umbridge,” he said, bowing slightly.

Professor Umbridge stepped forward, her pink bow almost glowing in the torchlight, her smile as fake as Harry’s. “I just wanted to speak with you about your conduct last year, at the final task of the Triwizard Tournament,” she said. “I was deeply saddened by it, and by its tragic conclusion.”

Harry stiffened as her words hit home. “I never hurt Cedric Diggory,” he said stiffly.

“I never said you did, Mr. Potter.” Umbridge’s smile widened. “I merely wish to tell you that a new era has begun here at Hogwarts.” Her voice was pitched to carry, and most of the school had stopped to listen to her. “Those who lie for their own gain, those who circumvent established and lawful authority, and those who give themselves a false sense of importance will not remain at this school for long.”

“That’s wonderful, Professor,” Harry said enthusiastically, matching her volume. “When are you leaving?”

The Gryffindors laughed outright. Ravenclaws tittered, Hufflepuffs snorted, and even a few Slytherins snickered. Behind him, Harry could hear the Pride having a collective fit, and Fred and Lee Jordan were guffawing halfway up the marble staircase, while George grinned at him. He only wished Ron and Hermione could have heard it.

The door’s open. Maybe they did.

Umbridge’s eyes, improbably, had widened even further. “I...I...”

Harry quickly donned his best “Who, me?” expression.

“I have never...never in all my years...” Umbridge recovered her power of speech. “Detention, Mr. Potter,” she said breathlessly. “Detention with me, tomorrow night. At eight o’clock, in my office. This will not happen again.”

“Yes, Professor.” Harry made his voice as plaintive as he ever did when wheedling another piece of tart out of Danger. “May I please go to bed now, Professor?”

The laughter, which had showed signs of dying away, rekindled at this.

Umbridge’s flabby face was starting to turn a shade of maroon that Harry had become familiar with on Uncle Vernon’s face over the summer. “Yes,” she said shortly. “Go.”

“Nice work, Potter,” whispered anonymous voices as Harry started for the stairs.

“She needed that.”

“Keep it up.”

“That,” said Fred as Harry reached him, “was brilliant.”

Harry turned to look at the Pride. Their wide grins spoke for them.

“He took mine,” said Draco, pointing at Fred. “That was just amazing.”

“Whatever she makes you do for detention, that was worth it,” Ginny added.

Harry climbed the stairs to Gryffindor Tower feeling as though he’d won the first battle of the war.

xXxXx

Professor McGonagall was less thrilled.

“You call that showing more respect than you give to your other teachers?” she stormed at Harry the next day in her office, where she’d told him to come directly after breakfast. “You, of all people, must be careful around Dolores Umbridge, Potter!”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry said. I knew it wasn’t a good idea, what I didn’t know was how bad it was. Hermione had made it quite clear in the Den that Umbridge had power at Hogwarts, and knew she had power, and was prepared to use that power to interfere with everything she could.

But what was I supposed to do? Lie down and take it?

McGonagall glared at him. “Don’t give me that. Do you understand what she could have done to you? What she could still do to you? The decree which gives her that position states that not even the Headmaster himself can overrule her decisions, and you have placed yourself permanently in her bad graces. This year is not about showing off how clever you are, Potter, or about who or what is right or wrong. This year is about surviving!”

Harry rocked back in his chair, appalled. “I’m sorry, Professor. I didn’t know...”

“Obviously not.” McGonagall’s look was stern. “Now you do.”

“Yes, Professor.” Harry looked at the rocky landscape painting on the wall, trying to work out how to word his next question. “Professor, may I ask you something?”

“Speak up.”

“If someone...didn’t like Professor Umbridge. If someone wanted to let her know she wasn’t wanted here.” Seeing understanding in McGonagall’s eyes, Harry plowed onwards. “If that someone decided to tell her how he felt in...in a traditional family style. For his family. Would you...I mean, what would...”

“Let me make things perfectly clear to you, Potter,” said McGonagall, her eyes flashing as she leaned forward. “I will firmly punish any wrongdoers whom I catch, or whose wrongdoing can be proved to me. Do you understand me?”

Harry carefully did not grin. “Perfectly, Professor.”

“Excellent. You may return to your class—History of Magic, I believe?”

Harry nodded.

McGonagall gave him a small smile. “Then your professor may not notice you were gone. If he does, feel free to tell him that you were with me.”

xXxXx

Minerva McGonagall watched Harry Potter down the hall, then stepped back inside. A quick word with her great-grandmother, and a few minutes later, she was on her way up to Albus’ office.

“I’ve just allowed Harry Potter and his... Pride, is it?” she said without preamble as she entered, pausing only to make sure they were alone. “Whatever they are, I’ve given them free rein to make Dolores Umbridge’s life miserable, providing we don’t catch them.”

“Minerva, really, I have no idea what could have possessed you to do that,” said Albus gravely. “I must go on record as telling you to do no such thing.”

“It’s too late now.” Minerva sank into a chair. “Albus, what have we come to? You-Know...”

Albus gave her a stern look.

“Very well, Voldemort on the loose and absolutely nothing being done to stop him, a minor functionary like Umbridge dictating our every move, and Harry Potter has no idea of the dangers involved in tweaking her nose. I believe he thought he could get away with it!”

“In his own household, he would have been allowed to,” Albus noted. “Or the punishment would have been light.”

“And he has gone through four years of schooling without ever realizing that the rules are different here?”

“No, but he was provoked in the entrance hall, and he responded in his most deeply entrenched manner. One cannot argue with one’s earliest training, Minerva. I daresay you would still obey a command given to you by an authority figure of your childhood, or one given in that way. I trust you have explained to him that he must be more on his guard.”

“I did.” A small pop made Minerva look around. “Ah. Thank you,” she said to the tea-towel-clad house-elf offering her a cup of tea. The house-elf bobbed a curtsey and disappeared again. “Albus, to be perfectly frank, I still do not entirely understand Harry, or any of his friends—his siblings, of course, are particularly obscure, but even the youngest Weasleys and the other two are beginning to take on the same characteristics. What is it about them? What am I missing?”

Albus sipped at the tea another house-elf had supplied to him. “I believe it is their response to authority,” he said thoughtfully. “To authorities they perceive as legitimate, their obedience is... not absolute, and not unquestioning, but it runs very close to both of those. And their only test for legitimacy of authority is whether or not they have chosen that authority. You and I, luckily for us, are both authorities they choose to obey. Dolores Umbridge is emphatically not; thus, their response to her is to challenge her authority, in hopes of uprooting her.”

Minerva blew on her tea. “Albus, is it ill-natured of me to hope that they succeed in that challenge, and soon?” she asked.

“If it is, I must share your ill nature, Minerva.” Albus’ eyes were bleak. “I have seldom wanted anything so much as I want Dolores Umbridge gone from this school. She is a liability we can ill afford at this juncture.”

They sat quietly for a moment before Minerva recalled something else that had been weighing on her mind. “Albus, before I forget, Meghan Black spoke to me this morning. She expressed concern about a friend of hers, a second year Slytherin named...”

“Graham Pritchard,” Albus finished for her. “I had intended to speak to you and Severus about that matter today. I received a letter from Mr. Pritchard a few days ago, withdrawing his son from the school, citing differences with my politics.” He opened a desk drawer, rummaged through it for a moment, then extracted the parchment he wanted and passed it across to Minerva. “Perhaps you can explain to Meghan better if you see the reasoning yourself.”

Minerva took the letter and scanned it. “This is very messily written,” she said. “As if his quill were badly trimmed...” She looked up. “Or as if someone under duress were attempting to send a hidden message.”

“Do you think so?” Albus asked blandly. “That had occurred to me, I confess.”

Minerva returned to her perusal of the parchment as a knock sounded at the door.

“Come in, Severus,” Albus called.

Minerva barely noticed. Her mind was busy holding the letters which were worst blotted and placing them in order. S,O,N, son. T, A, K, E, N...

She looked up again as Severus Snape took a seat beside her. “See what you think,” she said, handing the parchment to him.

Snape ran his finger along the lines once, then a second time, then a third. “Son taken, ” he recited the hidden message aloud, laconically. “Help me. Something no pureblood wizard would ask, were he not desperate.”

Minerva huffed. “Are you surprised? The boy is twelve!”

Severus glared at her. “The boy is one of my students, Minerva. I am fully aware of his age, and of his current situation.”

“And bickering will help neither him nor his father, nor does it reflect well on either of you,” said Albus firmly. “We have several tasks ahead of us. We must first find the boy and rescue him, then convince his father to speak up.”

“Unlikely,” Severus said. “He will not want to admit publicly to an inability to keep his family safe.”

“Nonetheless, he must speak.” Minerva had heard that tone in Albus’ voice before, and it usually meant a difficult time ahead for the one spoken about. “For the good of all.”

Severus’ face was skeptical, but he kept any comments to himself.

“What should I tell Meghan, Albus?” Minerva asked, recalling how she had originally entered into this topic.

“A twelve-year-old girl?” Severus said dryly. “And you have to ask if she should be told that her friend has likely been kidnapped by Death Eaters?”

“A twelve-year-old girl who once healed her brother of a mortal injury,” Minerva snapped back, “a twelve-year-old girl who spent seven of those years keeping secrets even from her closest friends. A twelve-year-old girl who has spent her entire life knowing Death Eaters exist, and the sorts of things they can do. And a twelve-year-old girl who is not accustomed to being lied to.”

Albus nodded. “Tell her the truth, Minerva,” he said. “But ask her not to tell her friend, Miss Macdonald, who I am sure is also worried. You may give her the publicly available story for Miss Macdonald, and anyone else who may ask.”

“Headmaster,” Severus objected, “a sensitive piece of intelligence like this, given to a child not even in her teens yet?”

“Severus, Meghan Black is many things.” Albus rose. “But one thing she will not be for much longer is a child. None of them will.” His eyes held depths of pain Minerva couldn’t even begin to guess at. “War ages us all.”

xXxXx

Meghan barely ate at lunch. “I wanted to know,” she said finally. “But I didn’t want to know this.”

“That’s the problem with wanting to know things,” said Hermione, setting aside her soup. “You can’t un-know them afterwards, and you never know what they’ll be until you know them.”

Meghan looked up with a little smile. “I know.”

Hermione held out her arms, and Meghan came to her big sister, laying her face against Hermione’s shoulder. “Professor McGonagall said he’d only be scared,” she said into Hermione’s robes. “She said they wouldn’t hurt him, because then his father wouldn’t do what they wanted.”

“That’s right,” Hermione confirmed. “That’s in Moony and Padfoot and Letha’s stories about the war, too, remember? The first war,” she corrected herself ruefully. “It has to be the first war now, since there’s going to be a second war.”

“There is a second war,” said Neville from across the table. “Meghan’s friend’s caught in it. Dad’s in it every day. The Ministry just hasn’t caught on yet.”

“And...” Ginny glanced around the Hall and lowered her voice. “Voldemort wants to keep it that way. The longer he can stay out of sight, the stronger he can get. And then my dad and yours, Neville, and your parents, Meghan, Hermione, have to go out and fight against people like Mr. Pritchard, who’re only fighting against us because people they love will get hurt if they don’t.” She shook her head. “War is so stupid.”

“Not if you don’t care who gets hurt,” said Neville. “It’s the smartest way to get what you want, then.”

Meghan lifted her head. “It’s kind of scary that you know how people think who don’t care if other people get hurt,” she told her friend.

“Mum always says, know your enemy.” Neville grinned. “And Dad always says it’s easier to kick his arse that way.”

“And then what?” Hermione asked.

“Then Mum yells at Dad for swearing in front of me, then Dad tells Mum I probably knew those words before they ever woke up so it’s not his fault, then they have a big fight and kiss and make up...” Neville shrugged. “Usual stuff.” His smile returned. “And there are days I still can’t believe it happened to me. Especially around the holidays—I wake up and wonder if we’re going to go visit Mum and Dad at St. Mungo’s today, and then I remember.”

“That must be great,” said Meghan, sitting up. “Remembering, I mean.”

“You can’t even imagine,” Neville said quietly. “And I can’t ever thank you enough.”

“You already did.” Meghan blew him a kiss. “But I’ll always listen again.”

“Get a room, please,” said Ginny, picking up her sandwich. “Some of us are trying to eat here.”

xXxXx

Harry arrived at the door of Professor Umbridge’s office a little before eight, trying to swallow the nervous feeling in his throat. This was ridiculous. He’d had detention with Snape before; this couldn’t possibly be any worse.

Could it?

He knocked.

“Come in!” Umbridge’s sickly-sweet voice called.

Harry opened the door, stepped inside, and nearly gagged. Professor Umbridge’s decorating style ran about the same as her clothing. Everything that could possibly be pink was pink. If it wasn’t pink, it was draped in doilies. Quite a lot of things were both. On the wall behind her desk hung a row of decorative plates, each painted with a jewel-toned kitten with alarmingly large eyes, all of which were gamboling in meadows and batting at butterflies.

“Ahh, Mr. Potter. Do close the door, please, I don’t want any nasty drafts getting in.” Umbridge was sitting behind her pink-draped desk, her flabby hands folded in front of her. Though her face was polite, she positively reeked of self-satisfaction and gloating, which wasn’t helping Harry’s stomach any. “You’ll be over there, at the small table, writing lines. I want you to write ‘I must not be pert.’”

“How many times, Professor?” Harry asked politely, going to sit at the table.

“We’ll discuss that later, Mr. Potter. For now, let us just say that I want the message well engraved on your mind.” Umbridge gave a little giggle which set Harry’s teeth on edge. “You’d better get started.”

Harry picked up the quill lying on the table and looked at it. It was long and black and very sharp. For some reason, it made him think of Padfoot and Letha...

Wearing his best robes, standing very tall, listening to girls sniffle and watching Padfoot sign his name on the wedding contract without wincing, even though the long black quill was magically cutting the words into the back of his hand as he wrote...

Harry blinked and looked at the table in front of him again. “Professor, I don’t see any ink here,” he said, turning in his chair. “And I didn’t bring any with me.”

“Are you sure?” Umbridge’s smile was definitely nasty now, and her scent echoed it.

“Yes, Professor, I’m sure.”

“You’ve just earned yourself another night in detention, Mr. Potter,” Umbridge said briskly, “and I can make it three if I hear any more backtalk out of you. To work.”

“Professor, I can’t write lines without ink.”

“Yes, you can, Mr. Potter, and you will. Three nights.”

Harry bit down on a curse and turned back to the parchment. Might as well get it over with. What was it again? I must not be pert?

He set the quill on the parchment and began the upstroke of the I.

Pain seared across the back of his writing hand, and he hissed involuntarily, sucking in his breath. How did Padfoot do his whole name without even flinching?

The hiss was repeated behind him, and Harry caught a whiff of eagerness and enjoyment.

What the...

He inhaled again, to make sure he hadn’t mistaken the scent, but it was stronger the second time.

She likes it. She did this on purpose, because she likes hurting people.

Several of Padfoot’s more colorful metaphors came to mind.

Harry looked down at the quill, then at his hand. The gash the quill’s magic had opened was closed now, but the skin there still throbbed, as though it had only just been healed, and the curved line was just visible, slightly redder than the rest of his skin.

I am a Marauder.

If Marauders don’t like the games, they change the rules.

And I don’t like this game one little bit.

Harry turned the quill over and over in his hands, trying to find the proper phrasing for what he was about to say.

“Why do I not hear the scritch-scratching of a little quill from over there, Mr. Potter?” Umbridge called petulantly. “If I don’t start to hear it, I’m going to get testy, and that might mean a fourth night here with me. You don’t want that, now do you?”

Harry took a deep breath, set down the quill, and turned around. “Professor, I’m not going to write lines with the quill you gave me,” he said. “I’ll write them with my own quill if you like, but I won’t use that one.”

Umbridge stared at him. Harry had the odd feeling that no one had ever told her “no” to her face before. “You...won’t...use it,” she repeated slowly. “You refuse to use my quill.”

“That’s right, Professor.”

“You refuse to write lines with my quill.”

“That’s right, Professor.” Harry didn’t like the smile spreading over Umbridge’s face, the way her breathing was starting to speed up, or the way she was exuding raw jubilation. “I’ll do them with my own quill if you want me to...”

“No, no, I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Umbridge briskly, standing up. “But you’ll be coming with me, Mr. Potter. Quickly now, come along!” She clapped her hands.

Harry stood up and started out the door.

“Move along, move along,” Umbridge chided him, beckoning coquettishly. “We don’t want to keep the Headmaster waiting!”

Dumbledore? Then I should... Harry turned, meaning to pick up the quill as evidence of his story.

“No, no, no, Mr. Potter, quickly!” Umbridge had her hands on her hips. “Do you know the meaning of the word quickly?”

“Yes, Professor.” Harry dawdled his way out of the room.

“Then show me that you know!” Umbridge set off for the Headmaster’s office, moving surprisingly fast for such a short woman. “You’ll have to keep up!” she called over her shoulder. “Don’t fall behind, now, and don’t try to run off and hide, or I’ll have to get cross with you...”

Harry kept pace easily, trying not to laugh. She’s taking me to the Headmaster over a detention. What happened to all that authority Professor McGonagall said she had?

He rubbed the back of his hand, smiling. And what kind of idiot did she think I was? Who would be dumb enough to sit there and cut his hand open with that thing, just because she said so?

The smile was still on his face as Professor Umbridge knocked at the door of Dumbledore’s office, as Dumbledore told them to enter, as Umbridge opened the door and ushered Harry in.

“Dolores,” said Dumbledore, standing up. “And Harry...what a pleasant surprise.”

“I’m afraid it won’t be pleasant for long, Dumbledore,” said Umbridge, a great deal of poorly suppressed glee leaking into her tone and her scent. “I’m terribly sorry to inform you of this, but a few moments ago, Mr. Potter refused to perform my very simple detention task of writing lines. I attempted to reason with him, but he remained adamant. I’m afraid—and as Hogwarts High Inquisitor, I have this power—I’m afraid that Mr. Potter’s actions leave me no course but to expel him from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”





Facing Danger

Chapter 9: Explorations (Year 5)


Chapter 9: Explorations

“What? ” Harry burst out.

“Speak when you’re spoken to, Mr. Potter,” Umbridge admonished, smiling poisonously at him.

“Perhaps I fail to understand, Dolores,” said Dumbledore, moving his right hand in a darting gesture, thumb and first two fingers coming together in a swift horizontal line. Harry bit back the disbelieving words threatening to explode from him. “For what is Harry being expelled from school?”

“For repeated and flagrant disobedience to my directions.” Umbridge had drawn herself up to her full height, which would have been more impressive if she weren’t so dumpy. “I had assigned him to write lines as the task for his detention, and he refused to do so, several times.”

In Harry’s mind, Wolf stirred. Taste her blood, he growled, the words coming out as a rumble in Harry’s chest, directly under the burning cluster of his pendants. Taste it to see if it is as much toad as her looks. She is not for eating—she is as something long dead, and soon she will be something long dead...

Harry forced back the change, concentrating on his human self. Not this time, he told Wolf. This is human. I have to deal with it as human.

Spoilsport, grumbled Wolf as the prickles of growing fur disappeared from Harry’s arms and legs and his elbows and knees returned to their human articulation.

They still hurt, though. Harry released his death grip on his own hands to rub his right elbow. I don’t think I forgot to take my potion this morning...

“Harry,” said Dumbledore’s voice. Harry looked up. “Is it true, what Professor Umbridge is saying? Did you refuse to perform the task she set you for detention?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts,” Dumbledore cut him off, making the gesture for silence again. “I want only the answer I have asked for, no more.”

A shiver ran through Harry’s body. He’s on her side. Or he has to pretend to be, to stay at Hogwarts. Either way, I’m still going to be expelled, and he can’t stop it—maybe he wants me expelled, maybe he wants me away from the school, so Voldemort won’t try to attack here and put all the other students in danger—

Dumbledore sighed heavily. “Gratitude,” he said aloud. “Gratitude is the one virtue of which the young never quite grasp the value. That is your failing, Harry—you have failed in gratitude, in your thankfulness for all that you are blessed with. Did you know that?”

Harry shook his head slowly, bemused by the sudden turn in the conversation. Is he losing it? Why would he be talking about this right now?

“Gratitude towards those who have sacrificed to bring you where you are.” Dumbledore was warming up to his subject. “Gratitude towards those who have gone before. Gratitude even to those who are, to us, only inked words on a dusty page. We must never forget all that they have done for us, and continue to do for us to this day.”

Harry nodded, trying to keep his confusion off his face. He’s definitely lost it.

“Dumbledore, is this really necessary?” Umbridge asked pointedly. “I would like to expedite things if at all possible, I don’t want the students thinking justice will be delayed for the sake of a student’s fame...”

“Forgive me, Dolores, but I have grown fond of Harry over these last years,” Dumbledore said, turning towards the woman. “Allow me a little time to give him some last words of wisdom, before he passes forever out of my reach?”

“Very well,” said Umbridge, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of Dumbledore’s desk. Her smile showed clearly that she thought she’d won.

She has won. Dumbledore’s giving up. Harry shivered again, not sure if the Headmaster’s office was actually colder than the rest of the castle had been or if it just felt colder. He’d been so sure that Dumbledore wouldn’t let anything happen, but all Dumbledore seemed able to do was talk...

“Gratitude can take many forms, Harry.” Dumbledore resumed his speech, pacing about behind his desk. “You show your parents gratitude for the food and shelter they provide for you by obeying their dictates. You show your friends gratitude for their friendship by being a good friend to them in return. And you show your teachers gratitude—or you should—by obeying them as you would your parents.”

Harry couldn’t hold himself back any longer. “But Professor—”

Dumbledore cut him off. “To fail to show your teachers this courtesy is the most base kind of ingratitude. It shows not only that you fail to respect what they are here to teach you, but that you fail to respect all that they stand for! In short, Harry Potter, by failing to be grateful for what Professor Umbridge has tried to teach you, you stand convicted by your own actions of ingratitude towards her and all that she is!” Dumbledore met Harry’s eyes and held his gaze for a moment. “I hope you understand me.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said shortly. I understand that you think I should be grateful for the chance to hurt myself to prove I’ll do whatever I’m told, but that’s not how I work. I’ll do things I don’t like, that’s what detention is about, but I’m not about to cut my hand open just because I fought fire with fire.

He took a deep breath to calm himself, turning away from Umbridge to minimize his chances of getting a noseful of toadish glee, and coughed in surprise at what he got instead.

It smells like April Fool’s at the Den...

Dumbledore was still talking. “Our school has a long and important tradition of gratitude. Students grateful to their teachers for the opportunity to learn, teachers grateful to their students for the opportunity to pass along what they know, and all of us grateful to those who came first, who passed this marvelous castle along to us, who founded it. Our best gratitude to them is, or should be, expressed by learning about them and who they were, what they did and loved, and what roles they played.”

Harry’s breathing was starting to speed up. Dumbledore’s got something planned. All this babble, everything he’s saying, it’s for Umbridge, to make her think he has no idea what to do. He’s not just going to throw me out—he never was—this is all part of something, I just have to figure out what...

“Harry, come here.” Dumbledore’s peregrinations had led him to the fireplace, where flames flickered on the hearth. He was standing before it, gazing into them. “I have an important question for you.”

Harry crossed the room to the Headmaster’s side, flicking a quick look at Umbridge as he passed. She looked a bit bored, but also triumphant. She has to think he’s lost his Gobstones. Maybe she even thinks she made it happen, by threatening to throw me out of school. That would make sense, the way she thinks—and I bet she thinks she’ll be Headmistress if he has to leave—

“Harry, look at me,” Dumbledore said, breaking into Harry’s thoughts. The light blue eyes behind the half-moon glasses were solemn, but deep within them Harry caught just a hint of the well-known twinkle. “Do you know which of the four Founders was the first Head of Hogwarts?”

This is important. He’s trying to tell me something. Harry’s gaze skipped from Dumbledore’s face to the bookshelf behind the Headmaster’s desk, where a silver sword lay in a glass case. “I thought...I think...” He hesitated. “I don’t know, sir.”

“Tell me who you think it was, then.” Dumbledore’s face was encouraging.

“I think...I always thought it was Gryffindor, sir.”

“So many people do,” said Dumbledore with a sigh. “But no, it was Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff, Harry. She was the first Headmistress of Hogwarts—she resided in these very quarters, walked these very floors, gazed out these very windows.”

He turned away, looking around the room. “So many times I have wondered, did she ever stand as I do, watching her students at play, wondering what they would make of their lives? Wondering if any of them would ever bother to return and thank her for all that she had done for them, all she had sacrificed? For she gave her very life for this school, and I have no doubt that if there were some way she could have given up whatever comes after this life, she would have done that as well.”

Harry frowned. Does he know...?

“Gratitude, Harry,” Dumbledore said firmly, turning to face him once more. “Display gratitude—express it wherever you go, whatever you do, in deeds and in words—and you will not be the loser by it.” His hands, hanging by his sides in loose curls, moved, his index fingers uncurling, then curling again with the other fingers. “Have I made myself clear?”

“I...” Harry faltered. No, you bloody well haven’t! shouted an indignant part of his mind. Babbling on about gratitude and thanking people, about Hufflepuff, telling me to run away not two minutes after you made me come over by the fireplace, away from the door—

“Remain by the fire, then,” Dumbledore said calmly. “Watch the flames and see if you can find some peace in your...heart .”

Harry turned away and stared at the fire, only half-hearing Umbridge begin to tell Dumbledore why Harry should be expelled without a moment’s delay. His mind tumbled from thought to thought.

Gratitude. Thanking people. Thanking Hufflepuff—he made a big deal out of Hufflepuff—and he wants me to stay here, but he wants me to run away—how can I do both? How can I run away when I can’t get out the door? And why did he say “heart” like that, like it was a big deal? What is he trying to tell me?

He cracked a smile. If this was the common room—any of the common rooms—I know what I could do. Or the hospital wing, for that matter, or the kitchens...

His train of thought suddenly became a runaway. Thanking people—Hufflepuff—the password—and the heart, that’s what he calls it—and the fireplace, that’s where it always is, where every one we’ve ever found has been—

Harry glanced over his shoulder. Dumbledore was nodding gravely as Umbridge expounded loudly on Harry’s many faults. I hope you fall down the stairs and break your neck, he thought venomously towards her. Now...

He looked back at the carvings to either side of the stone fireplace. To the right. It’s always to the right. And I can even make it so they don’t notice—if I’m right to begin with—

“Stealth mode,” he breathed. “Thank you, Helga.”

xXxXx

Albus Dumbledore kept his eyes firmly on Dolores Umbridge as she continued to rant about how Harry Potter was a menace to the entire school.

A menace to you, you mean, Dolores. Harry is your worst nightmare—an intelligent and self-assured young man, too firmly set in his own ways to be swayed into yours.

I wonder if you and Cornelius realize what you have done by sending you here? You serve as the visible enemy that Harry can use to rally the students to his cause. When the students realize why you are really here, they would follow a fire-crab if it promised to rid them of you. Harry will have no trouble. Then, slowly, he can use their existing loyalty to him to convince them that his invisible enemy—Voldemort—exists, and that they should be fighting against Voldemort as well as against you.

It always pleased him to see the tactics of evildoers adapted for the use of those fighting for good.

I wonder if Harry has pieced together the hints I dropped for him yet?

He seated himself, still listening with half an ear to Dolores, and knocked a quill from his desk in the process. Bending to pick it up, he glanced towards the fireplace.

Harry was gone.

As he straightened up, Dumbledore could hear a few of the portraits on the walls sniggering quietly in their frames. As though thinking, he placed a fingertip on his lips, and was gratified to hear the laughter die down.

There will be a time for laughter, my friends. Dumbledore put on his most serene smile and listened to Dolores’ continuing tirade.

Though, for all our sakes, I hope it comes soon.

xXxXx

Harry scrambled into the hole in the wall and let his hand slide up the smooth, curved side of the tunnel.

It worked. I don’t believe it. It really worked.

He looked back into the Headmaster’s office. Umbridge and Dumbledore were still talking—or rather, Umbridge was talking and Dumbledore was listening—in the middle of the room, unaware that anything unusual was happening.

And I think I’d like to keep it that way.

“Thank you, Helga,” Harry murmured again, and pushed off as the stone slab grated closed behind him to seal the tunnel.

Down, down, down—wow, this goes faster than the one from the common room—I wonder where it comes out? It’s Hufflepuff’s password, so it’s probably one of the yellow rooms, but the bedrooms go to the common rooms, so this one would go to the other yellow room, which is—

The floor disappeared underneath Harry.

He had a blurred glimpse of a bright, reflective room as he fell.

The bathroom—but then what—

Impact. Strangely hard, yet yielding. Holding him up, hampering his movements, and when he tried to breathe in, he choked—

Water, he realized foggily. I must have fallen into the bathtub.

A long string of bubbles emerged from his lips. Dreamily, he followed them upwards, almost not caring if he made it or not. The water felt cool and comforting around him.

His head broke the surface, and suddenly getting air became a priority. Coughing and spluttering, he paddled towards the side of the pool-sized tub, still trying to take everything in.

Umbridge can expel me all she likes, he realized. She can’t make me leave unless she can find me. And she has no idea the Den even exists! She could look for years and never find it—Dumbledore knows about it, but he’d never tell her—he told me so I’d have somewhere to hide, somewhere she can’t find me!

He clambered awkwardly out of the tub, wincing as his knees and elbows complained at the motion, and stood dripping on the floor, looking around the bathroom with new eyes. This is my place now. I have to stay here. I can’t leave, or she’ll find me.

He grinned as a corollary of this development hit him. I can’t even go to classes—

Or to Quidditch practice.

That was going to make Angelina Johnson, new captain of the Gryffindor team, very unhappy with him.

It’s going to make me unhappy with me. Harry pulled off his outer robes and dropped them to the floor, shivering more than ever. What am I going to do in here all day? Fly around by myself and read? Hermione might go for that, but can I?

The room was starting to tilt around him. Harry dropped to one knee, and swore under his breath as it stabbed with pain.

I’m having a flare-up, he realized as from far away. The lupus can get worse all of a sudden, if I get upset or excited—I need to lie down, get warm, take a potion for it—

But he couldn’t leave the Den, and all his potions were up in Gryffindor Tower. The room spun faster and faster around him, shaking him like a rabbit in Wolf’s jaws.

Wolf—yes— Harry tried to focus his mind on transforming. If he could get four feet under him, he might be able to move at least out into the main room, where he could lie down and get warm. Fur and a tail...ears, eyes, nose, tongue...

He couldn’t keep from whimpering a little, as his joints, already under attack, protested this sudden change in their status even more vigorously. Finally, it was done, and a shivering Wolf lay on the floor of the bathroom.

Need to get up. He rolled shakily onto his belly. Front paws braced against the tiles, he lifted his rear end until his legs were fully extended and his rump pressed against the side of the bathtub, then shuffled his front paws backwards to pull himself to standing, whining as he did. Everything hurt, and he was hot and cold at the same time—he wanted someone to come and hold him and make it all go away—

I have to help myself to start with. First, why don’t I try getting a little dryer? He shook the excess water out of his coat, carefully, so as not to knock himself over. Now, to the door.

The door seemed determined not to let him find it, but he kept his eyes locked on it, and though he staggered a few times, he finally fetched up against it, panting. A paw reached up and pressed down on the handle, and Wolf tumbled unceremoniously into the main room of the Hogwarts Den.

There. He lay on the soft floor, panting, gratefully tasting the safe and familiar scents that pervaded the room. Their faces flickered before him, shifting from human to animal and back again.

Like me. Harry was only dimly aware that he’d returned to his human shape, that he was curled up on his side, hugging his knees. His clothes were still unpleasantly damp, he ached all over, but he was safe.

If safe includes so bloody sick I can barely move.

If he could just get up for long enough to call a house-elf, send a message to Ron or Hermione or Draco, tell them where he was and that he was feeling ill—they’d know what to do, they’d come right away and bring the potions Letha had brewed for times just like this—

But I don’t think I can.

He tried to open his mouth and call out, but nothing emerged from his lips except a croaking noise that Trevor could have made.

Sounds like what I would have expected from Umbridge...

The thought, and the humor behind it, went with him into darkness, as did the face of the one person he knew he could have shared it with, the person who would have laughed her hardest at it, the person who would have melded Umbridge’s own simpering voice and Harry’s croak into a perfect toad-woman impersonation.

He didn’t even realize that he’d whispered her name as he fell.

xXxXx

Ginny paced up and down the common room, unaccountably nervous. Harry had done detentions before; why was she so worried? Nothing Umbridge could do to him would be worse than what Snape kept ready for Gryffindors, especially the Pride. Harry would be back in a few hours, laughingly complaining about whatever she’d made him do, boasting that it took more than that to take down the alpha of the Pride.

But he’s upset about whatever it is that she wants him to do. Ginny fingered her pendants. She, like the rest of the Pride, had cooled the heat of Harry’s unhappiness with the murmured spell “Cesso aestum, ” since there really wasn’t anything they could do about it, but the wolf cub was still glowing brightly on Ginny’s second pendant.

Bringing the pendants closer to her eyes, she frowned. Was it her imagination, or was the carving of the wolf a little larger than it had been before?

A sudden flare of light made her gasp and drop the pendants, shielding her eyes uselessly after the fact. The image of the wolf burned purple on the insides of her eyelids.

Something’s happened to Harry. Something worse than just a detention.

She turned and hurried towards the fireplace, ignoring the questions curious Gryffindors were calling to her.

I have to find him.

“Ginny!” Ron called from across the room. “Where are you going?”

Ginny turned to face him. To the Den, she signed, sliding her right hand down into the shelter of her left.

“Why?” Ron mouthed silently, aware of the inquisitive eyes on him.

Ginny bit her tongue to keep from swearing and crossed quickly to her brother. “Something’s wrong,” she said, displaying her pendants. “Look at the way this is glowing. If we could still feel it, it would probably be burning us. I have to find out what’s wrong.”

“How will going down to the Den help you find out what’s wrong?”

“I can call a house-elf there and ask what’s going on with Harry. They see everything, and they like us.” Ginny smiled. “They like you, after what you did for Winky. I get the knock-on effect because I’m your sister.”

Ron blushed. “I was just thinking about Mum,” he muttered.

Keep telling yourself that, big brother. “I’m still going down there. You can come if you want.” Ginny looked around the notably empty circle of chairs. “Where’s everyone else, anyway?”

“Hermione and Meghan went off to work on Meghan’s Animagus, Draco and Luna probably found a broom closet somewhere, and I don’t know where Neville went.”

A chair coughed slightly, and Neville looked up from his book. “I’m right here,” he said.

“What do you want to hide from us for?” Ron demanded.

“Just practicing.” Neville shrugged. “Making sure I can still do it after summer.”

“Can’t you do it over summer?” Ginny asked curiously.

“It hardly works at all away from Hogwarts. I’d have to get a power boost from somewhere, and that’s not good for me.” Neville touched the white streaks at his temples. “When Dad and I took the hedges down at the Triwizard Tournament, I boosted us with one of my pendant jewels, and this happened.”

“I wondered where those came from,” said Ron. “Do you have any more of those jewels left?”

“Just one. I used another one a long time ago. But you have one too, you know.”

“Me?” Ron fished out his pendants and looked. “Oh, that’s right. I remember now. Because I was too stupid to get out of Myrtle’s bathroom.”

“Too loyal,” Ginny corrected. “And we need to go check on Harry. Coming, Neville?”

Neville marked his place and set his book aside. “Downstairs?” he asked, signing as Ginny had to indicate what he meant.

“Right.” Ron led the way to the fireplace. “Let’s see what the toad had him do for detention. Stealth mode, thank you, Godric.”

The hole grated open. Ron was about to clamber in, but Neville coughed. “Ladies first,” he said, holding out a hand to Ginny.

Ron scowled. Ginny made a face at him where Neville couldn’t see, then climbed into the hole and pushed off. Her thoughts kept pace with her rapid slide.

I’ll want to talk to Kady. She’s our best house-elf friend here, now that Dobby’s left. If she doesn’t know what’s going on with Harry, she’ll know how to find out. As long as it’s something Harry can deal with on his own, we’ll leave him alone, but the pendants don’t usually go off unless it’s something we should be helping someone with...

She dropped onto the bed, bounced once, and rolled off. “Clear!” she called up the slide, stretched her back, and opened the door into the main room.

Harry lay crumpled near the bathroom door.

Hissing words she hadn’t even known she knew, Ginny raced to his side. His skin was hot, she could feel it even before she touched him, and his knuckles were visibly swollen.

“He’s having a flare-up,” she said loudly. “He needs one of his potions.”

“What?” Ron checked in the doorway. “He’s here? ”

“I’d hardly know that if he weren’t!” Ginny snapped back. “Go get him one! They’re in his trunk—the stronger ones are to the right, he needs one of those—”

“I’ll get it,” Neville said from behind Ron.

“How did he get in here?” Ron hurried across the main room to where Harry lay. “Did Umbridge have him serving detention in the kitchens? I thought she wanted him in her office.”

“I don’t know, and right now, I don’t care,” Ginny said, letting her hand rest on Harry’s face. “He needs to be in bed, though. Or something like a bed.”

The room squirmed slightly under their feet, and Harry sank a little deeper into the floor where he lay, his head rising as the Den made him a pillow. Ron picked up the blanket that had appeared beside him, draping it over Harry. “There,” he said. “Good enough?”

“I think so.” Ginny wished for a moment that she had Meghan’s gift, to heal with a touch, to take Harry’s pain away and make him better in an instant...

“Something must have happened,” Ron said. “He wouldn’t have come to the Den unless he was in real trouble. I think I’m going to go find the twins. They know everything.”

“Find the rest of the Pride while you’re at it,” said Ginny, looking up. “Just a potion isn’t going to get Harry better right away, if he’s this bad. He’ll need people around to take care of him.”

Ron nodded and started for the red bedroom. Ginny watched him go. As soon as the door was shut behind him, she lifted the blanket over Harry. “How did you get all wet?” she wondered aloud, drawing her wand. “Was it part of the detention?” A charm Hermione had taught her started hot air blowing from her wand tip, and she began to play it over Harry, drying his clothes. “Or was it something else?”

Harry sighed in his sleep and relaxed a little, and Ginny smiled. Unbidden, Mrs. Danger’s words at the train station, years before, drifted back through her mind. “Alpha females don’t cry in public unless they can’t help it.” Was she trying to tell me...

She shook her head. No, that’s ridiculous. She can’t have meant that the way I thought she did back then. She was just trying to make me feel better.

A hand on Harry’s side found no moisture there. “A little help, please?” Ginny said aloud. “He needs to roll over.”

The floor bulged up beside Harry, rolling him gently to his other side. Ginny directed her jet of hot air at this side of her alpha, smiling at his endlessly messy hair, now even worse than usual. Lifting his glasses from his face, she tucked them into her pocket for safekeeping.

“You don’t get these back until I’m sure you need them,” she teased. “That way, I’ll always know where you are.”

Just as the last bit of water steamed out of Harry’s T-shirt and disappeared, Neville reappeared in the doorway of the red bedroom, clutching a vial. Meghan was right behind him. “Let me see,” she said, kneeling beside Harry. “Is he any better?”

“I got him dry.” Ginny put away her wand. “I have no idea how he got wet, but he’s dry now.”

“Perfect.” Meghan took out her own wand and accepted the potion from Neville. Her face creased in concentration as she tapped her wand against the glass, then traced Harry’s lips with its tip, murmuring a phrase. Slowly, the liquid in the vial began to disappear, and Harry swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving up and down as his throat worked.

Ginny found herself swallowing as she watched. This wasn’t how Harry should be. He hated lying around and letting other people take care of him—he always wanted to fight, to beat whatever was threatening, to take care of everyone else—

“There,” Meghan said, setting aside the empty vial. “But he needs to stay warm. It’ll help his body fight off the fever.”

“We can warm the room up,” said Neville.

“But then we’ll all be too hot.” Meghan looked at Ginny. One eyelid flickered shut so fast Ginny wasn’t sure she’d really seen it. “Ginny, do you think you could help?”

“H-how?” Ginny coughed to get rid of the unaccountable catch in her throat.

“You’re warm when you’re Lynx. You could curl up beside him, and I’ll put the blanket over you both.” Any silliness there might have been on Meghan’s face had vanished. “It would really help, Ginny. He needs to stay warm, so his body doesn’t get worn out trying to keep itself too hot. Please?”

“Yes.” It came out too fast, too strident. Ginny coughed again. “Yes, I’ll do that.” She changed faster than she ever had, to hide the blush she could feel starting to stain her face. Deliberately, she picked her way to Harry’s side and lay down beside him, curling up against his chest.

I’m going to help you get well, she thought towards him. Maybe I can’t heal you with just a touch, but I have other ways.

Softly, she began to purr.

xXxXx

Meghan draped the blanket over Ginny and Harry, then turned to face Neville. He was smiling. You see it too? she signed.

Neville’s fingers flew. I think everyone sees it except them. And even Ginny’s starting to see it now, but... He shook his head. Let’s go in there, he suggested, pointing towards the yellow bedroom. We can be private.

Meghan bounced towards the bedroom door. She liked privacy.

“Ginny knows she likes Harry a lot,” Neville said when the door was shut. “But she has no idea how much yet, I think. And she doesn’t know what’s going to happen when Harry finally figures out how he feels about her.”

“What?” Meghan asked curiously.

“Well, I only know myself, but...” Neville reached out and took her hand in his. “It was the best, and the scariest, feeling I’d ever had.”

“Why scariest?”

“Because there was someone who needed me, who wanted me, who believed in me.” Neville raised his head to meet her eyes. “Because I didn’t know if I could be good enough to be what she believed in.”

Meghan sighed. “We’ve been over this. You’re wonderful.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I say so, that’s why!” Meghan planted her free hand on her hip. “And I mean it!”

Neville laughed. “Yes, dear,” he said in a mock-submissive voice.

Meghan grinned and pulled herself in by their handgrip.

Submission, even mock submission, shouldn’t be wasted, after all.

xXxXx

Hermione pulled aside Draco’s bedcurtains with no announcement whatsoever. Luna looked up, startled, and Snow Fox yipped.

“Harry’s in trouble,” Hermione said, sitting down beside her friend. “Umbridge just expelled him from school.”

Snow Fox, trying to leap over to Ron’s bed, missed his landing and hit the floor hard as Draco. “Ow.”

“Can she do that?” Luna asked, leaning over to help Draco up. “I thought only Professor Dumbledore could do that.”

“Her new position means she can do what she wants,” Hermione said. “Dumbledore can’t stop her.”

“This is bad,” Draco said, wincing as he sat down on Ron’s bed. “Where’s he going to go? Back to Headquarters? That’s the only other safe place for him right now, and he’d go crazy stuck in there all year long without us around.”

Hermione grinned. “He’s not going anywhere,” she said. “Umbridge can’t expel what she can’t find. And Harry’s disappeared on her. She nearly tore Dumbledore’s office apart looking for him, and now she and Filch are looking through the rest of the school. The teachers are looking too—”

“But maybe not as hard as they could be,” Ron said, coming in.

Hermione sniffed. “Thank you for stealing my thunder.”

“You’re welcome. Here, have it back.” Ron pretended to toss something towards her.

“But where is he?” Luna asked. “You have to know, or you wouldn’t be so happy.”

Ron shut the door. “He’s down in the Den,” he said. “We don’t know how he got there, but Ginny found him there a little while ago. He was having a flare-up.”

Luna’s eyes widened in worry, and Draco cursed under his breath.

“He’ll be all right now,” Hermione said quickly. “Meghan got some of his potion into him, and he’s asleep. But he has to stay in the Den from now on, or Umbridge will catch him and expel him.”

Draco shook his head. “Of all the people to be under house arrest, it had to be Harry,” he said. “He can’t even sit still through a double period.”

“He has the Quidditch pitch, if he wants to fly or run,” Luna pointed out. “And he can go swimming in the bathroom.”

“That’s not the point.” Draco stood up and rubbed at a sore spot on his back. “Harry doesn’t always do well in enclosed spaces. He can handle it sometimes, but if he’s there for a long time, bad things might start happening.”

“We can sneak out at night and go running,” Hermione said. “We have the Invisibility Cloak, and Neville can make us all invisible for a little while if we need it. It’s classes that worry me. The whole reason for Harry to be here is so he can learn magic.”

“So we’ll take him our notes,” Ron said. “You’re a better teacher than half the professors anyway, Hermione. Anything he needs to learn, he can learn from us.”

“I hope so.” Hermione swallowed and thought hard of snow and chill and Christmas to keep the blood from reaching her cheeks.

“And I don’t think most of the professors like Professor Umbridge,” Luna put in. “They might not think it’s important enough to tell her if they’re still getting homework from a student who’s not in class anymore.”

Draco chuckled. “Harry’s not going to like that,” he said, and pulled a long face, imitating his brother’s voice. “‘What do you mean , I can’t play Quidditch but I still have to do my homework? That’s not fair!’”

“Welcome to our lives,” said Hermione dryly. “When was the last time anything was fair?”

xXxXx

Harry squirmed. Whatever was around him, it was too heavy, too tight, too hot. He needed to get out.

One arm made it free first. His face came up, and he gasped in air the way he had coming out of the bathtub earlier that day. Pulling his other arm free, he shook his head hard to rid himself of the sleepy feeling, then planted both hands on the floor and pushed, lifting himself entirely free of whatever-it-was all around him.

I’m still in the Den, so I guess the Pride found me. Either that or the house-elves.

He turned back to look at what he’d climbed out of and yelled in shock.

There was still a Harry Potter lying on the floor. He was breathing slowly and deeply, he was covered with a blanket, and something large and furry was nestled against his chest. Looking more closely, Harry could see the distinctive tipped ears of Lynx-Ginny.

So I’m lying on the floor with Ginny beside me. He wondered vaguely why that didn’t disturb him the way it should. But I’m also standing up and looking at myself. I can’t be dead—I’m breathing—so what is happening?

He recalled a discussion last year with the Pack-parents, talking about a talent related to Draco and Hermione’s dreamsculpting, something called astral travel—instead of making dream worlds in his own mind, he could travel to real places and see real things happen in his dreams—

I’ve done it before. Twice last year, and some other time—back in first year, when I wanted to see the Mirror of Erised! He caught his breath in surprise as he recalled this. I came to Hogwarts while I was asleep, and I looked in the Mirror, but it didn’t show me anything I wanted. It just showed me...me.

But that didn’t matter now. What mattered was, he knew now what it felt like to climb out of his body. As that body looked very comfortable where it was, and Harry’s last memories of being in it were not, he wasn’t too eager to get back in.

“I’ll do it eventually,” he said aloud, just to make sure he could talk like this. “But not right now.”

He looked down at his hands and was unsurprised to see them paler than usual, semi-translucent, and vaguely luminescent. “I wonder if I glow in the dark?”

Deciding to check this out, he wandered over to the bathroom door. I can look in the mirror while I’m at it. See what I look like all over.

He reached for the handle of the door—

And his hand went through it.

Thrown off balance, Harry stumbled forward, bracing himself for pain—

Which never arrived.

Oh. Right. Stupid.

If I can’t touch the handle, the door can’t touch me either.

Floors were still solid, Harry discovered, but soft. He hadn’t hurt himself at all falling.

And he did indeed glow in the dark.

He grinned at his ghostly reflection in the mirror. “This is going to be fun,” he said.

Further experimentation proved that walls were also solid-but-soft, while doors he could walk through at will. Makes sense. People walk through doors all the time—just not usually while they’re closed!

He stepped into the green bedroom and looked at the empty frame on the wall. “Alex?” he said tentatively.

“Harry?” answered Alex’s voice.

“You can hear me?”

“You’re talking.” Alex stepped into his frame, his usually neat green robes spotted with white. “Oh, you’re running around without your body on. I wondered when you’d get around to figuring that one out.”

“What’s that stuff on you?” Harry asked, pointing.

Alex made a face. “You don’t want to know.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you really don’t. Trust me on this.” Alex pulled his robes off over his head and snapped his fingers, making them disappear. “I didn’t even want to know what it was.”

“I didn’t know you knew how to dress Muggle,” Harry said, looking with interest at the jeans and T-shirt Alex was wearing now.

“It’s a bit of a new thing. Hard to explain. Maybe next summer.” Alex sat down and pulled his wand from his pocket. “I need some new robes, and you need to go see what else you can find out with this, so shoo. Don’t stand here talking to me all day. I’m not that interesting.”

“I’ll remember that.” Harry started for the door, then turned around as he remembered a question he’d had. “How do I get out of the Den?”

“You can use any of the exits just like you normally would,” Alex said, sketching in the air with his wand. “You don’t even have to say the password. Bathroom exit is in the bathtub, but I think you already figured that out.”

Harry rolled his eyes and stepped out through the bedroom door.

“Where have I already been?” he said aloud, pointing at the doors as he named them. “Bathroom, green bedroom, yellow bedroom, Quidditch pitch...”

Behind him, one of the doors opened. Harry whirled in surprise.

Draco stepped out of the library, talking to someone behind him. “—just have to make sure we don’t give anything away. If Umbridge ever found out about this—”

“I don’t think she could get in anyway,” said Hermione. “We could lock the entrances against her to make sure, if we want.”

Luna shook her head. “You can’t lock the entrances against someone,” she said. “You can only—”

Her eyes fell on Harry, and she stopped as though her feet were made of lead.

“Luna?” said Hermione tentatively. “What’s wrong?”

Harry shook his head, seeing a terrible fear dawning in Luna’s eyes. “I’m all right,” he said quickly. “I’m not dead. I can go back any time I want. If I was a ghost, everyone could see me, right?”

Luna nodded, her hand against her chest. “You scared me,” she whispered.

“Sorry.” Harry pointed at himself. “Have a look. I’m breathing, my heart’s beating. I’m even still connected. Look.” He lifted the silvery cord he’d discovered when he’d looked at himself in the mirror, which was wrapped around his left wrist and disappeared into his body’s back. “This is just something I can do, like Draco can make dreams or Ron can fix things.”

“Luna, who are you talking to?” Draco asked nervously.

“Harry,” Luna said, starting to smile. “He’s practicing walking around without his body.”

“What? ”

Draco, the closest, dropped to one knee. “He’s breathing,” he said quickly.

“Yes, he’s just fine,” Luna said, now smiling broadly. “But I think he’s having fun. Are you?” she asked Harry.

“Loads. What’s going on in the rest of the castle? And could you ask Hermione please not to look like she’s choking?”

“Hermione, Harry says please don’t look like you’re choking,” Luna dutifully repeated.

Hermione sat down where she stood. “Give me a minute,” she said shakily. “I remember now. It’s called astral travel, or out-of-body work. Muggle-born and half-blood wizards are usually better at it, and at dreamsculpting. Danger told me about it. But I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Nor was I,” said Harry, sitting down beside his sister. “Wish I could tell you that myself...”

A thought came to him. Gently, he placed his hand atop hers.

The two meshed together, and Hermione shivered.

“Can you hear me?” Harry said aloud.

“Harry?” Hermione looked around. “It’s like...Luna, is he talking to me?”

Luna nodded. “He’s sitting right next to you,” she said. “He has his hand in yours.”

“In mine?” Hermione lifted her hand to look at it doubtfully.

“Well, not now,” said Luna. “You moved.”

“Sorry.” Hermione quickly returned her hand to its place. “Now?”

“Yes.”

“I wanted to tell you I wasn’t expecting this either,” Harry said aloud, letting his forearm merge with Hermione’s as well. “None of it. Not Umbridge trying to expel me, not Dumbledore helping me get away, not the flare-up, not climbing out of my body...this has probably been the craziest hour I’ve ever had in my life.”

“I think I understood you, Harry,” Hermione said, her eyes closed. “You said you didn’t expect any of this, and it was crazy. Am I close?”

“Yes,” Luna said. “He said more than that, but you understood most of it.”

“How about me?” Draco asked, holding out a hand. “Think it will work?”

“Only one way to find out,” Harry said. Pulling away from Hermione, he changed into Wolf and trotted towards Draco. And now I know I can change in this form too. Good things to know, all of them.

Draco, too, could hear a vague echo of Harry’s voice when Harry was partly merged with him. “It’s not exact,” he said. “More like talking when we’re all in form. You get the basic ideas of things, but not too much else.”

“That’ll do,” Harry said. “Now, what’s going on in the rest of the castle?”

“The teachers are all looking for you, but most of them aren’t looking too hard,” Draco said. “Umbridge is tearing the place apart—she’s pissed at Dumbledore, but she can’t prove he had anything to do with you disappearing. How did that happen, anyway?”

“The entrance to the Den in the bathroom,” Harry said, Luna echoing him. “It comes down from Dumbledore’s office.” He grinned. “The bathtub fills up to break your fall.”

Hermione laughed when Luna relayed this. “That sounds like Helga,” she said. “You know how she’s always threatening to throw Paul and Adam in the lake if they call her ‘Gaga’ again.” Her face turned awed. “Oh my. I just realized what I said.”

“What did you say?” Draco asked.

“I’m talking about one of the Founders of Hogwarts by her first name.” Hermione shook her head. “Talking to my brother who is, to look at him, asleep over there with one of my best friends curled up against him wearing fur. And I’m sitting in a place that shouldn’t exist.”

“Two places,” Luna put in. “Muggles think Hogwarts doesn’t exist, and wizards don’t know about the Den.”

“Hermione Granger-Lupin,” Harry said in his best announcer voice, “this is your life!”

Hermione glared through Harry. “If you just said what I think you just said, Harry Potter, I’m going to hit you when you wake up.”

“Why wait?” Harry pulled away and darted out of reach, habit taking over before he remembered she couldn’t hit him in this form.

This is even better than I thought.

xXxXx

Ron, Meghan, and Neville arrived later, having been detailed to cover the Pride’s tracks in Gryffindor Tower. Ron was laughing, Meghan couldn’t seem to stop giggling, and Neville wore a broad grin.

“What is so funny?” Hermione asked, hugging her sister.

“You should have been there,” said Ron, sitting down. “Umbridge tried to climb through the portrait hole and got stuck.”

Draco doubled up laughing, and Luna covered her mouth.

“That’s not funny,” Hermione said sternly, but Harry could see her lips trying not to curve upwards. “She could have been hurt.”

“She got unstuck,” Neville said. “Then she sent Filch in to search Gryffindor Tower for Harry. He decided to start with the girls’ dorms.”

Meghan danced around her boyfriend. “And he didn’t know about the stairs!” she sang out. “He didn’t know, and he tried to go up, and he slid back down!”

Now Hermione did laugh.

“McGonagall eventually came in to check in the girls’ dorms,” Ron said. “Though she told Umbridge point-blank she didn’t think there was any way you could be there. And Filch checked the boys’, and they both looked through the bathrooms.”

“Dumbledore’s not telling anyone anything,” Neville took over again. “He’s just walking around smiling and looking mysterious. McGonagall knows, or I think she does—I saw her looking at the fireplace a few times, and she didn’t seem really worried like she would be if a student was actually missing.”

“That makes sense,” said Hermione. “She’s a Pack-friend, after all, so she deserves to know—oh, no!” She looked stricken. “No one’s told the Pack-parents—they’re going to think Harry’s missing!”

“I’m sure Dumbledore took care of it, Hermione,” Harry said, forgetting she couldn’t hear him. “He wouldn’t forget something like that.”

Luna repeated this, and Hermione’s panicked look subsided.

“Besides, Percy sent me a note the night before we left for school,” Ron added. “He said not to write anything in our letters home we didn’t want the Ministry to read, and not to try firecalling at all. They’re watching our letters and the Floo Network.”

Hermione smiled smugly. “Yes, but are they watching these?” She dug in her pocket and pulled out her Zippophone.

“I don’t know,” said Ron, holding out his hand. “Can I see that?”

“Don’t break it,” Hermione warned, handing it over. “It was a gift.”

“I know.” Ron carefully pried the back off the Zippophone and bent over it. “This goes here,” he muttered, “and that goes there, and this goes back and forth here...” He looked up. “I think it should be safe,” he said, sliding the back into place again. “It looks like it makes a direct connection to whatever fire you’re talking to.”

“So we’ll just call one of the Pack-parents’ Zippos,” said Draco, taking back the Zippophone and handing it to Hermione. “We shouldn’t call the main fire in Headquarters—it’s on the Floo Network, even if it is under Fidelius right now. No reason to push our luck.”

Hermione flipped the lighter open, engaged the catch, and spoke into it. “Remus Lupin.”

A moment, then Moony’s voice spoke from within the flame. “Lupin here.”

“Moony, it’s Hermione.”

“Hello, Kitten, is something wrong?”

“Not exactly...”

“Spit it out, Hermione,” said Danger’s voice.

Hermione sighed. “Have you heard anything about Harry?”

“No, we haven’t heard anything about Harry,” said Moony, “unless you’re calling to tell us something about Harry. Where is he?”

“He’s here. He’s all right, he just had a flare-up earlier today. He’s sleeping now, sort of.”

“Sort of?” Danger repeated.

“He’s practicing that thing you told him about,” Draco said. “Astral travel, was it?”

“Playing ghost, is he?” Moony sounded amused. “Tell him to have fun.”

“He heard you,” Luna called, smiling at Harry’s broad grin and thumbs up. “He says he is.”

“Of course,” said Moony under his breath. “But that’s not everything you called about, is it?”

“No...” Hermione looked around doubtfully. “I don’t even know what really happened,” she said. “Do any of you?”

Harry sighed. “Tell them to hold on a moment?” he said to Luna. “I don’t know how long this will take.”

“Harry’s going to try to go back into his body,” Luna said aloud. “He doesn’t know how long it will take, but he’ll try to be quick about it.”

Harry lay down overlapping his own body, drew a deep breath, and concentrated on merging.

He was sinking, falling, being drawn into something too heavy and too hot for him—

No, this is right. This is where I belong.

His eyelids were heavy, but they opened at his command, and he gently scooted Lynx away from him. “I’m awake,” he croaked. “I’m all right.”

Meghan darted in to hug him, kissing his throat on the way. “You are,” she said thankfully. “It’s all gone back to where it was.”

“Harry?” Moony’s voice sounded half-worried, half-amused. “We’ve just had an owl here. Something about you being expelled...”

Harry groaned.

“This had better be good,” Padfoot’s voice put in. “James and I used to get suspended, but we never got expelled. What did you do?”

“I said I wouldn’t write lines for Umbridge.” Harry sat up, let the room stop spinning around him, and accepted the Zippo from Hermione.

“What happened to behaving well this year?” Letha asked acerbically.

“She wanted me to use a Contract Quill.”

The Pride stared at him. Harry had no doubt that on the other end of the connection, the Pack-parents were staring at the Zippo.

“She wanted you to write lines in blood? ” Padfoot blurted finally.

“I’ve got the line on my hand where I tried it out,” said Harry, holding up his hand so the Pride could see. “And she said I didn’t need any ink, and gave me another night’s detention when I asked why not.”

“Did you tell Albus that?” Danger asked.

“I didn’t get a chance, but I didn’t need to.” Harry grinned. “You won’t believe what he helped me do.”

“Will we want to?” asked Letha.

“Probably. It’s a good thing.”

“I can deal with a good thing after this, I think.” Moony chuckled. “Go on, tell us.”

xXxXx

When everything had been explained and everyone had stopped laughing, the Pack-parents had some advice for Harry. “Just sit tight,” Danger said. “I know you won’t like it, but you’re safer there in the Den than you are even here at Headquarters.”

“And now that you can step out, you could go to classes,” Letha put in. “You couldn’t take notes, or practice the spells, but you’ll be there.”

“He never takes notes anyway,” said Hermione. “He just copies mine later.”

“And we can help him practice the spells,” Draco said. “We can come down here and do our homework, and we’ll work together.”

“Now, for the other side of it.” Padfoot chortled. “Harry, you do realize what an opportunity you’ve got here, don’t you?”

“You mean to spread mayhem and chaos?” Harry said innocently. “No, I never thought of it.”

Everyone laughed. “That’s my boy,” said Padfoot. “You’re officially missing, you’ve got an Invisibility Cloak, and you can turn into Wolf if you need to. You could do anything, Harry. Anything. ”

“We’ve got lots of Fred and George’s stuff, too,” Ron added. “Harry can use anything of mine he wants.”

“Mine, too,” said Neville, a second before the general chorus.

“Just don’t get caught,” Moony warned. “If you do, there’s no telling what Umbridge will do. She’s a vengeful woman, and she has a lot of power there.”

“I won’t,” Harry promised. “And I have an idea for the first thing I’ll do.”

Moony sighed. “Do I want to know about it?”

“Probably not.”

“Then don’t tell me. Just do it, and don’t get hurt.”

“I won’t.”

After goodbyes all around, Hermione shut the lid on her Zippo. “So what are you going to do?” she asked, looking at Harry.

“I’ll tell you in a minute.” Harry stood up and stretched, carefully not looking at Ginny, who had resumed human form at some point during the conversation. “Neville, can you cover me for a few minutes?”

“Where are you going?”

“Dumbledore’s office. I need to borrow something from him.”

xXxXx

Dolores Jane Umbridge marched through the halls of Hogwarts, her arms folded across her chest. How dared that wretched boy escape her? How dared he run from his just fate? She would find him, and when she did, he would know what it meant to defy her...

A sudden flare of light behind her made her whirl.

He was there. Standing before her, holding a naked sword in his hand, a sword which flickered with flames as red as the jewels in its hilt. “Beware,” he said coldly. “You are not wanted here, and I will not let you stay.”

Dolores quavered, then found control of herself. “You have no power over me,” she said, reaching for her wand. “You have no—”

The boy in front of her made no motion, but her wand flew from her hand and clattered against the wall.

“You are not welcome,” Harry Potter repeated, raising the sword higher. “You are not wanted. And by this sword of my ancestor Godric Gryffindor, I will drive you out of this castle!”

And he vanished, as suddenly and thoroughly as though a cloak had been thrown over him.

Dolores stood trembling in her place.

Things had just taken a turn she hadn’t anticipated.





Facing Danger

Chapter 10: Trapped (Year 5)


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.”





Facing Danger

Chapter 11: Breakfast and Beginnings (Year 5)


Chapter 11: Breakfast and Beginnings

Dolores Umbridge crept out of her quarters cautiously on Sunday morning, clutching her wand close.

I was just imagining Potter that day, she told herself. He can’t actually have appeared to me with a flaming sword. It was my imagination. He can’t be in the castle any more—Argus and I have searched everywhere, and there’s no sign of him.

Odd how blasé his parents seemed to be about the whole thing. They’d been contacted, of course, about his expulsion and his going missing, but hadn’t responded as Dolores had half-thought they would, judging by past experience. A bland letter with the general tone of ‘oh, that’s a shame, find him if you can’ had arrived the next day, and nothing more had been heard from them.

The bright morning sunlight streaming in through the windows began to calm Dolores’ nerves. Who drove Harry Potter out of school with hardly any trouble? Who has him excoriated in the press as a mad fool who’s deserted the safest place for him? Why, that would be myself.

The thought buoyed her so much that she stopped looking around every corner and searching every cross-corridor, and in fact began to strut down the halls as though she owned the castle.

Which I do. Or will within a short period of time. Dumbledore is fading fast. It won’t be long before I can catch him in a mistake from which there will be no extracting himself, and then I will be Headmistress, and the castle will be mine.

Her good mood lasted down the stairs and into the Great Hall, up to the staff table and through cereal and toast.

Then the doors of the Great Hall burst open with a very dramatic chord.

Three hundred heads turned as one.

“Nobody expects the Hogwarts Inquisition!” shouted a small, plump, heavily-made-up figure in hot pink robes, swishing into the Hall. “Our main weapon is surprise, surprise and double-talk—two, our two main weapons are double-talk and surprise, surprise and double-talk, and an almost fanatical devotion to the current administration—three, our three main weapons are surprise, double-talk, an almost fanatical devotion to the current administration, and our pretty pink Alice bands—ah spit.”

It turned and sashayed out of the Hall, and the doors slammed shut behind it.

Silence reigned for an instant. Then laughter erupted simultaneously at four or five different points. It spread like dragon pox through the room, until it seemed that all the students were laughing. Even some of the teachers were hiding smiles.

Laughing. Smiling. At me.

“Quiet!” Dolores shouted. “Be quiet!”

The laughter continued.

Dumbledore got to his feet and waved his wand once. A lion’s roar stopped the noise instantly. “Thank you,” he said into the silence. “Now, if I might—”

“Headmaster, I demand that the doors be locked!” Dolores shouted, jumping to her feet. “Lock the doors, and count the students. The one who is not here is the one behind this, this insult !”

“A fair request,” Dumbledore said gravely. “Argus, Minerva, Severus, if you would.”

Dolores seated herself, trembling with rage and anticipation.

Whoever that was, they will pay for this. And if no student is absent, then I have proof positive that Harry Potter has not left Hogwarts, and that he is quite mad. What other reason could he have for baiting me thus?

xXxXx

Minerva moved slowly up the Hall along the Gryffindor table, ticking names off her mental list as she went. Jordan, Jordan, Weasley, Weasley, Weasley, Weasley­ —though Ginny Weasley seemed to be asleep against Neville Longbottom’s shoulder—Longbottom, Black, Black, Granger-Lupin, Lovegood, Brown, Finnegan, Patil, Thomas...

She reached the end of the table and stepped up to the dais. “All present and accounted for, Albus, except for our one missing.”

“Who is that?” Umbridge demanded greedily, leaning forward. “Who?”

“Harry Potter,” Minerva said, feeling an unaccountable urge to laugh in the woman’s face. “As you undoubtedly know, Dolores, he has been missing for several days.”

“Well, then—”

“However,” Minerva cut the other woman off, “I frankly doubt he was our mysterious prankster. For one thing, where would he have found the supplies he needed? For another, if he is safely in hiding, why would he risk himself by emerging for such a silly stunt?”

And for a third, that was not Harry’s voice. Not even Harry’s voice when he is playacting. She had happened across the Pride several times while they were entertaining themselves, and Harry, though quite capable of throwing his voice into the upper register, could never have managed the shrill tones this prankster had used.

“Are all your students present?” Albus asked Severus, Pomona, and Filius.

“Of course.” “I counted them twice.” “Yes indeed.”

“Dolores, I do not know what to tell you,” Albus said solemnly. “It seems your persecutor has somehow evaded our grasp.”

“Harry Potter did this,” Dolores said certainly. “He is trying to discredit me, to make me look like a fool in front of the school—I won’t have it, I tell you, I won’t have it!”

Why should Harry bother to make you look like a fool, Minerva wondered sardonically, when you do such a good job on your own?

Severus covered a cough with one hand. Startled, Minerva looked over and caught half a smile on his usually dour face.

Dear heavens. Something we agree on. I never thought I would see the day.

But that still leaves a question unanswered.

Who was that mysterious woman, anyway?

xXxXx

One of the kitchen cabinets in the Hogwarts Den opened, and Ginny Weasley tumbled out of it, red-faced under her makeup and laughing. Harry jumped up to help her to her feet. “How did it go?” he asked.

“Perfectly.” Ginny half-fell into the chair Harry had vacated, fanning herself with the edge of the pink robes. “No one knew who I was, and Umbridge was turning interesting colors before I’d even got to the bit about fanatical devotion to the current administration. Help me out of these? They’re awfully hot.”

“Of course.” Harry undid the back of the padded robes and pulled them forward, letting Ginny slip her arms out of the holes cut for them. “What happened next?”

“I heard people laughing, but I didn’t stay to hear anything else. I’d imagine they took a nose count, though.” Ginny smiled, her eyes shut. “It’s a good thing Neville can make people think I’m there when I’m not.”

“Yes. Good thing.” Harry set aside the padded robes and busied himself at the stove, rather than paying attention to Ginny, who was wearing only a T-shirt and thin leggings. She can take care of herself. And she’ll want something to drink. And I shouldn’t be staring. I shouldn’t even want to be staring—I like Cho, remember?

The thought of Cho gave him his usual jolt of excitement, but it quickly dulled. Cho probably thinks I’m as mad as Umbridge says I am. I didn’t even get a chance to see her before I had to hide down here. I wonder if she’d keep my secret if I came out and told her where I am? I wonder if she’d like the Den?

“You don’t have water hot for tea by any chance, do you?” Ginny murmured

“It’s almost up. Just wait a second.” Harry turned the burner under the teakettle higher and pursued his last train of thought, which had chugged off without him. Cho in the Den. Why does that seem wrong somehow? Why do I think she wouldn’t care for it?

Cho’s a very lawful person. She likes things to work by the rules. And me hiding off in the Den like this is very much outside the rules. Harry rummaged in the cupboard for a pair of teacups and saucers and some tea bags. There even being a Den is outside the rules. She wouldn’t like it at all.

The kettle whistled. Harry picked it up and filled the cups. “Here you are,” he said, carrying the cups to the table by their saucers. “Take your pick.”

“Well...” Ginny opened her eyes and grinned at him. “I’m not a great fool,” she said in a nasal voice, “so I can clearly not choose the tea in front of you. But you must have known I was not a great fool; you would have counted on it, so I can clearly not choose the tea in front of me...”

Harry laughed. “Just don’t chase me around going ‘Umbridge, Umbridge, Umbridge’,” he said, setting down one of the teacups in front of her.

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” Ginny picked up her tea and blew on it. “You’re not Miracle Max anyway.”

“Who am I, then? Westley?”

“Maybe. Or maybe you’re Inigo Montoya.”

Harry laughed. “I can see it now,” he said. “I walk up to Voldemort, and...” He set down his tea and stood up, adopting a Spanish accent and a heroic pose. “Hello. My name is Harry Potter. You killed my father. And my mother. Prepare to die.”

Ginny almost fell out of her chair laughing. “Dare you to do it,” she got out through her giggles. “Next time you meet him.”

“I’ll think about it.” Harry sighed, abruptly sobered by the very real thought of Voldemort. “I don’t know, Ginny. I just don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?” Ginny took a deep breath to get herself under control and dipped her tea bag up and down a few times.

“I don’t know if I can do this. Any of this. I don’t even know if I can make it through today—who am I to be the ‘hope of the wizarding world’?” Harry sat down. “I have no idea what I’m doing. At all.”

“I don’t think anyone does, really,” Ginny said contemplatively, taking the tea bag out of her cup and setting it on the saucer. “Mum always says life is what happens in the meantime, in between the big important things. So this is life, right here, right now.” She took a sip of her tea. “And I rather like it.”

Harry removed his own teabag. “You’re right,” he said. “Your mum’s right.”

“She usually is. It gets annoying.” Ginny drew her wand and aimed it at herself, murmuring a charm to remove her thick makeup. “There. Much better.”

Harry pulled out his own wand to Summon the plate of tea cakes he’d made the night before. “Have one?” he asked. “I know you missed breakfast.”

“They look delicious.” Ginny picked one up and took a bite. “Taste good, too,” she said around it.

“Thank you.” Harry broke a cake in half, just to be companionable. I can’t let myself get into the habit of eating too much when I get bored. I’ll lose my edge.

“So Ron says the Room of Requirement seems like exactly what we need,” said Ginny, breaking the silence. “When do you think we should first meet?”

“Why are you asking me? Never mind, I know.” Harry held up a hand to forestall Ginny’s answer. “I’m the alpha. I’m in charge. But I was ten when I said I’d do that, and a lot’s changed since then...”

“Not you,” said Ginny. “Or you have, but not in a way that would make you a bad leader.”

“It might help if the leader had some idea where he was going.”

“To the end of the war. To beating Voldemort and the Death Eaters and letting everyone live normally again.”

“Normally.” Harry looked into his tea, halfheartedly wishing he’d taken Divination so he could see his future in the patterns of his tea leaves. Of course, it would help if I hadn’t used tea bags. “Do you ever wonder what it would be like to live normally? If there was no Pride, no war, no Voldemort, and we’d both grown up and gone off to Hogwarts that way?”

“We might not ever have met, then,” Ginny said. “I’m sure we wouldn’t be as good of friends. We’d probably know each other through Ron, and maybe through Quidditch, but we wouldn’t be able to sit and talk like this.”

“That’s true.” Harry looked up and smiled at her. “And I like this.”

An odd and familiar feeling tried to rise within him. Hurriedly, he sat on it. No you don’t. She’s my Pridemate, nothing more.

“I like it too.” Ginny rested her elbows on the edge of the table and put her chin in her hands. “But you got off the question. When should we have our first meeting of the Anti-Umbridge League?”

Harry laughed. “First things first. We can’t call it that.”

“Aww.” Ginny pouted. “Why not?”

“Unless you lot want to get kicked out of school too.”

“And spend all day down here with you?” Ginny batted her eyelashes outrageously. “What a terrible fate.”

“I’d chase you around the Quidditch pitch all day if you did,” Harry said without thinking about how it sounded.

Ginny’s eyes widened. “Harry!”

“Not like that—agh!” Harry pressed his hands against his burning cheeks. “Don’t do that to me!”

“Don’t do it to your own self,” Ginny retorted. “What were you saying about not being able to call it the Anti-Umbridge League?”

“We need a real name for it.” Harry stood up and started pacing around the kitchen, concentrating on his feet rather than his face. “Something we can say in casual conversation—well, not me, but the rest of you. A name you can mention without Umbridge knowing right off the bat that you’re up to no good. Because you just know that if she gets wind of this, she’ll do whatever she can to stop it.”

“Right.” Ginny took another bite of tea cake. “It’s all about Defense Against the Dark Arts. Why not call it something about Defense?”

“The Defense Association,” Harry said. “Or just the DA for short. She can’t know anything’s wrong from just two letters.”

“Why the DA?” Ginny asked curiously. “Something special about that?”

Harry grinned. “Because it could stand for something else, too. I went walking last night and heard Umbridge talking to herself. Do you know why she’s here?”

“Because Fudge wants to keep an eye on Dumbledore?”

“Yes, but why does he?”

Ginny shrugged. “I don’t know, why does he?”

“Because he’s afraid of us,” Harry said, flinging his arms out wide. “He’s afraid we’ll turn into an army.”

“We will,” said Ginny in a ‘you’re being rather thick’ tone. “Eventually. Against Voldemort.”

“But Fudge doesn’t believe Voldemort’s back. He thinks we’ll be coming for him .”

Ginny snorted. “Why would we bother?”

“Good question. But he thinks he’s important, so he’s afraid of Dumbledore’s army...” Harry let the last word trail off suggestively.

“Oh.” Ginny traced the two letters on the tabletop. “DA. I like that.”

“Thanks. And I think we should have our first meeting...what about tomorrow after dinner? Is that too soon?”

Ginny frowned, thinking about it. “We’ll have to hustle to tell everyone, but I think we could manage it.”

“Good.” Harry took another bite of tea cake, and got a whiff of curiosity from Ginny’s direction. “People won’t have too much homework yet for the week,” he explained through his mouthful, “and I don’t think any of the Quidditch teams have practice.” He swallowed and scowled. “Not that I’d know.”

“Don’t make me come over there.”

“You couldn’t even catch me.”

Ginny shoved her chair back, and Harry’s eyes widened. Wolf dashed out the kitchen door yelping in alarm, Lynx hot on his trail.

xXxXx

“I feel sorry for Minister Fudge,” said Luna as she, Draco, and Meghan walked up the stairs towards the seventh floor.

“Why?” Meghan asked, dancing backward a few steps with excitement.

“Because one person couldn’t possibly be as horrible as he is on purpose. You know how he keeps trying to have the goblin leaders assassinated so he can take over Gringotts, or how he’s secretly paying centaurs to tip their arrows with Love Potions so that people will be too busy plotting against each other to pay attention to him?”

“Now we do,” Draco said diplomatically. “What about it?”

“Well, I think he’s been infested.” Luna peered around, then lowered her voice. “With Polyticks.”

Meghan looked suitably impressed. “What’re those?”

“They’re swarms of little bloodsucking insects. Once they latch onto you, they bite you and inject their venom so they can keep sucking out your blood forever. The venom makes you want to talk for a long time without saying anything, and get power over other people by making everything so complicated they don’t know what to do, and do almost anything, even really terrible things, to keep your power.”

“Fudge isn’t the only one, then,” Draco said as they came abreast of the tapestry featuring the tutu-wearing trolls. “I think Umbridge has them even worse. Is there any way to get them off?”

“I’ll have to write Daddy and ask. Maybe he knows.” Luna began to pace back and forth. “We want to be in the room where Harry’s waiting,” she murmured. “We want to get in to be with Harry and learn how to fight.”

“There!” Meghan dashed across the hall and pulled open the door which had appeared. “Here we are!” she cried happily, darting into the room. “Here we are, here we are!”

“Here you are, here you are,” Harry teased, intercepting her running hug. “Aren’t I the wrong one to be hugging that way?”

“No.” Meghan grinned cheekily. “I hug you like that. I hug him like this .” She turned to Neville, who had been sitting beside Hermione listening to her read aloud, and plopped herself onto his lap, insinuating her arms under his and laying her head against his shoulder.

“She’s not twelve,” Harry said to Ron. “Not even close.”

“Twelve going on twenty-two?” Ron suggested.

“Probably.”

“You’re just jealous,” Neville said complacently, adjusting Meghan’s weight on his lap.

“Jealous?” Harry sputtered slightly. “That’s my sister!”

The rest of the Pride laughed. Luna, nearest the door, blinked halfway through a giggle. “More people,” she announced. “Harry, hide.”

Harry slid into a convenient corner just as the door opened, revealing Ginny. Behind her came Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown, Colleen Lamb, Fred and George, Angelina, Alicia, and Katie, the Creevey brothers both wide eyed with excitement, Natalie McDonald (who ran straight to Meghan), Lee Jordan, a younger female version of him hand in hand with Dean Thomas, and a sixth year girl Draco knew only on sight. She had honey-colored skin and a mass of dark hair cascading around anxious almond-shaped brown eyes, and she reminded him slightly of someone, but he couldn’t think who.

“Hi,” she said a little nervously, coming over to him. “I’m Maya Pritchard. You’re Draco Black, aren’t you?”

“That’s me.” Draco shook her hand. “Pritchard—any relation to—”

“Graham’s my cousin. Our dads are brothers.” Maya made a face. “I wish I was his sister instead. Why I had to get stuck with the snob-act branch of the family...”

“Family doesn’t have to define you forever. Trust me on this.”

Maya laughed a little. “I suppose you would know.”

“Dean, who’s the girl?” Ron was saying behind them.

“Lindsey Jordan, Lee’s sister,” Dean introduced her. “She’s Ginny’s year, I thought you might know her already.”

“We tend to keep ourselves to ourselves,” said Ginny, shutting the door. “And Ron wouldn’t know a fork from a spoon unless they were right under his nose.”

“Oi!”

Lindsey laughed. “This from the girl who can’t recall where she left her Potions notes,” she said. “Call me Lindz, everybody does.”

“How come we’ve never seen you two together before?” Hermione asked with interest.

Dean looked as though he’d like to shrink. “We’re just friends, really we are...”

Ron gave a loud false cough.

“As though you’re any better, Ronniekins,” said Fred, turning from examining one of the bookshelves.

“It’s not for lack of interest, either,” George added, grinning.

“There are loads of girls eyeing you. Weasleys are irresistible.”

“Now if you’d just get off your duff and notice them...”

“Weasleys are irresistible, really now?” said Angelina smoothly. “Is that why you broke up with George, Alicia?”

“We were never really together in the first place,” Alicia said, shaking her head. “I went with him to the Yule Ball out of pity, because he couldn’t get a date to save his life. What about you and Fred?”

Angelina looked over the twins, who were visibly cringing now as the rest of the room snickered. “It’s always a little disconcerting not to know exactly who you’re kissing,” she said. “And it’s not as if he was particularly good at it, anyway.”

Snickers increased to chuckles and guffaws. George covered his face with his hands and moaned. Fred leaned against the wall—

And disappeared into it with a yelp.

Ron recovered enough from his laughing fit to reach in and haul his brother back out. “Have to be careful,” he warned when he could get enough breath to speak. “This room gives you whatever you think you need.”

“No kidding,” said Lee, grabbing George by his shoulder and hauling him up out of the floor, where he had begun to sink. “Lay off them for right now, how about.”

A knock sounded on the door, and Parvati, who was closest, opened it. “Padma!” she squeaked happily. “You came!”

“And I brought friends,” Parvati’s twin answered from outside. “Is there enough room in there?”

“There will be,” said Luna, stepping back from the door. “Everyone come in.”

Draco backed up to the wall, watching Ravenclaws flood into the room. “Are you sure about this?” he asked out the side of his mouth. “There’s a lot of people here—”

“Don’t have much choice now, do I?” Harry answered. “Everyone here is another person who might not think I’m mad. Another person who might be able to fight with us when the fighting starts.”

“You’re right.” Draco turned back to the room and started counting. The Pride was eight, and fifteen other Gryffindors had shown up, so that made—

“Twenty-three.”

“Was I talking aloud again?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry.” Now Padma Patil had arrived, accompanied by Terry Boot and two of his friends, a tall blonde girl at whom both the twins were staring appreciatively, a redhead with a confident air, a small Asian girl who looked somewhat familiar, and right behind her—

“Harry, stay where you are, but Cho Chang’s here. And she brought a friend.” A curly-haired girl who looked apprehensive had entered the room behind Cho. “That’s nine Ravenclaws. Thirty-two already, and we’ve only had two Houses show.”

“Thanks,” Harry said sarcastically. “I could never have added twenty-three and nine on my own. And I’m going to leap right out into the middle of the room because you told me Cho Chang’s here. Who cares about Cho Chang?”

“You do. Or have you finally got your head on straight?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing—” Draco smiled charmingly at the small Asian girl, who had fixed him with a piercing stare. “I have to shut up now,” he hissed without moving his lips. “Someone’s noticing. I’ll be back.”

He started towards the middle of the room, catching introductions as he went—the tall blonde was Danielle, the redhead was Amanda, Cho’s friend was Marietta, Boot’s mates were Anthony Goldstein and Michael Corner—probably just as well Harry can’t see the way he’s looking at Ginny, he’d have a fit for all he claims he’s still interested in Cho— and the girl who’d noticed him talking to Harry was Su Li.

“I met Harry Potter on the platform coming to school,” she said, shaking his hand politely. “My brother introduced us. I think you know him too. Brian Li.”

“Of course.”

“Between you and me, some of this lot don’t want to be here,” Su said quietly, nodding over her shoulder at her Housemates. “Corner’s just here because he knew Ginny Weasley would be, and he’s been trying to figure out how to get her interested in him ever since the play last year. And Marietta only came because Cho didn’t want to come alone.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Who were you talking to up there?”

Draco smiled nonchalantly. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

Another knock sounded on the door. “Maybe in a minute,” Draco said thankfully, turning to see who this was.

“Are we too late?” said Ernie Macmillan, sticking his head around the door.

“No, you’re just on time,” said Hermione, smiling and beckoning him in. “We didn’t have any set starting time, we’re not really organized yet...”

Draco clenched a fist inside his pocket as Zacharias Smith followed Ernie into the room. Insult me again, I dare you...

Justin Finch-Fletchley was next, a blonde girl a year or so younger than him on his arm. “This is Heidi,” he said, nodding to her. “She’s only a fourth year; I hope that’s all right.”

Ginny turned at this. “It had better be!” she called over the crowd noise.

“I told you so,” Heidi said to Justin. “You shouldn’t worry so much.”

Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott slipped through the door together, clinging to each other’s hands, with a smaller girl bouncing behind them. “Hi, hi, hi everyone,” she said, grinning brightly. “I’m Tessa, Tessa Mallory, I’m a second year—hi Meghan, hi Dennis!”

“Hi Tessa!” Dennis Creevey ran over to the girl, grinning. “You came!”

“Yeah, I did—wow, there’s a lot of people here—”

Draco and Ron exchanged a look, for once totally in agreement over something.

This will not be fun.

“That’s everyone, isn’t it?” said Neville, standing up (Meghan and Natalie immediately claimed his place). “Should we get started?”

“No, there are a few more people coming,” said the redheaded Ravenclaw, Amanda, drawing all eyes to herself. “My brother—he’s only a second year, but he really wants to fight. One of his friends is missing, and he thinks it’s something to do with the war.”

“And a friend of mine is coming too,” Colleen added softly. “Just—please let him come and don’t shout at him?”

“Him?” said Lavender, orienting on her dormmate. “Your boyfriend?”

“What’s your brother’s friend’s name?” Meghan asked Amanda.

Before either of these questions could be answered, one more knock landed on the door.

Draco retreated back to his position by the wall. “You’re not going to believe this,” he muttered. “Guess who’s here.”

“Erm, Umbridge.”

“Nope.”

“Filch.”

“Nope.”

“Slytherins.”

“Third time lucky.”

Blaise Zabini stepped into the room, shoulders up, face set and neutral.

He expects us to tell him to go away, Draco realized. He doesn’t think we’ll let him stay. And Ron was pushing through the crowd, ready to tell him just that—

“You here for the Defense Association, Zabini?” Draco asked casually, drawing all eyes to him. Just like on stage. Get their attention, then keep it. “Bring your wand?”

Blaise nodded. “So did they,” he said, moving aside to allow the people behind him entrance. A small, dark-haired boy who looked a bit like Harry was first into the room, his eyes immediately fixing on Amanda. A girl about his age followed him in, her blonde hair hanging around her face as if to veil it. Last into the room was a slim, proud-faced girl with an Asian cast to her features, though not as strongly as Su or Cho.

“Matt Smythe, Elayne Kreger, and Selena Moon,” Blaise said, nodding to each of his Housemates in turn. “We’re here for the same reason as you.”

“Who said you could come?” asked Fred.

“Who said they couldn’t?” countered Danielle, the tall blonde Ravenclaw. “They’ve got a right to be here.”

“Any of them could be reporting to Umbridge,” said George. “I might not want to stay in school that much, but I’d rather not get kicked out.”

“Any of you could be reporting to Umbridge too,” Amanda Smythe shot back, her hands on her brother Matt’s shoulders. “Slytherins aren’t always bad.”

“Who says?” Ron demanded.

“I do!” shouted Colleen, startling everyone, not least herself. “If they can’t stay, then neither will I!”

Blaise moved quickly to her side and took her hand. “Thank you,” he said quietly, then turned to face the crowd. “If you want us to leave, we will,” he said. “But we want to fight.”

Hermione stepped to the front of the group. “On which side?” she asked, her own voice as neutral as his.

Blaise met her eyes. “We’re with you,” he said. “Against...” A long pause. “Against Voldemort.”

Gasps and squeaks rippled through the room.

“’Scuse me,” Harry said under his breath. “Need to come out now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Trust me.”

Draco bit back his automatic smart-mouth rejoinder and stepped aside.

Blaise’s eyes widened and Colleen gasped as they saw Harry apparently materialize from the wall. The other students turned and likewise gaped. Harry seemed not to notice, walking across the room as though it were empty.

And for him, it might as well be. He’s got to teach me that trick sometime. Harry seemed to be parting the crowd by sheer force of personality—though maybe it’s just ‘Oh my God he’s here’ and ‘Is he going to attack me?’

For whatever reason, a clear aisle had formed between Harry and Blaise, and Harry took full advantage, walking up to Blaise and stopping directly in front of him.

“Anyone who’s against Voldemort,” Harry said clearly, disregarding the second round of gasps and shudders, “is welcome here.” He held out his hand. “Glad to have you.”

Blaise met the hand with his own. “Glad to be here,” he said.

Harry nodded to him, then turned away. “Have a seat, everyone,” he said, walking back towards Draco’s side of the room. “This may take a little while to explain.”

Girls made small sounds of wonder as silk puffs materialized underneath them. Boys nodded in appreciation as chairs and beanbags appeared. “How’d you do that, Potter?” Lindsey Jordan asked.

“We’re in the Room of Requirement,” Harry explained. “It provides whatever we need. A place to practice, equipment to do it with—I don’t think it will give you another wand if you forget yours, though, so don’t do that.”

A slightly nervous chuckle ran around the room.

Harry sat down on the edge of a table that had appeared behind him. “Just to get a few things clear,” he said conversationally, “I’m not mad, neither am I a criminal, and the worst thing I did to Professor Umbridge was tell her I wouldn’t write lines with a Contract Quill.”

“A what?” said Tessa, the Hufflepuff second year, and Dennis Creevey together.

“It cuts whatever you write into your hand,” Colin whispered loudly to them. “What did she want you to write, Harry? What was it?”

Harry opened his mouth to answer—

“‘I must not be pert,’” fluted Umbridge’s voice.

Laughter and surprised comments floated around the room. “How’d you do that?” called Maya Pritchard. “You sounded just like her!”

“I didn’t,” Harry said. “Ginny Weasley, everyone.”

Ginny inclined her head to the polite applause from where she was sitting to the side with the rest of the Pride.

“That was you yesterday morning, wasn’t it?” said Matt Smythe. “How’d you get away with it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ginny said in Umbridge’s voice, causing more laughter. “Let’s all listen to Mr. Potter, now, he has important things to tell us.”

“Thanks a lot,” Harry said, laughing himself. “But yes, I do.” The laughter died out of his face, and it took on a tightness Draco recognized. “Why are you all here? Tell me that. Boot.” He pointed at Terry. “Why are you here?”

“I was curious,” Terry said. “There’s a lot going on I don’t understand. Besides, I don’t want to spend an entire year not learning any practical Defense. We have O.W.L.s to take.”

“I agree,” Ernie Macmillan cut in. “Professor Longbottom’s quite good, but I can’t learn everything just from listening. I need to be able to practice. Why we’re suddenly not allowed to try the spells in class—”

“The Ministry’s trying to handicap us!” shouted Luna, making Draco wince. I knew I should be over there with her, this isn’t going to help us. “They don’t want us to be able to fight!”

“Fight?” Michael Corner yelled back. “Fight who? A figment of his imagination?” He pointed at Harry. “You-Know-Who’s dead, has been for years—”

“That’s just what you think because you don’t know any better!” bellowed George, starting to his feet.

A free-for-all yelling match erupted. Draco glanced at Harry and was surprised to see his brother sitting quietly in his place, waiting. What’re you doing? he signed. Shouldn’t you try to get them to quiet down?

Harry shook his head. I’m giving them enough rope, he signed back. Just watch.

All right, Draco signed doubtfully.

As though he’d heard some secret signal, Harry put two fingers in his mouth and blew. The shrill whistle cut through the yelling like an Unforgiveable through a shield.

“Who was that you just mentioned?” Harry said, pointing at Zacharias Smith. “You said a name. Whose was it?”

“Cedric Diggory,” Smith said, glaring at Harry. “I think it’s a little fishy that you turned up at the end of the Triwizard Tournament with his dead body and some crazy story about You-Know-Who coming back—”

“You and a lot of other people,” Harry said, nodding matter-of-factly. Draco would have been surprised by Harry’s polite tone, but he was close enough to see the white knuckles where Harry was holding onto the table and smell the anger Harry was holding in check. “Is that why you’re here? To hear the truth about that?”

“I think we deserve that much. Don’t you think so?” Smith appealed to the rest of the room. A subdued murmur answered him, some agreement, some unsure.

“Why would he lie?” Ginny asked angrily, standing up. “What’s in it for him?”

“Winning the Tournament—getting off on murder charges—”

“Quiet,” Harry said harshly, stilling the angry shouts from several corners of the room. Sliding off the table, he faced Smith directly. “Do you think I killed Cedric Diggory?” he asked, looking the other boy straight in the eye.

“Well, I...” Smith fidgeted. “I can’t...”

Harry’s gaze didn’t waver. “Do you think I killed Cedric Diggory?”

“I’m just saying it looks damned strange, all right?” Smith exploded. “How the hell should I know if you killed him or not?”

“You don’t know. But I want to know what you think.” The room was absolutely silent except for Harry’s voice. “Do you think I killed him?”

Smith slumped, looking away. “I don’t know what to think,” he said, staring at the floor. “Dad’s always putting things in the newspaper—never anything big, just little bits here and there—about how you’re crazy, you make up stories to make yourself look good, you’re dangerous and you shouldn’t be in school...”

“Why?” Harry asked quietly, the anger smell off him increasing. “Why does he do that?”

“How should I know? He doesn’t talk about work to me.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met your dad,” said Harry, sitting back down on the table. “So it’s odd how he knows so much about me.”

“Well, what else are we supposed to think?” Smith demanded, looking back up. “That You-Know-Who popped out of a cauldron and killed Diggory for no reason?”

Harry shook his head. “Voldemort killed Cedric for a perfectly good reason,” he said, challenging the room with the name. “Good to him, at least. He likes killing. And he likes playing with people.” His voice was starting to shake. “He played with Cedric. He told Cedric to run. Cedric could have got away clean. He could have lived. But he stayed behind to help me. That’s why he died. Because he was a good person.”

Several girls had started to cry, Cho Chang and Meghan among them.

Harry stared into the distance, above everyone’s heads. “I can’t prove this,” he said. “I can’t prove any of it. And I wish I didn’t have to.” He looked down at the group. “I wish I could just make him go away by saying he wasn’t back. But he is.”

Blaise got to his feet. “My family was approached,” he said. “By someone who claimed to be from the Dark Lord.” The words dripped contempt. “No matter my parents’ politics, I want nothing to do with a murderer.”

“My cousin is missing,” said Maya, standing up. “And I was told not to ask where he’d gone, or why.”

“Dumbledore believes you, Harry,” Ernie said, squaring his shoulders and rising. “That’s enough for me. It’s ridiculous, us being handicapped this way, and I won’t stand for it.”

“My brother believes in this,” said Su, on her feet. “He’s fighting. So will I.”

“Will you sign to that?” Hermione asked, drawing all eyes to her. She was standing by the wall, a long scroll in one hand, a loaded quill in the other. “Will you sign to say you’re with us?”

“Gladly.” “Of course.” “In a second.” Blaise, Maya, and Su’s answers overlapped.

“Well...” Ernie fidgeted slightly. “You’ll be careful with that list, won’t you, Hermione?” he said. “I mean, if Umbridge should get a look at it...”

Hermione crossed to Harry’s side. He took the quill and signed his own name first on the list, then gave it to her to sign under his. “Does that answer your question?” he said, looking up. “It’s our necks on the line first.”

“Yes, but you can’t get expelled again...”

Draco took the quill from Hermione and added his name. Meghan hurried up to take the quill next, with Neville and Ron behind her, and Luna and Ginny behind them, and the twins and Lee and Lindz behind them, forming a queue along one side of the room.

“But they can,” Harry said, waving at the long line of people. “And I won’t let them.”

“Well... all right. If you’ll promise to be careful,” Ernie said to Hermione over everyone’s heads.

“I promise,” Hermione said, raising her right hand. “Harry, will you keep it for me?”

“Of course.” Harry grinned. “No one’s found me, no one will find it.”

A few people laughed.

“So what are we actually going to do?” Tessa Mallory asked, bouncing on her toes after she’d signed her name. “Are we going to learn spells, or shields, or potions? What are we going to do?”

“Good question,” Draco muttered. “What are we going to do?”

“We’ll start with spells,” Harry said aloud as Hermione rolled up the parchment and gave it to him. “Since that’s what we can’t get in class. Everyone here should be able to do the first one; I learned it in second year myself. It’s the Disarming Charm, Expelliarmus. ”

“Will that really help us?” asked the second year Slytherin girl, Elayne, uncertainly. “I mean, against You-Know-Who?”

“Maybe not against him,” Harry admitted, “but you probably won’t be fighting him.” His fingers twitched in Draco’s direction. Get your wand out. “You’ll be fighting with his followers, Death Eaters.”

Draco pulled his wand from his pocket and started rubbing his fingers idly up and down its length.

“Death Eaters are people,” Harry told Elayne, “witches and wizards just like us. They’ll probably think we’re not dangerous because we’re young. And you can get anyone with a Disarmer if he’s not paying attention—” His wand was in his hand in an instant, pointed at Draco. “Expelliarmus! ”

The spell knocked Draco to the floor, and his wand soared out of his hand.

“You have to surprise them, though,” Harry said, catching Draco’s wand as the group laughed. “So some of what we’ll be practicing, along with spells, is hiding and sneaking. Thanks, Draco.”

“Anytime,” Draco said, sitting up and rubbing his shoulder. “I just love getting knocked down.”

Luna giggled from the other side of the room. I know you do, she signed to him.

“So welcome, everyone,” Harry said, his voice as sure and strong as Moony’s or Dumbledore’s. “Welcome to the Defense Association.”

“Also known as the Ministry’s worst nightmare,” Ginny added, making everyone laugh. “Dumbledore’s Army!”

“Dumbledore’s Army!” echoed the three male Weasleys in the room together.

“Dumbledore’s Army!” chorused the rest of the group, Gryffindors the loudest at first, but Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs getting louder by the moment, and even the Slytherins joining in. “Dumbledore’s Army!”

xXxXx

Outside the door, a being rubbed his hands together and began to shuffle away. “She will want to hear about this, the Mistress will,” he muttered to himself. “She will like to know about this...”

xXxXx

“Harry?”

Harry turned. “Hi, Cho.”

“I’ve been so worried since you disappeared,” Cho said, twisting a bit of her robes between her hands. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I have a safe place to stay, and I’m even keeping up with my classes. I won’t be able to play Quidditch, but at least I didn’t have to leave school.”

“Where are you hiding, though? Professor Umbridge searched everywhere, she even checked inside all our dorms—” Cho looked around. “Are you living in here?”

Harry shook his head. “It’s another secret place in Hogwarts, though,” he said. “I’m sure there are other ones, if we just knew where to look for them.”

“Does it have to be secret from everyone?” Cho asked wistfully. “I...” She trailed off.

“Do you want to meet somewhere tomorrow night?” Harry blurted.

“Tomorrow? Oh, I can’t—I have Quidditch—but what about Wednesday?”

“Wednesday’s fine.”

“Where?”

“Er, Quidditch pitch?”

“All right.”

They stared at each other for a minute.

“See you there,” Harry said finally.

“See you.” Cho hurried out the door, her curly-haired friend Marietta casting a nervous look Harry’s way before she followed Cho out. Harry didn’t care. His chest felt lighter than air, as though he might at any moment start flying without benefit of broom.

I’m going out with Cho Chang.

He barely even noticed Michael Corner talking earnestly with Ginny off to one side.

Wednesday is going to take a very long time to come.

xXxXx

“So much to tell, so much to say, oh yes, oh yes...” The being shuffled to a stop, noticing a sudden change in the patterns of shadow in front of him. Doubtfully, he looked up.

“So much to say?” queried his Master, arms folded. “And who were you going to go talk to?”

He growled, but the compulsion of blood pulled the answer out of him. “To Professor Umbridge.”

“And what were you going to tell her?”

“Was going to tell her about Harry Potter, about Harry Potter and his filthy unnatural friends and their little club and where it is...” He broke off with a squeak as his Master grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hoisted him up.

“You should be glad,” his Master said, staring him straight in the eye, “that I don’t like killing things for no reason. And that I found you when I did. If you’d gone to Dolores Umbridge with this, I’d have a reason to kill you. And I’d be glad to do it.”

“Be glad to have it done,” Kreacher spat. “Kreacher hates Master.”

“Well, Master’s not that fond of Kreacher either.” Master’s wand came up until it was pointed straight at Kreacher. “Which makes this a positive pleasure. Stupefy! ”

Kreacher snarled once more before he dropped into darkness.

xXxXx

“Find him?” Remus asked as Sirius stepped out of the fire, one hand in his pocket.

“Oh yes.” Sirius tossed a small Muggle-style chess piece onto the kitchen table. “Here he is.”

“Transfigured?” Aletha said, peering at the pawn.

“Just to get him back here easier.” Sirius sat down heavily. “Honestly, I don’t know what we’re going to do with him. We can’t free him, we don’t want him around...”

“We owe Aunt Amy and Albus both some thanks,” Danger put in from the stove. “If it hadn’t been for them, we probably wouldn’t ever have thought about him.”

“And Dolores Umbridge would know what the cubs are up to.” Remus prodded the pawn with a fingertip. “What are the cubs up to?”

“Apparently, they’ve made a club. If I were a betting man—”

“Which you are,” Aletha pointed out.

Sirius ignored this with dignity. “I’d bet that it’s about Defense. They know how important that is, and they’re not getting it. We can ask Frank when we see him next.”

“Or we could just ask Harry,” Danger said, flicking her Zippophone open and shut. “He can tell us directly.”

Sirius pouted. “Oh, have a better idea than me, why don’t you.”

“Thank you, I will.”





Facing Danger

Chapter 12: Help, I Need Somebody (Year 5)


Chapter 12: Help, I Need Somebody

“Pardon me,” said Percy Weasley, looking around the door into the kitchen where his mother was sitting and talking with Danger and Aletha.

“Oh, Percy!” Molly jumped up and ran to her third son. “It’s good to see you—can you stay for dinner?”

“Yes, I was just coming to ask if I might.”

“You’re always welcome, you know that,” Molly scolded him. “Have you been taking care of yourself?”

“Yes, Mother...”

Danger and Aletha glanced at each other, then got up and left the kitchen, nodding to Percy as they passed him.

Bartemius Crouch was standing in the front hall, regarding the scar where the portrait of Sirius’ mother had once hung. Aletha’s shoulders went back at the sight of him. “Stay quiet,” she said out the side of her mouth. “Maybe we can get upstairs...”

“Mrs. Freeman-Black,” Crouch acknowledged, turning to face them. “Mrs. Granger-Lupin.”

Danger nodded to the man. Aletha didn’t move.

“Do you have a moment?” Crouch asked. “I was hoping to speak with you, or with your husbands.”

“Of course,” Danger said, stepping on Aletha’s foot. “The front room, just there, will be fine. Be polite,” she hissed at Aletha as soon as Crouch was out of sight. “He’s part of the Order.”

“I don’t like him.”

“I thought you were growing Sirius up, not him dragging you down.” Danger rounded the side of the door and got her company smile in place. “Did you come with Percy?” she asked Crouch as she sat down.

“I did.” Crouch seated himself once Aletha had taken a seat next to Danger. “He’s spoken so often and so glowingly of his mother’s cooking that I hoped to get a sample. And he’s mentioned yours a few times as well, Mrs. Granger-Lupin. You and the Weasleys live near one another?”

“We do. Though they’ve lived there much longer. We only moved into our house in 1988.”

“What is it you were hoping to speak with us about?” Aletha asked bluntly, in a tone that indicated she was tired of small talk.

Crouch met her eyes openly. “You have no reason to like me,” he said. “I’ll admit that. But I’m a different man than the one who sent your husband to prison, Mrs. Freeman-Black. Please don’t blame me for that man’s mistakes. I’ve been through a lot since then, and I’d like to think it’s changed me for the better. I’m not asking for friendship, not even for forgiveness, but since we find ourselves fighting in the same war, perhaps I can ask for a cessation of hostilities.”

Aletha hadn’t moved during Crouch’s little speech, except to lean forward slightly. Now she smiled, a rueful expression. “Have I been so open about it?” she said. “I’d hoped I was concealing it a little better than that.”

“No, you’re quite good at hiding your feelings,” said Crouch. “But I know from experience how people act when they’re hiding something. Not to mention, your husband is singularly less gifted in that area than you are.”

Aletha laughed shortly. “True. Very true. Sirius can act, but only when he has his entire mind set on the goal that acting will gain him. For anything less, he wears his heart on his sleeve. I assume you’d like this ‘cessation of hostilities’ to include him, if possible?”

“I don’t ask for miracles, but yes.” Crouch fingered the embroidery on his chair. “My job hangs by a thread, my loyalties are questioned at every turn, and my sanity is being attacked. I can’t come here often, but it would be pleasant to spend my few hours with others who think as I do without wondering if I’m going to be shunned or cursed by the people who are supposedly my allies.”

“You have a point, Mr. Crouch.” Aletha inclined her head. “I am sorry for the way we’ve treated you. I thought I’d learned my lesson about letting go of the past, but it seems some things need to be learned and relearned.”

“How very true,” said Crouch, smiling. “Do you think I might have a chance of reaching your husband, or would you like to try it yourself?”

“Let me think about that for a while,” Aletha said. “In the meantime, why don’t we practice our cessation of hostilities?”

“I beg your pardon?” Crouch frowned.

Danger tried not to giggle. “She wants to talk to you,” she translated. “Try to be polite, if not friendly.”

“Ah. I can agree to that.” Crouch glanced toward the window. “I see the weather continues fine.”

Both women laughed at this.

Weather led to Quidditch, Quidditch led to Hogwarts, and Hogwarts led to Sirius’ expedition of yesterday. “You may not remember Kreacher the house-elf,” Aletha said. “He wasn’t here long. He’s not entirely sane, and he hates Sirius for running away and for marrying me. We can’t free him; the shock would probably kill him. We can’t let him stay here, because Sirius would kill him.”

“And we tried sending him somewhere else,” Danger took over. “Hogwarts. But apparently the orders Sirius gave him weren’t good enough, and he was about to make trouble for our—” She caught herself just in time, coughed, and went on. “—children when Sirius found him and brought him back.”

“Excellent timing,” Crouch said. “Was there some warning, to tell you this trouble was coming?”

“Actually, yes,” Aletha said, pulling her pendants from her robes. “These necklaces we wear are enchanted to tell us things about the people that these engravings represent. We were getting a very faint indication that Harry might be in trouble—”

“Harry?” Crouch interrupted. “I thought he’d run away from school?”

Danger shook her head. “He’s still there,” she said. “He knows it wouldn’t be safe for him anywhere else, unless he came here. He’s just hiding until Professor Umbridge decides she won’t expel him on sight.”

“I do wonder sometimes what Cornelius was thinking when he sent her to the school,” Crouch said. “Is he actively trying to alienate the students and their parents?”

“If he is, he’s doing a marvelous job,” said Aletha. “I give it four weeks before the student body is in active rebellion.”

“That I will want to see.” Crouch smiled faintly. “But we talked ourselves out of your story. What became of this house-elf?”

“He’s right here,” Danger said, extracting the chess piece that was Kreacher from her pocket. “Sirius transfigured him to get him safely back here, and we’ve just left him transfigured for the moment while we try to figure out what to do with him.”

“I see.” Crouch held out his hand questioningly, and Danger leaned forward to give him carved bit of wood. “Owned by the Blacks,” he said thoughtfully, rolling the pawn around on his palm. “And you mentioned it was furious that you’d become part of the family, Mrs. Freeman-Black?”

“Please, Aletha. And yes, Kreacher never liked me.” Aletha shuddered. “The feeling was entirely mutual.”

“So I would assume it’s rather puritanical about blood purity.”

“Very definitely,” Danger said.

Crouch closed his hand around the chess piece. “I live alone,” he said. “And I no longer have a house-elf, after certain...unfortunate circumstances caused me to dismiss mine. I know where she is now, and I’m not sorry. She’s better off. But I do need some help around the house. Would your husband possibly be willing to sell Kreacher, Mrs...Aletha?”

Aletha looked over at Danger, her face bright. Danger grinned at her friend. Sounds good to me, she signed, rubbing her right ear.

“I think he might,” Aletha said, looking back at Crouch. “I think he very well might.”

xXxXx

Harry timed his steps carefully as he crossed the Great Hall under the Invisibility Cloak. Just because no one could see him didn’t mean they couldn’t hear him if he wasn’t careful.

This probably isn’t smart, going out in the middle of the day like this, but where else do I have to be? It was lunchtime, he was caught up on his homework, and he was bored. He’d been “walking” all morning; by Danger’s rules, he should have a break of at least an hour and a half in his own body before he left it again. That was too long to make a meal stretch to cover it, and the Pride couldn’t sneak off on daytime breaks as easily as they could after dinner, so Harry was on his own.

So why not go out to the Forest? As long as no one catches me on the way out or the way back in, I’m safe.

Out the doors and down the steps, Harry peered around himself, then decided to risk a bit of a run. Even if the Cloak flapped up a little to reveal his feet, people would either not see them or think they’d been imagining things.

Wizards aren’t so different from Muggles that way.

He made it to the edge of the Forest and in among the trees. Once he could no longer see Hogwarts behind him, he pulled off the Cloak and wadded it up to stuff into a pocket.

I love how small this thing can get.

A moment later, Wolf lifted his nose and howled for sheer joy.

Time to run! Time to chase! Time to play!

But the joy was muted, because playing was really better with playmates. Especially one playmate, one not so much smaller than himself, with many sharp points which had to be dodged...

Harry shook his head sharply. Stop that. Let’s go find Sangre.

Sangre . Yes. Wolf liked that idea. Sangre knew where the game laired.

Nose to the ground, he began to search for the trail he wanted.

xXxXx

Hermione looked up from studying the tiny lizard in her hands, froze, and elbowed Ron. “Don’t say anything,” she hissed out the side of her mouth. “Just look at the edge of the Forest.”

“What about—” Ron stopped abruptly. “He’s mad.”

Standing calmly between two trees behind Hagrid’s cabin, a large dark-furred wolf was regarding the Care of Magical Creatures class and its substitute teacher, a gray-haired witch with a prominent chin who’d told them to call her Professor Grubbly-Plank. Hermione was a little worried about Hagrid, but with both Madame Maxime and Norbert the dragon with him, he’d be safe.

I hope.

Ron had got Draco and Neville’s attention, and Draco was now staring at Wolf as well. Neville stroked his moke’s back for a moment, his eyes half-shut as in concentration, then looked up and nodded to Wolf. It’s safe, he hand-signed with the hand not holding the lizard. You can come in.

Wolf bounded towards the class and changed into Harry mid-leap. “I went out to see Sangre,” he said, stopping beside Draco and Neville’s table. “What are these things?”

Draco shook his head fractionally. “We can’t talk,” he said without moving his lips. “They’d see.”

“Would they?” Neville asked in a normal tone. “They’re called mokes, Harry. Watch—they shrink.” He held up his moke and flicked a finger at it. The moke immediately dwindled into insignificance on his palm. “It’s how they hide.”

“Can I hold it?”

Neville deposited his moke in Harry’s hand. “I hid this too,” he told Draco. “Anyone else who looks over here, or listens, will just see us talking about the mokes.”

“I’m stupid,” Draco said to his moke. “Did you know I was stupid?”

“Are you talking to the lizard, or to us?” Ron asked.

“The lizard. I’m not stupid enough to ask you that question.”

“Damn.”

xXxXx

Brian Li rounded the last corner. The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, he recited mentally, may be found at...

The house began to appear before he’d even completed the phrase. He sighed in relief. I could use a drink, and something to eat. Some healing potions. And then some sleep. The half-healed bites on his arm itched, and he scratched at them absently. Perhaps put the healing a little higher on the list.

The door opened before he had a chance to touch the knob. “You’re back,” said Corona, an uncertain smile on her face.

“Yes.” Brian stepped inside the house and let her shut the door. “Yes. I’m back.”

“Did it go well?”

“Well enough.” He slipped off his cloak and started for the closet, but he only got three steps before it was taken from his hands. “What—”

“Go and sit down,” Corona said, pointing firmly toward the front room with the hand not holding his cloak. “Now.”

Bemusedly, Brian obeyed, watching out of the corner of his eye as Corona hung his cloak on one of the hooks inside the closet, then disappeared down the hall for a moment before coming back around the corner. “Remus asked to be told when you arrived,” she said. “One of the house-elves will be up in a moment with something for you to eat and drink, and a potion for those.” She pointed at his arms. “And what happened? I thought you had taken the Wolfsbane with you.”

“I did.” Brian moved over slightly on the couch where he was sitting, not enough to be a direct invitation but making it clear Corona would be welcome if she joined him. “But I was near a werewolf settlement on the full moon, and one of the males decided my presence was unwelcome. He decided to evict me through direct action.”

“Oh, no,” Corona breathed, crossing to sit down next to him. “Did he—did you—”

“He lives,” Brian said quickly. “We both lived to see the morning.” He could not resist a smile. “Though he was less happy about it than I. Having both a human mind and some knowledge of where and how an attacker may be best thwarted gave me something of an unfair advantage over my opponent.”

“In battle,” said Mr. Lupin—no, Remus —entering just in time to hear this, “there is no such thing. Honor is for duels. Battles are about surviving.” He sat down and drew a quill and a small Muggle notebook from his pocket. “Where did you start?”

“The small encampment near Brighton,” Brian said, pulling his own somewhat grimy notes from his pocket. “Six werewolves live there full-time, but at least six more stop in every now and again.” A loud crack, and he handed the notes to Corona to take a loaded tray from Winky. “Thank you,” he said to both females.

“How do they break down male and female?” Remus asked.

“The permanent residents are four female, two male. The wanderers are mostly male, but one female was mentioned as dropping by occasionally.” Brian set the tray on his lap, opened the flask of pale blue potion, and drank it as quickly as he could without spilling, sighing in relief as the twinges in his joints and the painful itching on his arms subsided. “I had news of a traveling female elsewhere as well,” he added, setting down the flask again. “Is that very uncommon?”

“Somewhat,” Remus said, making a note, “but then not everything is as simple as male and female. Go on.”

Corona unrolled the scroll and held it where Brian could see it. He smiled thanks to her, squinted at the next notation, and deciphered it. “Three of the full-time residents at Brighton were willing to listen to me, if not to believe me right away...”

xXxXx

“So,” Draco said to Harry after dinner on Wednesday. “How did it go?”

“How did what go?”

“Weren’t you meeting Cho Chang today?”

Harry shrugged. “She wrote Hermione this morning to tell me she couldn’t make it. A meeting for a club of hers got rescheduled.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, it’s all your fault.” Harry dunked his hand into the flour and started scraping his bread dough out of its bowl. “I have to tell her she can get notes straight to me by house-elf. Hermione doesn’t like being used as a courier service.”

“Hermione doesn’t like anything lately.” Draco stole a scrap of bread dough and popped it in his mouth. “I think she’s got nerves about O.W.L.s.”

“Already ? It’s barely the middle of September!”

“You know Hermione.”

Harry left the imprints of his fists in the bread dough. “There are days I wish I didn’t.”

xXxXx

Theodore Nott followed his father down the Hogsmeade side street. “Sir, where are we going?” he asked uncertainly.

“I have business,” Patroclus Nott said without looking around. “And you have a lesson to learn. One you will not learn at Hogwarts .” He sneered the word.

“Hogwarts isn’t so bad,” Theo muttered under his breath.

At least there, the people who don’t like me just ignore me. They don’t come looking for me and claim they need to teach me a lesson.

Well, most of the time, they don’t.

“Here,” Father said, breaking into Theo’s gloomy thoughts. “This is the place.”

“This?” Theo looked up at a dingy storefront with two floors’ worth of small windows above it. “It’s not even open.”

“For us, it is open.” Father stepped up to the door and rapped briskly on it. It opened after only a second, and Father turned and beckoned Theo impatiently.

Theo crossed the threshold with a little shiver. For no reason he could understand, the building made him feel cold and unwanted. “What business are you doing, Father?” he asked as Father shed his cloak. “Can I watch?”

“Your lesson will come first. After that, yes, you may watch, and listen. Perhaps you will even learn something.” Father turned away to hang up his cloak. “Though that would be a miracle,” he said under his breath, but still loud enough for Theo to hear.

Theo bit his lip hard. I don’t make mistakes on purpose. I’m just not very good at the things you want me to do. And is that so bad, really?

Father ushered him up a flight of stairs and halfway down a hall. “How many of your Housemates do you know by sight?” he asked, taking out his wand.

“Most of them, I think,” Theo said truthfully. “Not the first years as yet, but most of the rest.”

“Excellent.” Father tapped his wand twice against the door, making a section transparent. “Then you will know this boy, will you not?”

Theo looked, and looked again, and stared.

“Pritchard,” he said, looking up at Father. “But—I thought—”

“I know what you thought.” Father restored the door to its original state. “But hear me well, Theodore. Parvus Pritchard fights for the Dark Lord now. You have seen why. I need no such incentive. I know where my loyalties lie. And so will everyone in my household.” His eyes sought the door again for a moment before locking onto Theo’s. “You understand me.”

Theo gulped, not even trying to conceal it. “Yes, Father,” he said almost inaudibly. His imagination was busy painting himself into the place of the thin boy sitting on the bed, his head bent over a piece of parchment, folding and refolding it.

A tiny room. No windows. No air. Alone.

No one would know where I was. No one would know what was happening to me. And no one would look for me, because I was with my father.

“I will always come for you, Theodore,” Father said quietly. “Remember that. No matter what might happen to you, I will always come to find you.”

Unable to say anything, Theodore nodded, praying that the fear squeezing his heart didn’t show in his eyes.

xXxXx

Ginny glanced up from her Charms text and did a double take. “Excuse me,” she said to Ron, getting up from her comfortable spot on the floor of the Den, “but who told you you could take my clay?”

“I didn’t take a lot of it. And you can have it back when I’m done. What next, Harry?”

“That’s not the point,” Ginny cut Harry off. “The point is, you didn’t ask. And I want it back. Now.”

“We need it, Ginny,” Harry said. “We’re using it.”

“I can see that. But you didn’t ask .” Ginny made to grab the corner off the blobby building sitting on the table in front of Ron.

Ron blocked her hand with his own. “It’s important, Ginny,” he said. “And if it means that much to you, I’ll ask. Ginny, can we please use your clay?”

“What are you using it for?”

“We’re modeling the house where Graham Pritchard is,” Harry said. “Or trying to. It’s not going very well.”

“No, it isn’t.” Ginny pushed at Ron’s shoulder. “Budge up.”

Ron got out of his chair, and Ginny sat down in it. “How many stories?” she asked Harry.

“Three.”

Ginny stroked the building a little taller, urging the clay upwards. “Does it really have this thick wall all around the top of the roof?”

“Yeah, that’s there. There’s a door in it, and stairs.”

“Where?”

Harry poked a finger into the clay. “Here.”

“Where are the downstairs doors?” Ron interjected.

“Here on the front, and here on the back.” Harry pointed out two more spots. “This side is right up against another building, and this side is just flat wood and brick. No windows or anything.”

Ginny carved out the lines that made the doors with her thumbnail, then drew her wand and split the building down the middle. “If you’re going to use it, you’re going to need to see all of it,” she said. “Let’s get the inside right too.”

“OK.” Harry closed his eyes, remembering. “Top story is very plain, all one room, sort of like an attic, except it’s used as a meeting room. A table and lots of chairs. The stairs from the roof are inside one of the walls, they don’t go in there. You have to take the other set of stairs, the ones that start farther back in the house.”

“Slow down,” Ginny said, scooping clay out of the top third of the house. “All right, so there are two sets of stairs. Where and where?”

Harry pointed. “These go straight,” he said, drawing a thin line down one of the walls with his fingernail. “The back ones twist a lot.”

“Probably want to use them, then,” Ron muttered half to himself. “More cover. But you’d have to watch for people sneaking up on you.”

Ginny finished digging out the rough hole for the stairs and picked up her wand again. Tapping it three times against the clay wall, she murmured “Scalae ,” then peered into the hole. Sure enough, a perfect miniature flight of stairs had formed within.

“Fancy,” Harry said, looking over her shoulder. “Can you do the switchbacks, though?”

“Watch me.” Ginny stood up to burrow through the back of the house, ignoring the voice in her head saying she was showing off. I am not. I’m just helping. “Scalae Contortionis! ”

Ron laughed. “Don’t think you wanted a spiral,” he said.

“Shut up.” Ginny reached out and smeared clay down Ron’s nose, then tried again. “Scalae Contortionis. ”

“Much better,” Harry said, . “But they go the other way. Left first, then right.”

“Do you want to do it?” Ginny demanded.

“No, but I want it to be right. We might need this.”

I hate it when he makes sense. “All right. Hold on.” Ginny concentrated hard on what was needed, not on how annoyed she was feeling (though less, surprisingly, than she’d expected). “Scalae Contortionis. ”

Harry grinned at her. “That’s perfect. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Ginny sat back down. “Now, what about the middle story?”

xXxXx

Hermione was just starting to settle down to sleep that night when she got a feeling that something wasn’t right.

Hmm. Let’s see. She sat up. Lights nice and low, boys over there to sleep, girls over here, except Draco and Luna, they always snuggle up, and sometimes Neville and Meghan do too, but tonight Neville’s by himself—

And that’s it. Meghan. Where’s Meghan?

She went cat and began to sniff. Meghan had been right over here, the blankets still held some of the heat of her body, but she’d been gone for several minutes, and she’d gone this way, towards one of the doors, one under a yellow banner...

The bathroom? Hermione changed back into a human. I don’t hear anything, but maybe that’s because there’s nothing to hear.

She tapped on the door, but there was no answer. “Meghan?” she called quietly, tapping a second time, louder.

“I’m in here,” Meghan answered, a little hiccup punctuating the sentence. “I’m all right.”

“You sound like you’re crying.”

“I’m fine. Go away.”

“No.” Hermione opened the door.

Meghan glared at her from her seat by the windowsill. “Why doesn’t anybody in this family ever go away when I say go away?”

“Because we all know you don’t really mean it.” Hermione shut the door and crossed the room to kneel beside her little sister’s chair. “Pearl, what’s wrong?”

Meghan hiccupped again, then tumbled out of her chair into Hermione’s arms. “Everything!” she wailed aloud. “I’m so scared for Graham, and for Harry, and for Dadfoot and Mama Letha and Moony and Danger in the war, and for us in the war—I don’t want to fight, Hermione, I don’t want to get hurt, I don’t want anybody else to get hurt—”

We always forget she’s only twelve. Hermione held Meghan close and rocked her back and forth a little, standing up and turning until she could sit in the chair herself, and hold Meghan on her lap, or as much of Meghan as would fit. She acts so grown-up that we forget how old she really is. Except when it all comes out, like now.

“—I like healing people, but not when somebody hurt them on purpose—I can feel it, Neenie, I can feel it when somebody meant to hurt somebody else, I could feel it when Harry came back from the graveyard, it hurts me to feel it, I don’t want to feel it—but if I don’t feel it, that’ll mean I’m not helping people, and I want to help them, I want to heal them, but I don’t want to get hurt—”

“Nobody wants to get hurt, Pearl,” Hermione said, hugging her sister closer. “But maybe you don’t have to heal people who were hurt on purpose with your Ravenclaw power. Maybe you can just heal them with the things Madam Pomfrey teaches you.”

“But then maybe they won’t get better!” Meghan twisted to look at Hermione. “Maybe they’ll die ! And that would be my fault, because I didn’t help them enough!”

“You don’t have to decide it all alone, though, Meghan.” Hermione slid a hand into Meghan’s hair and twisted the braids around her fingers. “You’re not going to be all on your own to decide who needs your special help and who doesn’t.”

“How do you know?” Meghan stared over Hermione’s shoulder for a moment, then looked back at her sister’s face. “How do you know I won’t be?”

“Because I won’t let you be,” Hermione said. “I’ll be with you.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“You always have me here.” Hermione freed a hand to press against Meghan’s chest, against the Pack-pendants. “And I’ll be with you myself as much as I can. I know I can’t promise I’ll always be there, but I’ll do my very best.” She looked into Meghan’s gray eyes, frightened but resolute. “Is that enough?”

Meghan sniffled once, then nodded. “Thanks,” she said quietly. “Thanks a lot.”

“You’re welcome.” Hermione hugged her little sister once more. “Come on, we should get to sleep. It’s late.”

Hand in hand, the Pack’s daughters returned to their Den, lay down near one another, and fell asleep cuddled together as they had a thousand nights in the past.

xXxXx

Sirius got up late that Sunday morning and wandered down to breakfast. Remus sat near the end of the table, sipping a mug of tea and reading the paper. “Morning,” Sirius said, parking himself across from his friend. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Nothing. We ate it all.”

“Oh, ha ha. Come on, really, what is it?”

“I told you. We ate all the food. There isn’t anything left.”

“You’re having me on.”

Remus turned a page. “Go look for yourself.”

Sirius glared at the newspaper, then got up and went over to the pantry. “No food,” he muttered. “There’s never no food in this house...”

The pantry doors opened wide. The shelves within were empty.

Sirius looked over his shoulder at Remus. “This isn’t funny.”

Remus sipped his tea. “Depends on what side you’re on.”

“And what side are you on?”

“The ‘I already had my breakfast and this is what you get when you charm our sheets to be cold and clammy all night’ side.”

“That wasn’t me.”

“And who else lives in this house who plays pranks as easily as he breathes?”

“How do you know the person who did it did it easily?” Sirius spread his hands wide. “Maybe somebody put a lot of time and effort into that spell just so you’d think it was me, and now you’re punishing me for something I didn’t do.”

Remus folded back the newspaper. “Did I mention Danger tracked your scent out of our room and straight to yours and Letha’s?”

Sirius sagged. “Damn it.”

Remus sighed. “There are days I despair of you, Padfoot. Thirteen-odd years living with me, three with Danger and I both able to go Animagus whenever we want, and you still haven’t learned to mask your trail.”

“I have so—I was wearing masker spells all the way up to...” Sirius stopped. “You didn’t know it was me, did you?”

Remus’ lips twitched.

“You didn’t. You were just testing me. You lied to me.” Sirius ran his hands through his hair. “And I fell for it. What kind of idiot am I?”

“I don’t know. What kind of idiot are you?”

“Hungry.” Sirius shut the pantry doors. “And very sorry for playing a prank on you and I won’t do it again.”

“Until the next time you forget that I always catch you.” Remus took out his wand and waved it negligently towards the pantry. “There’s a plate on the second shelf down for you. Danger put a warming spell on it, so it should still be hot.”

Sirius reached in eagerly, then yelped. “Ow!”

“I told you it was hot.”

Sirius showed Remus the part of his hand that had been scorched.

xXxXx

“Harry, I’m so sorry about Wednesday,” Cho blurted out while the DA practiced Disarming Charms on Tuesday. “I just couldn’t make it, I wanted to so much, but I have to go to Library Club meetings, I’m the secretary and I’ll be removed from my post if I miss—”

“It’s all right,” Harry said, holding up his hand. “Really, it is. Do you want to try again sometime this week?”

“Oh, I don’t think I can.” Cho made a face. “I have a huge test coming up in Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall wants to see what we remember from O.W.L.s—and then next week we have a Potions exam—what about the week after that? I’m sorry, Harry, I sound like I’m putting you off and I don’t mean to, but—”

“You’re here to go to school,” Harry interrupted. “You’re not here to see me. I can wait.”

“Thank you.” Cho smiled, and Harry’s stomach flipped as he smiled back. “Thank you so much. At least we see each other here, right?”

“Right. How are you coming with the Disarmer?”

“Oh, I’m much better than last week. Can I show you?”

“Sure.” Harry pulled out his wand. “Give it a go.”

“Expelliarmus ! ” Cho cried, swinging her arm into line with Harry.

“Oppiliorbus , ” Harry murmured, and the yellow disk shot from his wand to absorb Cho’s spell. He felt the jolt shock through him, but no more. “That’s good,” he said, lowering his wand. “You’re casting it strongly enough to really take someone down.”

Cho frowned. “But I didn’t get you.”

“Trust me, you got me,” Harry said. “If I hadn’t blocked, you would have got plenty of me.” He stopped as several interpretations of that rushed through his mind, each dirtier than the last. “Here, you try the block now,” he said quickly. “Ready? Expelliarmus ! ”

xXxXx

Dolores Jane Umbridge stepped out of her rooms, her head held high. I am under no obligation to pay attention to such a revolting thing as a poltergeist. It performs these foolish tricks to gain attention—if I give it what it seeks, it will continue. If I ignore it, therefore, it will eventually go away.

“There she is!” Peeves shouted, swooping down from his place near the ceiling. “Ugly Umbridge!”

Calm, Dolores. Remain calm. His insults have no power over you.

An eyepatch materialized on his face, a huge captain’s hat on his head, and a mismatched and tattered outfit on his body. “Oooooooh,” the poltergeist sang, off-key.

Who lives in our castle although she’s no good?

Ugly Umbridge!

She never takes hints how to live like she should!

Ugly Umbridge!

If you are like me and you want to farewell

Ugly Umbridge!

Then listen, my lads, to the story I tell of

Ugly Umbridge!

Peeves began to dive at Dolores’ head, pretending to do each of the things he named, but sheering off before he actually made contact with her.

Let’s kick Umbridge,

Let’s beat Umbridge,

Let’s bomb Umbridge,

Ugly Umbridge!

The poltergeist whistled the last few notes of his song, then zipped off, laughing madly.

Dolores heaved a huge sigh. That was not nearly as bad as I feared.

Her calm lasted until she had taken three steps into the Great Hall, when she heard the first student humming.

Who lives in our castle although she’s no good?

“Stop that,” she said sharply. “Stop that humming.”

The Hufflepuff girl looked up, surprised. “I wasn’t humming, Professor.”

“You were. Stop it immediately. Detention in my office, tonight.”

Just as the Hufflepuff began to protest, Dolores heard more humming, coming from behind her this time.

Then listen, my lads, to the story I tell of...

“Stop that!” she shouted, whirling to face the Ravenclaw table. “Stop it immediately! Detention, tonight, eight o’clock! You, you, and you!” She pointed at three boys at random.

“But we weren’t—”

“We didn’t do—”

“What did we even—”

“Enough,” Dolores snapped, and turned to walk away.

Then she heard it again. Many voices, this time, instead of just one.

Let’s kick Umbridge,

Let’s beat Umbridge,

Let’s bomb Umbridge...

Every student at the Gryffindor table was humming the song.

Dolores gritted her teeth and ignored them, continuing on her way to the High Table.

As satisfying as it would be, I cannot give an entire House detention.

But wait...why not?

She examined her reasoning and found it flawed. Minerva might protest, true, and so might Albus, but my word is final. And I cannot give punishment to one student, or set of students, and let others go. It would be fatal for discipline.

“Detention for all of Gryffindor House,” she announced loudly. “Tonight in the Great Hall, at eight o’clock. If you miss, you will receive two detentions to make up for it. That is all.”

The sight of Minerva rising from her chair, her face paling in anger, made Dolores’ day rather better than otherwise. I could use a good argument. Particularly one that I know I will win.

Smiling sweetly, she walked unhurriedly up the aisle towards the High Table, the grumbles of the Gryffindors music to her ears.

xXxXx

“All right, I’m changing my mind,” Aletha announced when the cubs’ disgruntled letters reached home. “Two more weeks and they’ll be up in arms against Umbridge.”

“Week and a half,” Sirius said.

“You’re on.”

xXxXx

“This is not fair,” Ron said, throwing the letter to the ground. “This is so not fair. Everyone else’s parents are letting them!”

“I don’t think that’s going to impress your mum and dad very much,” Hermione said. “Especially not when you think about who everyone else’s parents are. Luna’s dad would probably take her with him into a volcano if he thought they’d find something interesting there, Neville’s parents are so proud of him that they’ll say yes to anything he wants to do, and the Pack would let us do just about anything Professor Dumbledore said was all right, especially if it’s to help someone.”

“But it’s still not fair!” Ron kicked his chair hard, then sat down in it, making a face at his bruised toes. “I want to go with you. I want to help you.”

“I wish you could come,” Hermione said truthfully. “But your mum and dad said no.”

Ron gave a sour smile. “Ginny’s not going to like it either.”

Hermione laughed a little. “They’ll probably be able to hear her yelling in the Slytherin dorms.”

“Probably.” Ron growled under his breath. “Damn it. I wanted to help. I wanted to do something important.”

A thought tickled the edge of Hermione’s brain. “Maybe you still can,” she said slowly. “Did you keep that model of the house you and Ginny and Harry made last week?”

“Yeah. It’s down in the Den. Why?”

“I have an idea, or the start of one. Come on.” Hermione jumped up. “Let’s go down there.”

In the Den, Hermione set up the model house, then squinted at it. “You need little people,” she said. “Like chess figures.”

Ron opened a wall cupboard and took out a battered box, rapping on the top twice before he opened it to display yawning and grumbling chess pieces. “Like these?”

“Yes, just like these.” Hermione reached into the box and grabbed five pieces at random. “Here, these are us.” She set up her three pawns, bishop, and knight outside the house. “And this is a guard.” She picked up a rook and set it inside the doorway. “This is Graham.” Another pawn, placed in the upstairs room Harry said was Graham’s. “And a few Death Eaters upstairs in their meeting room.” A queen, two knights, and another rook. “Do you see yet?”

“Almost.” Ron looked at the house for a moment with his brow furrowed. Then his face cleared. “Rook, on patrol,” he ordered. “You, pawn, sleep. You four, talk. And you five, be quiet.”

The ‘Death Eaters’ began chattering noisily, while the ‘rescuers’ huddled outside the house.

“Black pawn,” Ron said. “Watch for the rook’s pattern. See when he’s not looking, then sneak in past him. Not all at once.”

One by one, the pieces crept past the watchful rook.

“Bishop up the stairs first, now. Then pawns, then knight. Don’t make too much noise, or the lot in the attic will hear you.”

Tiny feet minced up ceramic stairs.

“Pawns, go in and get your friend. Wake him up quietly and convince him nicely to come along.” Ron grinned at Hermione. “Like this?”

“Yes, just like this.” Hermione grinned back. “Only when we’re really doing it, you’ll move them to show where we are.”

“But how’ll I know?”

“Ginny will tell you.” The picture came clear in Hermione’s mind as she spoke. “Ginny will chain up with Harry, and that will let her talk to him, even if he’s out walking. And he will be out walking, with us, seeing where the guards and the traps are, and that will let you set them up on the model and see if there’s a pattern we wouldn’t notice from where we are. And you can tell us exactly where to go when, and how to get away.”

Ron watched the three pawns coming back out of the room. “I like that,” he said. “I’d really be important. You’d need me.”

“We always need you,” said Hermione. “Maybe we don’t always know it, but we always need you.”

“Are you sure?” Ron looked up at her. “Are you really sure?”

“I’m really sure, Ron. We always need you.”

“Well...well, good.” Ron nodded, watching the group of six chess pieces start back down the stairs. “That’s good.”

“Yes, that’s good.” Hermione winced as one of the pawns tripped and fell into two of the others, catapulting them all down the stairs. “That’s not good.”

“No, it’s not. Bishop, defend from the one at the bottom!” Ron ordered. “Knight, pawn still on the stairs, defend from the ones at the top! All of you, look for a chance to run for it! The back way’s open, try to get there!”

The red head and the brown leaned together eagerly over the miniature battle, watching.





Facing Danger

Chapter 13: Just You Wait (Year 5)


Chapter 13: Just You Wait

One more week. That’s all the longer we have to wait. Just one more week. Meghan peered out a window of Gryffindor Tower towards Hogsmeade. Just hold on for one more week, Graham. We’re coming. We’ll get you out.

“What are you looking at?” Natalie asked from behind her.

“Oh, nothing. Just thinking of Graham.”

Natalie nodded tightly. “They’re lying to us,” she said, joining Meghan at the window. “They’re all lying to us. The teachers, Graham’s family…I talked to his cousin, to Maya. She said they told her Graham was going away, and not to ask any more questions about it. Why can’t we ask questions? What’s the secret? Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” Meghan said, crossing her fingers behind her back. “I wish I did.”

I do know, but I can’t tell you, because if they found out we knew, they might kill him. And I know you don’t want him to die.

Natalie sniffled once. Meghan hugged her tightly. I’m going to help get him back, she vowed to her friend silently, and then he’ll be safe and I won’t have to lie anymore. And maybe the Ministry will believe him, and then Harry won’t have to hide anymore.

We just have to keep hoping.

xXxXx

Maya Pritchard sat outside the Owlery, her eyes shut, her hands running across the outside of a letter. She hadn’t opened it yet. She knew all too well what it would say.

Time to come home. We let you have your little vacation, a whole month at school while we prepared, but now it’s time for you to be a good girl and come do what Mother and Father tell you. Pack up your things and be ready to come when we call.

She pressed against the inside corners of her eyes. I don’t want to disappoint my parents. I love them. Well, Mother anyway. I don’t know if Father even wants my love. Just my obedience. But this is my life, my whole life, we’re talking about—shouldn’t I get a little say in what happens?

For one dizzying instant, she imagined her life if she had not only a little say, but the final say. She could decide where to live, what to eat, who to see—

Who to fight for, who to care about, maybe even who to marry—

Harry Potter, facing down a room full of wary students and convincing them of his sanity and his cause. Graham as she had seen him last year, walking in the halls, talking with little Meghan Black and Natalie McDonald. And the boy who had told her about the first meeting of the DA, who had helped her overcome her trepidation about attending, who needed her help practicing some of the more difficult spells…

Lee.

I don’t know if he’s ever thought about marriage, I don’t know if he’d even be interested in me, but I can’t stop thinking about him. About the way his hand feels under mine when I show him how to work a spell, about the way he smiles and calls my name when he sees me, about the way he laughs when he tells a funny story about the Weasley twins…

Maya shook herself back to reality. That’s just dreams. Love is nice, but it goes away after a while. It shouldn’t run your whole life. Marriage can’t be based on something as changeable as love. It isn’t practical, it isn’t reasonable, and Mother and Father would never stand for it.

Besides, he’s a half-blood, and you know Mother and Father would never stand for that. It’s Perseus Henderson or Claudius Greco for you. Your only decision is which one, and you’re lucky even to have that. A quick marriage, and then…

She shuddered deeply at the thought of what would come next.

Our numbers are shrinking. We’re dying out. A strong next generation is our only hope. That’s what they’ll tell me when they make me drink that fertility potion, and when they lock the door to that room and put up charms so they can claim they never heard me scream. If the potion fails and I don’t ‘catch’, it will happen again and again until I do. And after that, I won’t be allowed to leave the house in case I miscarry.

Her knees were against her chest, her arms wrapped around them. They’re still handling the older women with velvet gloves, but that’s started to change since Corona Gamp left home. The pressure’s on them to give in. Some man, any man, so long as he’s pureblooded.

Fear and disgust hit a tipping point and spilled over into rage. It doesn’t matter if we like him, it doesn’t even necessarily matter if we say yes. It’s our privilege, it’s our duty, to advance the best blood in the world another generation. So don’t fight back, they tell us. Just relax and try to enjoy it.

She stared down at the letter, then slowly, deliberately, took it between her two hands and pulled. The parchment resisted at first, then tore apart, sounding to her ears like the ripping of a world.

No more. No more. There is another way, and I won’t give up my entire life to what my parents think is right when I can see that it would destroy me.

The two halves of the letter fell from her hands to the floor, and Maya drew a deep breath, feeling as though she’d spent her life wearing a corset that had suddenly been cut away.

Now I need to create this new life of mine. “Not those people” is not enough, and “with these other people” is not enough either. I need a me.

What do I want?

The question reverberated in her mind for long enough that she suspected she’d never really thought about it before.

But I’ll have a lot of time to think about it over the holidays. I’ll be spending them here, I’m sure, after the family disowns me. And what will I do about summer?

Maya got to her feet, letting thoughts chase each other through her mind. I could stay at the Leaky Cauldron, or find a family willing to take a boarder… maybe I could even get to know Lindsey Jordan better…

xXxXx

Hermione bounced twice on the bed and clambered off, brushing her hand past the bell she’d dreamed up for the red bedroom of the Den. It let people waiting above know that their landing pad was clear. No more accidentally landing on top of Ron. But, on the other hand, no more pretending it was an accident that I landed on top of Ron…

She scowled at herself. And why would I want to land on top of Ron, anyway?

Voices greeted her as she opened the door into the main room. Harry looked around from something Professor Dumbledore was showing him. “’Lo, Neenie. Anyone else with you?”

“Ron and Neville. Draco will be here a little later, he had to ask Professor Snape a question, and I don’t know when the girls will get here. Hello, Professor Dumbledore.”

“Hermione,” the Headmaster acknowledged her. “Come and see this.”

“What is it?” Hermione asked, coming around Harry to get a better look at the large standing frame set up in the middle of the room. It was about the size of a doorway, reminding her briefly of the Door in the Air from the end of Prince Caspian , but that door hadn’t had anything in it, and this one did—but it didn’t—

“It’s warded,” Harry said. “Watch.” He gritted his teeth and swung his hand at the doorway. It bounced off apparently empty air, sparking as it did.

“I’d have believed you, you didn’t have to show me.” Hermione squinted at the doorway. “What sort of ward is it?”

Harry made a face and held out his arm again. Professor Dumbledore gravely laid his wand against it, and a ghostly gray Dark Mark shot from the wand’s tip and attached itself to Harry’s forearm.

Ron came up behind Hermione. “What the—” He stopped himself as Harry slid his arm through the door with no trouble, and the rest of him followed. “What is that?”

“I thought I saw something odd when I was out walking around the house where Graham is the other night,” Harry said, coming back around the doorway, his forearm once again unmarked. “There are wards around the house to stop anyone from coming in who doesn’t have the Dark Mark, or isn’t brought in by someone who does.”

“So how will we get past them?” Neville asked.

“Could we learn to do that, Professor?” asked Ron. “What you did, with—you know.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Conjuring the Dark Mark requires a mindset I would prefer you use as little as possible,” he said. “And a temporary version calls for control beyond anything you will have at this stage in your training.”

“Couldn’t you do it, before we leave?” said Hermione.

“It doesn’t last long enough,” Harry said. “Even the best one we’ve got only stayed for a minute, and you can’t possibly get from here to Hogsmeade and through the wards in under a minute.”

“There is an alternative,” said Dumbledore. “A much simpler spell, which instead of fooling the wards merely opens a breach in them, without bringing them down.”

“They open that easy?” Ron snorted. “Not much of wards.”

“Observe.” Dumbledore waved his wand at the door once, tinting the ward within a glossy green, then made a series of gestures and spoke a short incantation. A small hole opened near his wand’s tip, widening as Dumbledore waved the wand in a slow circle. Finally, when the hole was about nine inches across, he stopped.

“Keep going,” Ron said. “That’s not nearly big enough for us to get in through.”

“That’s the problem,” said Harry. “That’s as big as it can get without tripping the ward and setting off every alarm they’ve got.”

“I don’t see a problem,” Hermione said.

Neville looked thoughtful. “I’d have to be careful, but I think I could go too. And Draco could make it for sure.”

“What are—” Ron stopped. “Oh.”

Hermione dropped to all fours, and Neenie darted across the room and leapt cleanly through the hole in the wards, tail tucked in tightly and ears laid flat. “There,” she said when she’d changed back. “That’s how.”

“And I’d just thought of that when you went and showed it off,” Ron said, but he was grinning. “Nice.”

“Can you get it to the ground, Professor?” Neville asked. “I can’t jump like Hermione can when she’s Neenie.”

Dumbledore directed the opening in the wards downwards until its bottom edge brushed the sill, and Neville went to all fours and shrank into his demiguise form.

“You don’t have a form name, Captain,” Harry said as the silver ape squirmed carefully through the hole. “What should we do about that?”

Neville stood up again. “I thought you just said it,” he said. “‘Captain’ sounds good to me.”

“But that’s not anything about your form,” Hermione objected. “It’s what we call you when you’re human too.”

“So is yours. I don’t think it really matters where you get it from, as long as you get it, and you know what you’re talking about.” Neville peered closer at the green ward. “Why is it that color?”

“Merely to make it easy to see,” Dumbledore said, taking his wand away from the hole in the ward, which closed silently. “The real ward is invisible, though it may be more noticeable to other senses…”

Hermione had changed again before the Headmaster was finished speaking. She prowled around the doorway, sniffing—was there a smell to the ward? Yes, there was, a little hint of the same scent you got when a spell passed by—

The kitchen door opened across the room. Neenie miauled happily and dashed over to leap into Draco’s arms. Wards, she said succinctly, letting the word be a conduit into her twin’s mind for everything they’d seen and done and thought. Can you see it? I can smell it.

“She can tell it’s there, Professor,” Draco said aloud. “Can you try opening it again? Maybe she can smell the difference between where the hole is and where it isn’t.” He crossed to stand with Ron and Neville. I don’t recall saying I’d be your voice today, he told her silently.

I’d do the same for you and you know it. Neenie leapt down and trotted over to the doorway. “Mrowr?” she said questioningly to Professor Dumbledore.

The Headmaster nodded and put the tip of his wand against the wards again, and Neenie stared. She could see a slight disturbance in the air. It was everywhere in the confines of the doorframe; how hadn’t she noticed it before? The hole was clearly visible as the only place the air wasn’t shaking—

“That’s it!” She didn’t recall changing back to human, but obviously she had, or she wouldn’t be able to talk. “The spell, it made the ward shake a little, it made it vibrate, and I could see it! I could see where it was, and where it wasn’t!”

“So we will be able to see it,” said Neville. “Good.”

“But there’s still a problem,” Ron said.

“Problem, what problem?” Harry struck a heroic pose. “I laugh in the face of problems.”

“Yeah, well, laugh at this one.” Ron made a circle with his two hands and held it over his head as though he were miming a halo. “You can get in through a little hole like that, but how’re you going to get Pritchard out?”

“Oh.” Harry brought his arm down. “That is a problem.”

“Glad you agree with me.” Ron looked at Dumbledore. “Professor?”

Dumbledore shook his head, his eyes twinkling. “Work on it yourselves for a time,” he said. “I think you will be pleasantly surprised by what you know in combination. And I have nearly overstayed my time in any case; I must return to my office, lest Dolores make too free with it in my absence.”

“Blech.” Hermione shuddered.

“Why is she even allowed in there?” Draco asked. “Do you have to let anyone in who knows the password?”

“It is not required, but it is common courtesy. As well, I would give Dolores her way in as many small things as possible.” Dumbledore’s face was politely bland. “It lulls her so that she cannot believe me capable of flouting her will in any larger way.”

Five students snickered.

xXxXx

“So we’re already supposed to know how to solve the problem of getting Graham out of a little hole?” Meghan said doubtfully, eyeing the warded doorframe.

“Maybe we just have to look at it a different way,” Ginny said. “Are you sure you can’t get the hole any bigger, Harry?”

Harry looked up from demonstrating the wand movement to Hermione and Neville. “Positive,” he said. “The bigger you make the hole, the harder it is to hold the ward together. Any bigger than about nine inches across and...” He tipped his hand over and mimicked the sound of an explosion.

“So if the hole can’t be bigger,” Luna said thoughtfully, “then maybe Graham needs to be smaller.”

Draco turned away from the chessboard. “What did you say, Luna?”

“Graham needs to be smaller,” Luna repeated. “Maybe we could use a Shrinking Charm.”

“That would mean we’d need to know a Shrinking Charm,” Ron said. “We haven’t learned those yet, they’re N.E.W.T. level.”

“Charms aren’t everything,” Draco said. “Neville, remember the day Trevor discovered his inner child, back in third year?”

“What—oh yeah.” Neville laughed. “I think he liked it. I still find him sleeping in my cauldron sometimes.”

“And Snape never would believe you’d fixed the potion yourself,” Hermione said. “All I did was remind you where to look up what you needed.”

“The Shrinking Solution,” Harry said. “That’s perfect. We know we can make it, it’s easy to reverse...”

“But we’ll have to be careful with the dose,” Meghan said. “If we shrink Graham too small, he won’t be there at all anymore.”

“We might have to ask Professor Snape to help us with it,” said Ginny, making a face. “Maybe we should even ask him to brew the potion. Not that you’re not good,” she added to Draco and Hermione, “but this needs to be perfect. We can’t risk poisoning Meghan’s friend just because we’re too proud to ask for help.”

“Would he help us, though?” Ron asked dubiously. “Us? ”

“It’s Order business, Ron,” said Hermione. “I think he will.”

“Are you sure?”

“The worst he can say is no,” Harry said quickly, forestalling the burgeoning argument. “And if we act like we can’t do it ourselves and we really need him, maybe he’ll like that.”

“How’d you know that?” Draco asked.

Harry smiled one-sidedly. “Moony in a bad mood is a lot more like Snape than he wants to admit.”

“You have a point there.”

“So now we need to factor in the time it’ll take to get Pritchard to agree to take a potion,” Ron said, standing up and crossing to the wall cupboard where the supplies for the rescue mission were kept. “And the time it’ll take to work, and extra time to get back downstairs and out carrying him.”

“We’ll need a way to keep him quiet,” said Luna. “The Shrinking Solution doesn’t just make him smaller. It makes him younger too. He’ll be a baby.”

“So we need to know if Shrinking Solution interacts badly with any common sleeping potions,” said Hermione, joining Ron at the small table which had grown from the floor near the cupboard. “And once we find that out, we need to get some of the sleeping potion that will work the fastest and the best. Pearl, can you work on that?”

“Sure.” Meghan jumped up from her place on the floor and hurried into the library, emerging a few moments later with her arms clasped around three heavy books.

“Deployment,” Ron muttered, setting out several small figurines. “Luna overhead to keep overall watch, Meghan on the outside because she’s not going to fit through there even if she finishes Animagus in time...”

Meghan made a face at Ron and dumped the books on the table, knocking over three of his figurines and making the others squeal.

“So that leaves Hermione and Draco and Neville to go in.” Ron helped two of the figurines up and shepherded them towards the clay house. A third one joined them. “Captain, you think you can carry a baby in form?”

“Get me a baby doll and I’ll find out,” Neville said. “But I think so. My arms are built a lot like a human’s. I won’t be able to move fast, though.”

“That is a problem,” Harry said, joining the others at the table. “We’ll need to get out of there as fast as possible, in case they have a silent alarm on the wards that reports long-term tampering, or something goes wrong and you get seen. And unless you give him the antidote right outside the wards, and then wake him up, he’s not going to be able to run on his own.”

“Even if we do that, he’ll be all groggy,” Hermione said. “We’d just get him caught again.”

“You sound like you need something that can carry a baby and run,” Meghan said, turning a page in her book. “Maybe something that can carry a demiguise too.”

The rest of the Pride looked at each other. Harry took the bait. “How far are you from finishing, Pearl?”

Meghan looked up and grinned. “I’m done.”

Girls squealed, boys exclaimed, and Neville squeezed past Hermione and Harry to hug Meghan. “Why didn’t you tell us?” he asked, shaking her lightly once he’d let her go.

“I just did.”

Neville looked up to heaven. “Before this.”

“Because I wasn’t done until yesterday,” Meghan said reasonably. “Professor McGonagall helped me finish my head transfiguration, since Professor Umbridge doesn’t want parents coming to the school. And my incantation is ready, so all I have to do is go home tonight and take my potion.”

“And then you’ll be an Animagus,” Draco said, sliding his arms under Neville’s. “Little Pearl, all grown up. I’m so proud.”

“And that solves the problem of getting Graham away safely,” Ginny said. “If Meghan has a harness on with a baby sling, she can run and carry him at the same time.”

“But she’ll want to balance the weight with something on her other side,” said Luna. “Not anything too big, and she wouldn’t want to carry anybody who can run fast themselves.”

Neville covered a smile, then turned to Meghan. “My lady,” he said formally, “when you carry your baby friend safely home, will you carry the baby thief with you as well?”

“I will gladly do that, my lord.” Meghan curtsied, and Neville bowed in return.

“So here’s the whole plan from the start, then,” Ron said, pulling attention to himself. “Ginny and I are here with Harry.” Three figurines were set off to one side, where they grumbled slightly. “Ginny’s chained up with Harry, and Harry’s out walking—did we ever test to see if that works?”

“Last week,” Ginny said. “It’s a little echoey, but I could hear him just fine.”

“Good. So Harry’s body’s here, but he’s really out with the rest of you lot.” Ron placed five more figurines in a group on the table. “Luna goes owl and keeps an eye on things from above.” One of the figures flapped its arms as though flying. Ron lifted it to the top of the clay house. “There you are,” he said to it. “Meantime, Meghan stays on guard outside the house.” A second figure flattened itself against the wall. “And you other three go in, with Harry.”

The three remaining figures took turns letting each other through the imaginary wards around the house, then began to creep towards the door on all fours. “Are they in Animagus now, Ron?” Draco asked. “Sorry, are we?”

“Probably better that way. Smaller means harder to see. And you’ll have to do something about your coat,” Ron added in passing. “It’s getting towards winter—are you turning yet?”

Draco changed forms and inspected his fur critically, chittering to himself. “Nope,” he said, turning human again with a faint pop. “Still brown. But it’s a light brown. I should probably darken up for this. Neenie, you too. Your white shows up really well in the dark.”

Hermione hissed in her throat. “I hate getting dirty. But it’s that or get caught, I know.”

“You don’t need to do anything,” Ron said to Neville. “Except remember to stay invisible.”

Neville smiled. “Not too hard. It’s how I always want to be when there are people I don’t know around. Especially ones who want to kill me.”

“Yeah, that would tend to make you want to be invisible,” Harry said. “And I’m roaming around the house, letting you know, Ron, where the Death Eaters are, and sending these three your messages...” He stopped. “How’re we going to handle that, if Luna’s outside?”

“Ah, hell,” said Draco. “I knew there was something wrong with this.”

“I don’t know if I could get in through the wards,” Luna said. “If my feathers fluff up when I’m not expecting it, I’ll set the alarms off.”

“We’ll just have to get by with what we understand when Harry overlaps us,” said Hermione. “It’ll have to be simple messages, but really, how complicated will it need to be?”

“Or someone could use a blue jewel,” Ginny said reluctantly. “I know we can’t replace them, but this is at least as important as helping Hagrid get rid of Norbert, and we used a jewel for that.”

“We were kids then,” Ron said. “Eleven and twelve.”

“Hey!” Meghan protested.

“But I think you’re right,” Ron continued, ignoring this. “This isn’t some stupid prank where the worst thing that could happen is we get detention.” He opened the clay house along the line down its middle and ran a finger along the outline of the small, windowless room Ginny had sculpted to show where Graham slept. “This is somebody’s life on the line. Our lives, too, if we get caught.” He looked around at the Pack. “Maybe I won’t be out there, but if anything happened to any of you...” He shook his head, words apparently failing him.

“Meghan, you’ve got the most blue left,” Hermione said. “I’ve only got one, and Luna doesn’t have any. Would you—”

“Of course !” Meghan half-shouted indignantly. “I’d do anything if it meant Graham would get home safely!”

“So we’ll all be able to talk to each other,” Ginny said. “I suppose that means Harry and I won’t need to link up.”

“No, I think we still should,” Harry said quickly. “It might get noisy with everyone talking at once. If you and I have a direct link, then you can tell Ron things aloud he might not catch over a jewel-link.”

“And if it gets too noisy, I can just...” Ron mimed pulling off a necklace. “So now I think we’re covered. Draco, Hermione, Neville, you three will go in and up to Pritchard’s room—you’ll have to switch off who’s holding the wards open while you’re going in, but that shouldn’t be too hard—and then get him to take the potions.”

“Problem,” said Meghan. “The potions. If he takes the Shrinking Solution first, he’ll turn into a baby, and it’s hard to get babies to drink potions. But if he takes the sleeping potion first, he’ll be asleep and he won’t be able to drink the Shrinking Solution.”

“I’ll work on that,” Draco said. “We might be able to mix them, or put a time-delay on one. I can ask Snape about it, act like I’m looking for extra credit.”

“Or you could just make the sleeping potion sweet and put it in a baby bottle,” Ginny suggested. “Then he’d drink it.”

“Oh.” Meghan nodded. “That would work.”

Ron directed his figures through the motions of the rescue as he narrated it. “Captain grabs the baby, the four of you go back down, open up the wards again, stick Pritchard on Meghan’s sling—we’ll need to have somebody help us make that—and you’re gone.”

The figures ran in all directions. Hermione caught one as it plummeted off the edge of the table. “Not quite like that, I don’t think,” she said, setting it back on its feet.

“I hope not,” Harry said. “Come on, Draco, I need to show you the opener spell. It’s not hard, but there’s a trick to it. It took me a little while to really get it.”

“Can you show me too?” Ginny asked. “I won’t have to stay behind forever.”

“And me,” Ron said, waving the figures into their box. “More we can learn, the better.”

“Sure. Just get your wand out and get ready to listen.”

“Hermione, we should practice more while Harry’s starting them out,” Neville said, taking out his wand. “Come on, Meghan, maybe I can teach you how it works. It would be good to have someone standing by to catch the wards if we slip.”

“But I’m not very good at Charms...”

“That’s probably just because you think you’re not,” Neville said patiently. “You’re so good at other things that you think everything should happen easily and right away, and Charms is a little harder for you than that, so you think you’re not good at it when you’re really all right.”

“That’s not true! I work hard at Charms, and I never get any of them right!”

“Pearl, you think something has to be perfect to be right,” said Hermione. “I could Summon a pillow and have it come to me all wobbly, or I could Summon it and have it fly here beautifully. Either way, I still have it.”

“But the one way you looked silly!”

“So I looked silly.” Hermione made a horrendous face, pulling on the sides of her eyes and sticking out her tongue. “I looked even sillier right then. Nobody ever died of looking silly.”

Meghan growled, but drew her wand and adopted a listening pose.

xXxXx

Perched on a shelf that had grown from the wall of the Room of Requirement, Harry watched two teams from the DA carefully navigating a maze of cubicles. Fred and George, it turned out, had still had some of the Combat Club equipment left over from two years ago, and were perfectly happy to supply the DA with all the fake wands and potion bombs they could want. One team was playing the Ministry/Order side, with orders to stun and restrain their opponents if at all possible, and the other was playing by Death Eater rules—pain was good, death even better.

Their tactics mean they have more options than we do. So we just have to be better than they are.

One of the Ministry team—Zacharias Smith, Harry realized after a moment of squinting in the dim light—was lagging behind his teammates. They’d already turned a corner, in a few seconds he’d be left alone—

Points off them for leaving him, and points off him for getting left. Harry made a note on the scroll he had charmed to hover beside him. He’s not injured, he knows the rules, he has no excuse for hanging back—

A Death Eater burst around the corner, and Smith whirled and shot at him.

Ahh . Looking for glory, are you? Harry felt Wolf’s growl rumble his chest. Fool to seek a pride fight when his pack is in danger. Stupid, stupid cub.

On some level, Wolf characterizing Smith as a cub amused Harry—it was better than even odds Smith was older than he was, after all—but on another level, he had to admit Wolf had a point. Smith had no more idea of how to fight than a baby.

He wasn’t listening at all. And he didn’t do any of the reading I suggested. I wouldn’t have fought like that when I was seven years old...

Harry watched coldly as Smith got his sleeve tagged by a bit of the Death Eater’s blue dye. “Out,” he called just as Smith brought up his own wand and sprayed the Death Eater in the face with his own red dye.

All right, that’s it. “I said, out!” Harry clapped his hands twice to bring up the lights, then jumped down into the middle of the simulated office. “What’re you playing at, Smith?”

“He barely touched me,” Smith complained, spreading his sleeve to show the few tiny dots of blue dye. “That wouldn’t have done anything even if it was a real spell.”

“If it had been the Cruciatus, you’d be screaming,” Harry said bluntly. “Bringing your teammates running and giving their position away. Not to mention you’d be in pain and probably no good to fight for several minutes after. And if it had been the Killing Curse, you’d be dead. Which might not give away your teammates, but I don’t think you’d care for it much.”

“Bollocks,” Smith shot back. “How do you know it would’ve done that?”

“How do you know it wouldn’t?” Harry countered.

“This is just a mock-up. It’s not real.”

“That’s not the point. The point is to develop reflexes.” Harry shifted his stance, glancing down to confirm his Combat Club wand was in its place at his belt. “Reflexes will save your life when your brain shuts down from fear.”

“I’m not afraid of anything,” Smith said cockily.

Harry flipped into Wolf-mind for an instant. Interloper. Dangerous. Destroy.

His wand was in his hand faster than his mind could follow. Smith jerked back as a spray of green dye covered his chest.

“Are you afraid of death?” Harry asked softly, lowering his wand. “Maybe you should be.”

“That’s not fair,” Smith said sullenly. “You cheated.”

Harry barked a laugh. “That’s right, I cheated. That’s why I’m still alive and you’re not. Are you going to tell a Death Eater he cheated? Oh wait, I forgot. You won’t be able to. You’ll be dead .”

Smith’s face turned blotchy red. “I don’t have to take this from you, Potter.”

“You’re right, you don’t. There’s the door.” Harry pointed at it. “No one made you come here, no one’s making you stay. Don’t try and tell Umbridge about us, though. You wouldn’t like what happens.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No, it’s a warning.” Harry stared Smith down, fighting the urge to force the other boy to his knees and grip his throat. He is not Pack, he reminded Wolf. He is not subject to our laws. Under me for now, yes, but not to be dominated. Not like that.

After a few seconds, Smith looked away. “Never said I wanted to leave,” he muttered.

“Then you want to stay?”

Smith nodded grudgingly.

Harry spread his hands. “Then stay. Follow the rules, and you’re welcome here.”

Smith snorted, but didn’t say anything.

xXxXx

Harry nodded to the DA members as they slipped out of the Room of Requirement a few at a time. Go on without me, he signed to the Pride. I have something to do.

Draco and Ron both had suggestions about his “something”, each different but both equally profane. Harry told them both where they could stick it, and they sniggered under their breaths.

Harry didn’t care. Cho had caught his sleeve as he passed by and whispered that she had a little time after the meeting was over. Now she was sitting by the bookshelf, mostly hidden by a little jag that had appeared in it, browsing through a copy of Jinxes for the Jinxed .

Be careful, Hermione signed.

Of what? Harry demanded.

Just...be careful.

Harry exchanged weary glances with Draco and Ron. He’d never understand girls.

Although maybe I’ll understand them better after tonight.

Finally, the door closed behind Neville, Meghan, and Natalie, and Harry sighed in relief.

“Don’t you like doing the DA?” Cho asked, looking up from her book.

“I like it. But it’s hard sometimes too. Have you ever had anything like that?”

“Oh, of course. Everything that’s really worth doing is hard at first.” Cho smiled. “Even being in a relationship is hard at first.” The smile cracked and began to slide. “It was a little rough for me and Cedric at first, you know. We liked each other very much, and we had Quidditch and a couple of favorite school subjects in common, but somehow it never felt like we had a lot to talk about.” She sighed. “Maybe we were too much the same.”

“Maybe,” Harry said, thinking this was probably a safe answer.

Cho’s lower lip trembled. “It still doesn’t seem real that he’s gone forever. I keep expecting him to be there at the Hufflepuff table in the morning, or to walk into one of these meetings—and then I wonder, if he’d known what you’re teaching us, maybe—” A sniffle. “—maybe would he have lived?”

Harry sat down on the next beanbag over from Cho. “Nobody stays alive after Voldemort decides to kill them,” he said quietly.

“Nobody except you.” Cho rubbed at her eyes.

“I had help. And a lot of luck.”

“And Cedric didn’t.” Cho sniffed again. “How did it happen?” she asked, looking up at Harry with glistening eyes. “All I know is that he stayed behind to try to help you, and got killed instead...”

Harry swallowed hard. “I wish he hadn’t,” he said honestly. “I wish he’d run for it while he had the chance. Voldemort wasn’t about to kill me right away.” He let his hand rest on the side of the beanbag, palm up. “If Cedric had just run, the first instant he realized something wasn’t right, he might have been able to bring help in time to stop what happened.”

“But he was being noble. He was being brave.”

“No, he was being stupid,” Harry snapped, suddenly unable to keep up the façade any longer. “He should have known he had no chance. He should have run and brought help instead of hanging about hoping to play hero.”

Cho stared at him, aghast. “How can you say that? He saved your life!”

“And got himself killed in the process! Which meant I got to come back here, try to explain what had happened, get branded as a liar and possibly a murderer, and deal with the fact that yes, he died trying to save me, but what he did had almost nothing to do with my actually getting saved, so now I have to live with that for the rest of my life—I’ll always be the person Cedric Diggory died for, and I don’t know if I’m worth it or not—”

Harry shut his mouth with an effort and sagged into the beanbag. “Sorry,” he said under his breath. “I just...haven’t talked about it much.”

“I can tell,” Cho said softly. “But Harry?”

“Yeah?” Harry sat up a little to look over at her.

“I think you’re worth it.” A tear spilled from one of Cho’s eyes and tracked down her cheek. “And Cedric must have too.”

Harry felt a lump rise in his throat. “Thanks,” he said, swallowing against the lump. “Thanks a lot.”

He leaned forward, meaning to wipe the tear from Cho’s face, but Cho was leaning forward too, her face getting closer and closer to his, and her eyes were closing...

xXxXx

A few minutes later, they were on the same beanbag, Cho’s head on Harry’s shoulder and several small wet marks on Harry’s robes.

“Thank you,” Cho murmured.

“You’re welcome. And thank you.” Harry knew the basic mechanics of romance, had since he was thirteen, but he had never understood before this just how such things could be enjoyable. Now he was beginning to see.

And if Padfoot was telling the truth, the farther you go, the better it gets...

“Let’s talk about something else,” Cho said, sitting up a little. “Let’s talk about...families. You go first.”

“Are you sure? Ladies first.”

Cho laughed shakily. “I asked you first.”

“All right, if you want.” Harry tried to calm his mind enough to get a grip on the Pack in a way that Cho would understand.

“I’m very close with my family,” he said finally. “We do a lot together. Not everything, that would get boring, or stifling, but we spend a lot of time together. I miss my parents when I’m away at school, and they miss me and Draco and Hermione and Meghan.”

“That’s right, your brother and your sisters.” Cho’s eyes were shut again. “I know how you came together, or at least some of it. Doesn’t it ever bother you that you don’t look like any of them?”

Harry shrugged the shoulder Cho wasn’t leaning against. “No, not really. I know who I do look like, and I know who I belong with. Draco has it harder that way.”

“I can see that. What about your special friends? The Weasleys and Luna Lovegood and the Longbottom boy?”

“Well, together, we make a thing called a Pride. That’s different than just being friends, even special friends, the same way my Pack’s different than just a family.” Harry laid a hand on his chest, feeling the bumps of the Pack-pendants under his robes. “We swore an oath to protect each other and take care of each other always.”

“You swore?” Cho pulled away to look at him. “Like an Unbreakable Vow?”

“Not quite, but sort of. We’ll definitely get in a lot of trouble if we break it. But we wouldn’t ever do that. It just won’t happen.”

“How do you know?” Cho had her head tilted to one side curiously. “People change. Didn’t one of your parents’ best friends end up betraying them?”

Harry winced inwardly. “This is different,” he said. “I know the Pride and the Pack. I trust them.”

“Didn’t your dad and your mum trust their friend?”

“Yes, but they’d never done the things I’ve done with these people—”

“Like what?”

“Like share blood with them!” Harry reached into the neck of his robes and pulled out his pendants. “We took blood from each of us, and something important to us—my parents’ wedding rings, a ring Draco’s mum left him, a ring from Ron’s grandfather, things like that—and we swore an oath, in blood, to watch out for each other even if we die for it. And the pendants seal that.”

Cho had her hand over her mouth. “You swore in blood?” she whispered around it. “But that’s—that’s—”

“Binding,” Harry said with a sharp nod. “I know.”

“No! It’s Dark!” Cho was on her feet. “Using blood makes it Dark magic!”

“What?” Harry stared. “Cho, my godfather and his wife signed their marriage contract in blood—Draco’s adoption contract is signed in blood—it’s not Dark, it’s just a way to say you’re giving your whole self to something—”

“It’s horrible!” Cho backed away across the room. “What else have you done with these people?” Her eyes were wide with fear, but a trace of accusation lurked in them. “How many of them have you slept with?”

Unbidden, Harry’s mind conjured up an image of the Pride’s last den-night, the one where they’d awakened tangled around each other like so many puppies, and before he realized what he was doing, he laughed.

“That’s what I thought.” Cho had her hand on the doorknob, accusation now crowding out fear in her face. “You’re sick, Harry Potter. Just as sick as they say you are. Maybe in a different way, but they were right about you. They were right all along.”

“Cho, no, wait—”

The door of the Room of Requirement slammed behind Cho Chang.

Harry groaned and sank back down on his beanbag.

Well, that first date was a success.

If by success you mean utter bloody failure.





Facing Danger

Chapter 14: You Should Get Out More (Year 5)


Chapter 14: You Should Get Out More

Wham. Wham. Wham.

Harry flung the bread dough against the table, again and again, pretending it was—not Cho Chang, no matter what she’d said he didn’t actually want to hurt her, but his feelings for her. The feelings that had led him to tell her more than he should.

Wham. Wham.

His jaw ached where he was clenching his teeth, and his hands, when they weren’t actually holding the dough, were fists. He was breathing harder than the exertion of kneading the dough would account for, and realized distantly how angry he must look.

If anyone was here to see me.

He raised the dough high and slammed it down on the table once, resoundingly.

WHAM.

The dough quivered, then resumed its form as a pale and unoffending lump, and Harry sank his fists lightly into its surface, feeling the smooth resilience against his skin.

Ready for a second rising. And in record time, too. I should get mad every time I bake.

The absurdity of the thought made him smile, then wince at the pain in his face. He pulled over a chair, sat down, and raised his hands to his jaw to rub out some of the tension in the muscles there.

What is wrong with her? All I did was tell her we’d used blood magic, and she flew off the handle—she completely overreacted—it was as if I’d said we sacrifice babies! And where the hell did she get the idea that I sleep with people in the Pack or the Pride? I know there’ve always been stories, stupid stories, because there are more of us than would usually live in one house, but anybody who got to know us would see that’s all they are, stupid stories...

He stood up, shoving the chair backwards, and went over to the counter to get the bowl he’d put the dough in for its second rising. “The Pack is a family ,” he said aloud. “And the Pride are just friends. Maybe we do some strange things, but not like that. Everyone who knows us knows that much.”

A small, cold certainty was growing in his gut that he’d said something important, and that whenever he figured out what it was, he wasn’t going to like it.

Whatever. How can I fix this? Whatever went wrong here, how can I put it right? Harry plopped the dough into the bowl and draped the floured cloth over it, then set it in the sheltered corner of the counter he used for things that needed some time to rest. Have to find her, get her alone somewhere, but not act like I’m being a stalker, just find some time to talk to her alone and ask her what’s the matter...

He looked around and sighed. “And that would be a lot easier if I weren’t in hiding,” he said aloud. “Add another reason to get rid of Umbridge.”

“As if we needed any more,” said Hermione from the door.

Harry jumped. “Don’t do that.”

“I wasn’t trying to be sneaky. You were just thinking so loud you couldn’t hear me.” Hermione stepped into the kitchen. “How did it go?”

Harry shrugged.

“That doesn’t look good.”

“She’s got some funny ideas,” Harry admitted. “About me being Pack, and what that means. And about the Pride, too. And I didn’t help any—she said something about us sleeping together, and I couldn’t help thinking about den, and it made me laugh, so now she thinks I think she’s funny—but everyone knows we don’t do stupid stuff like that! Everyone who knows us knows—”

He stopped.

“Everyone who knows us,” Hermione repeated into the silence. “Everyone who took a little time to get to know us all .”

Her tone was not judging, but Harry caught a whiff of guilty satisfaction and well-worn bitterness in her scent. “Did she—she never said anything, or did anything—I mean, you’ve never—”

“She was never rude to me,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “But she was never really polite either. She just never seemed to notice that I was there, that any of us were there except you, Harry. She would answer us if we talked to her, and she would notice us if something we did affected her directly. But she didn’t try to get to know us or make friends with us at all.”

“She’s older,” Harry said, hearing how weak his voice sounded even in his own ears. “She’s a different House. She’s got her own friends.”

“I wouldn’t ask for her to be best friends with me. But if she wants to date a boy who has a close family, maybe she should try to get that family on her side.” Hermione smiled a little. “Or at least notice they exist.”

Harry looked away. “So how stupid do I look right now?” he asked harshly. “How much of a fool am I?”

“I’m not qualified to answer that question. This is only a little bit stupid, and I’ve seen you do too many really stupid things.”

“Like what?”

“Like walk through fire to confront Voldemort alone when you were eleven. Or speak Parseltongue in public when you were twelve. Or fight a Death Eater wand to wand when you were thirteen. Or—”

“All right, all right, you win!” Harry held up his hands in surrender. “You win. And I lose.” He thumped his forehead against the wall. “I really lose.”

“It...” Hermione trailed off. “You’re just going to get mad, no matter what I say, aren’t you?” she asked. “Because you’re really mad at yourself and at her, but I’m right here and available, so you’ll feel better if you can yell at me and get it all out, won’t you?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“You might feel even better if you tried something else.”

“Like what?”

“Like this.”

Harry turned to see what ‘this’ was.

“Want to play tug-o’-war?” Hermione asked, slapping the thick, knotted rope in her hand against the doorframe.

“I’d bowl you over,” Harry protested. “You’re too little.”

“I never said I’d play alone. Some of the others are on their way in. And I bet I can hold you until they get here.” Hermione caught the bottom end of the rope with her free hand and pulled it taut. “So, what do you say?”

“I say...” Harry pushed away from the wall, feeling some of Wolf’s endless energy returning to him. “I say you’re on!” He transformed and bounded across the kitchen, leaping up to clamp his jaws around the center of the rope, then worrying it back and forth, trying to get it out of his sister’s hands.

“You’re a crazy wolf, aren’t you?” Hermione teased, and jerked the tug-o’-war rope up and down, making Wolf’s head nod. “You’re a silly wolf, aren’t you?” Up, down, up. “You’re going to let me win, aren’t you?” Up, down—“Oh!”

Ha-ha. Wolf pranced around the room, the rope dangling from his jaws. Got you that time.

Instinct warned him to spin and drop as the calico cat pounced.

xXxXx

Nearly an hour later, the Hogwarts Den was the site of a free-for-all, everyone-for-himself, don’t-kill-anyone-but-no-other-holds-barred fight. Wolf had just got the better of Redwing after the hawk’s third stooping attack on his tail when a snarling ball of fur hit him from the side, and he went down hard.

Surrender, Lynx growled, her teeth around his throat and her claws prickling his shoulders. You’re mine.

Wolf slumped and closed his eyes. His tail thumped once, dispiritedly. Sneak attack. No fair.

Lynx climbed off him, and Wolf heard the faint pop that meant she’d changed back to human. “Weren’t you the one lecturing everyone about sneak attacks and there not being anything fair about war earlier tonight?” she asked.

Wolf grumbled in his throat and curled up, tail over his nose.

“I know what you need,” Ginny sing-songed. “You need somebody to scratch your ears. That’s what you need.” A small, warm hand pressed against Wolf’s skull, then began to rub behind his left ear. “There, how does that feel?”

Idly, Wolf considered snapping at the hand, but he had to admit, what Ginny was doing did feel awfully good...

A conversation he’d had with Padfoot during the summer meandered back into his mind, and he shot upright with a yip.

“What?” Ginny pulled back. “Did I hurt you?”

Wolf shook his head, then changed back to human. “No, you’re fine,” Harry said. “Just...” To his annoyance, his cheeks were heating up. “I...thought of something. That’s all. But I did mean to ask you...”

“Ask me what?” Ginny shifted until she was sitting with her knees to her chest, arms resting on top.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut to get his thoughts back on line. “Ask you...” His imagination provided a vivid picture, and he felt his face heat even more. No. No. Stop that.

“Are you feeling all right?” Ginny asked, her voice sounding worried. “You’re not having a flare-up, are you?”

“No. No, I’m fine. Fine.” Catching his breath, Harry opened his eyes. “I’ve seen you with Michael Corner after DA meetings,” he said in a voice that sounded almost normal. “I was just wondering...”

“If he was curious about the Pride the way Cho was?” Ginny shook her head. “No, he’s never asked. But then, it’s not as easy to see with me, because I don’t live with anyone unusual—not that you do, but...”

“Yes, I do,” Harry interrupted her, but without the anger he thought he ought to feel. “The Pack’s not usual. We never have been.” His mind caught up with him and handed him the reason he wasn’t angry, and he smiled. “And you didn’t say normal. Which is good, because we’re not that, either.”

“Who is?” Ginny looked around the Den. “Neville never knew his parents until he was thirteen, Luna believes in Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, Ron learned to fly by falling off Gryffindor Tower... I don’t think the word ‘normal’ should be allowed in this room.”

“Move that it isn’t,” said Harry promptly.

“Second,” Ginny came back.

“Attention, everyone!” Harry called over the conversations in the Den, which promptly ceased. “We have a motion that the word ‘normal’ never be used, referred to, or otherwise referenced in this room! It has been so moved and seconded—all in favor?”

“Aye!” shouted the other six members of the Pride.

“Vote is unanimous, motion carries,” said Hermione, licking her finger and drawing a tally mark in the air.

“That’s normal,” Ron said.

Meghan swatted him on the back of the head with a pillow.

xXxXx

“Have you been feeling low-level upset from Harry today?” Aletha asked Remus and Danger at dinner.

The Lupins both nodded. “Not at a level where we must intervene, but one where it seems we’d be welcome,” Remus said. “He can’t have been caught or anything drastic of that sort, but perhaps a personal problem...”

“Who’s got a personal problem?” asked Sirius, coming through the door. “You, Moony? We’ve known that for years... it’s little and furry and really rather cute when it’s not trying to kill us...”

“Blow it out your ear,” Remus said good-naturedly. “Harry, as it happens. Haven’t you felt it?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it was anything we needed to get involved with. Kids get upset sometimes.”

“But our pendants have been getting smarter about that,” Aletha pointed out. “They don’t usually go off anymore unless it’s for something that we can and should deal with. Which means Harry could probably use one or two of us to go talk to him for a while.”

“If we can get in,” Danger said. “The school’s under tighter security than ever these days, what with Albus worried about Voldemort and Death Eaters, and Madam Umbridge worried about keeping ‘her’ students under control...”

Remus smirked. “I can get us in,” he said.

“How?” Aletha and Danger asked at the same time.

“Ee-ih ah?” said Sirius through a mouthful.

“Yes, exactly.” Remus nodded. “The wards won’t be a problem—we helped to build them, so they should recognize us—and I know at least two places we can start from that will get us into Hogwarts without anyone seeing us...”

xXxXx

“Where do you lot keep disappearing to?” George asked Ginny later that night, when most of the Pride had returned to the common room (Meghan had stayed behind to take advantage of her mothers’ unexpected appearance from the kitchen entrance of the Den, while Mr. Moony and Mr. Padfoot and Harry went off together for some boy talk). “We never see you anymore. And don’t tell me you’re in the library or off studying somewhere, because I know you’re not. You almost missed Quidditch practice yesterday, and you wouldn’t miss Quidditch for studying.”

“If I tell you it’s none of your business, will you leave it alone?”

“Only if you answer one question about it.”

“I don’t know if I can answer a question about it until you tell me what the question is.”

George smiled ruefully. “We should never have taught you how to argue.”

Ginny made a face at him. “I would still have learned, you know.”

“I know. Trust me, I know. So here’s the question.” George lowered his voice. “Does wherever you’re all going off to have something to do with Harry?”

Ginny nodded once, slowly.

“He’s found somewhere good to hide, then.” George pantomimed wiping his brow. “We’ve been worried.”

“You two? Worried?”

“He’s our friend too, you know,” said Fred, looking up from the book he’d been studying. “And we see him at DA, but never any other time. We didn’t know if he was just hiding in different places around the castle and moving to keep Umbridge or Filch from finding him, or if he’d actually found someplace they don’t know about...”

“Nice try,” said Ginny, grinning, “but I’m not telling.”

“Nuts.” Fred snapped his fingers. “She’s onto us, O twin of mine.”

“We’ll have to try a more subtle plan next time,” George agreed.

xXxXx

“So, girl trouble,” Remus said on the Den’s Quidditch pitch, nodding. “It happens to everyone.”

“Everyone?” Sirius wiggled his eyebrows. “I don’t seem to recall you losing your heart to anyone in school, Moony...”

“That’s because I was convinced I was cursed,” Remus retorted. “Which I may have been. There’s speculation that lycanthropy began as a truly nasty curse, rather than a disease as such... but there’s also speculation that lycanthropy developed out of a magical strain of lupus. We may never know.”

“Speaking of which, how’ve you been feeling?” Sirius asked Harry.

“Fine, just fine. I take the potions, and it doesn’t bother me, except the day I got here, and I was really upset that day...” Harry frowned. “I was upset when everything happened earlier,” he said. “But I didn’t have a flare-up. Ginny even asked if I was, and I told her no, I felt fine. And I do.” He looked up at his Pack-fathers. “Shouldn’t I be...”

Remus shook his head. “There’s no ‘should’ in matters of the heart, Harry. They are the way they are. You can learn some measure of control—and you should be practicing that, to get yourself ready for when you can emerge again and begin your Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape—”

Harry grimaced. “Do I have to? I mean, I’m blocked off two or three different ways now—I hardly ever go out of here, and I have the blood bond with you, Moony, and Voldemort might even be blocking the link himself if Professor Grumpy’s plan worked—”

“I would really rather you not call him that during the school year,” Remus said in a tone of fraying patience.

“Oh, why not?” Sirius came in on Harry’s side. “He’s not in class, is he? At least, not so old Sevvie can hear him—”

“That’s not helpful either.” Remus’ words were short and bitten off.

“Remus, what’s wrong with you?” Sirius asked, looking closely at his friend. “Danger been away and I haven’t noticed?”

“No. It’s...” Remus sighed deeply. “Albus has me working closely with Severus on certain matters of Order business, and I prefer to be able to talk to him with a straight face. And thinking of you two exchanging disrespectful nicknames for him is not helpful.”

Sirius and Harry exchanged a disbelieving look and started laughing helplessly. Remus resisted for a few moments, then joined in.

“Jokes aside, though, Harry, yes, you do have to work on Occlumency,” Remus said when they had all gotten the mirth out of their systems. “Because you won’t always be here, Voldemort might decide to investigate that bond between you at any time, and the blood protection might not always work. We don’t know how it would stand up to a concerted attack, and I would far rather you practice Occlumency and not need it than not practice it and need it.”

Harry looked at Sirius. “Why does he always have to make sense?” he said, pointing at Remus.

“It’s a bad habit from our school days he’s never been able to ditch,” Sirius said promptly. “I’ve tried everything to wean him off it, but Danger and Letha just encourage him. Sad story, very sad. Probably end with him dead by the side of the road, of excessive sense-making.”

Remus dropped his face into his hands as Harry snickered. “I think I was temporarily out of my mind the day I made friends with this man,” he said through his fingers.

“Temporarily?” Harry said.

“Don’t start.” Remus reached over and ruffled Harry’s hair. “I know all your baby stories.”

Harry pouted. “You fight dirty.”

“I’m a Marauder. It comes with the territory.”

“Pad foot,” Harry whined. “Moony’s being mean to me.”

“Who said you could be mean to my godson?” Sirius demanded.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “You did, the night we decided to share him and Hermione.”

Sirius deflated. “Oh.”

xXxXx

In the blue bedroom, Danger and Aletha rebraided Meghan’s hair, one braid at a time, while Meghan, sitting very carefully still, talked about the plans to rescue Graham.

“—and I’m going to be the sentry on the ground, the one who keeps watch and lets them know if anyone is coming. Luna will be in the air, but it always helps to have someone down below. It might take Draco and Neenie and Neville longer than we think to get inside and find Graham and wake him up and convince him to come along, so we have to make sure that no one sees us, or if they do that they don’t realize who we really are. Luna can just look like any other post owl, and they’d probably think I came out of the Forest...”

“That’s assuming you can do your transformation reliably by then, Pearl,” Aletha reminded her daughter.

“But I can! I can! Watch!” Meghan pulled away from Danger’s hands, leaving one braid half-undone and waving in the air. “Celeripes et ventosa sum,” she recited carefully, her eyes shut in concentration, “ungulis quattuor et luminibus suffuscis magnis. Niteo similis concha atra, igitur amici mei vocant me Margaritam. Cerva sum, nec periculum timeo nec lupo fugio, et veritam et astrum nimis amo.”

For an instant after her recital had finished, nothing changed. Then, all at once, where Meghan had been standing was a dark-furred yearling doe, eyes still shut tight and one patch of fur sticking straight up on the top of her head.

Danger hid a laugh behind her hand. Aletha smiled warmly. “Congratulations, Meghan,” she said as the doe opened her eyes. “Well done.”

Pearl turned her head, blinking rapidly, then closed one eye and looked at the two women with the other.

“You’ll get used to it,” Aletha told her. “Try not to think about it too much.”

“Would you like me to transform?” Danger asked. “Your mama’s form might not fit too well in here, but mine will.”

Pearl nodded a little gingerly.

“I won’t eat you, I promise.” Danger stood up and leaned forward, letting her wolf shape slide onto her. I never thought I’d be able to do that so quickly—

Of course, before I was twenty-one, I had no idea it was possible at all!

I did it, I did it, I did it! chanted the doe in front of her, prancing slightly. I really, really did it!

Yes, you really, really did, Danger agreed, moving forward to nuzzle the doe’s shoulder. Good work.

Pearl pulled back a little, then wrinkled her forehead, sidling her back end towards her mother at the same time. You don’t smell scary, she said doubtfully. Well, a little in the back of my mind, but you smell more not scary than you smell scary.

Danger retransformed so she could laugh. “That’s because you’re still human under that fur, Meghan Lily,” she said, stroking the flyaway tuft which was Meghan’s still-undone braid. “And like you said yourself in your spell, you don’t run away from wolves or from danger. Your human side knows that I’m not about to eat you.”

“Unless you’ve been making messes in the kitchen again and calling it potions,” Aletha amended, caressing Meghan’s flank. “Oh, love, you’re beautiful. Your father and Moony will be so proud of you. Shall we go show them?”

Pearl pranced again, and Danger didn’t need to be in wolf form to understand an ecstatic Yes, yes, yes!

xXxXx

“The best way to not mope over something,” Harry muttered through his teeth as he walked backwards down the hall under the Invisibility Cloak, “is to think about something else.”

Though really, I haven’t been moping much. I only think about Cho every now and then, and I feel funny when I do, like she’s missing from the place in my mind where she used to be...

Well, if she’s missing, she pulled herself out. And I have other things to think about right now.

Namely, getting the invisible net Fred and George had supplied into position.

They ought to sell a few of these to the Order. Just as long as we know how to detect them, so the Death Eaters can’t use them on us.

He pulled what looked like a set of clip-on tinted lenses for his glasses from his pocket. George had spelled them to let him see most common spells, including the ones the twins had enchanted the net with, and Harry had found that if he wore the lenses when he went ‘walking’, the ability transferred.

I wonder what else I could take with me... or what it would do, in spirit form...

Later. The net was perfectly in position. Harry started off, trailing the invisible string behind him. Just as he reached the T-junction at the end of the hall, Luna walked by in the cross-corridor, her nose in a book and one hand bumping along the stones of the wall. Harry slid the spool of string into that free hand, which closed around it and dropped to Luna’s side to hang naturally.

Perfect.

Harry watched Luna meander away, occasionally veering towards a wall but always correcting in time, the string stringing itself out behind. When she reached her destination, she would loop the string three times around it and melt it into itself. That would seal the spells laid on the net for three hours.

Depending on how many people notice, that might not be long enough, or it might be just perfect.

So it’s time for step two.

Making sure enough people notice.

xXxXx

Dolores Jane Umbridge flounced towards her office, her temper seriously out of kilter.

No matter how many detentions I give out, no matter how many punishments I assign—and I cannot use my favorite one, with Dumbledore watching over me like the meddling fool he is—the students seem to have some secret I do not share. Some rallying cry, some central locus that binds them all together. If I knew what it was, I could learn about it, learn how I can replace it, but without that knowledge I am powerless...

Even if she had been looking, she wouldn’t have seen the net. It was invisible, after all.

Though she certainly felt it when she stepped onto it.

What is—

The fibers leapt up and twisted around her. She opened her mouth to scream—

But all that came out was an animal-like bellow.

What has happened to me?

Her feet were moving without her consent. She tried to reach for her wand, to call for a house-elf, for Filch, for anybody, but the net pinned her arms to her sides, and her legs seemed to be completely out of her control.

Not completely, she discovered. If she struggled a little, she could fight the compulsion to walk. But as she did, the net twisted itself tighter around her. Not tight enough to cut off her breathing, but tight enough to hurt, to make her squeal with pain. Or rather, bellow.

That is not a natural sound. Or not a natural human sound. It amuses some of the students, I see, to cause me to make sounds as though I were an animal...

xXxXx

“The only real drawback to this,” Fred said mournfully, “is that it’s illegal.”

“Bloody hard to make, too,” George added. “We gave you our only really good prototype, Ronniekins. I hope you didn’t waste it.”

The portrait hole opened, and Katie Bell tumbled in. “Everyone get outside, quick !” she squealed. “Professor Umbridge is on the Astronomy Tower and she can’t get down and she’s mooing !”

Ron looked back at the twins as all of Gryffindor House stampeded for the portrait hole. “Good enough?” he said.

The twins frowned at each other. “For now,” said Fred finally. “I expect more from you as time goes by, though.”

George reached out and patted Ron’s shoulder. “Tha’ll do, Ron,” he said in a ridiculously thick accent. “Tha’ll do.”

Ron leveled a look at George that promised revenge in the fullest.

xXxXx

“Mooooooooo,” rang out in desperate tones over Hogwarts’ lawns. “Mooooooooo ! ”

“I wonder what she’s trying to say?” said a light voice next to Draco. He turned to see a red-haired girl he recognized vaguely from DA. “Amanda Smythe,” she said, sticking out her hand. “And you’re Draco Black.”

“That’s me.” Draco shook her hand and looked up at Umbridge. “Maybe she’s calling for help. Or for Filch—he seems to do everything for her.”

“Or maybe she’s trying to say, ‘Detention for everyone for the rest of your lives!’” Amanda giggled. “I wish I knew who did this to her. I think I’d kiss them.”

“Would you kiss me if I said I knew about it?” Draco said impulsively.

“Maaaaaybe.” Amanda looked him up and down. “Make that yes. I didn’t realize you were quite so... so...”

Draco struck a pose. “Manly?”

Amanda grinned. “That’ll do. You just always seem to fade into the background at meetings. Is it because Harry Potter is there?”

“It could be.” Draco considered this. “It probably is. He’s almost always been the most important of us, the one people notice more.”

“Do you resent him for that?” Amanda was studying him intently. “My dad’s brother, my uncle I guess except we never see him, he was always the golden boy, and I think Dad resents that just a little, even now after all this time.”

Draco shrugged. “We don’t do a lot of ‘I’m more important than you are’ at home, unless we’re fighting over the last bun or something, and even then it’s tacky. I guess we get enough of that when we can’t avoid it. When we’re at home, it’s more like, ‘Phew, glad that’s over, now gimme that last bun, I’m five days older than you so I’m in charge’...”

Amanda laughed with him. “But he’s such a leader,” she said. “I can feel it from him. He was born to be that way. Even if he’d grown up in a place that hated him, he’d be a leader. But his family, your family, they made it stronger. And now...” She looked up at Umbridge, leaning over the edge of the tower and mooing down at the cheering crowd of students. “Now he can show stupid people up for the fools they are, and maybe bring Voldemort out in the open and destroy him. And nothing is more important than that.”

Draco blinked at the burning passion in her voice. “I’m glad you’re on our side.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else in a million years.” Amanda’s eyes were narrow as she stared at Hogwarts. “The House of Slytherin has tried to destroy my family for centuries. I want a piece of them. And if it just so happens that getting that piece will help end a brutal and completely pointless race war, and save thousands of lives...” She turned back to Draco and smiled impishly, all trace of fury gone from her face. “What’s not to like?”

Draco nodded. “Definitely glad you’re on our side.”

“Thanks.” Amanda shivered. “Merlin’s socks, I should have brought my cloak, I didn’t realize it would be so windy out here...”

“Here, share mine,” Draco said, pulling it halfway off his shoulder and holding it out.

“Thanks.” Amanda huddled into the curve of his arm and sighed in satisfaction. “Much better.”

No, Draco told himself sternly. You’re taken. You’ve been in love since you were eight. You don’t have too much longer, and you are not going to give Luna another reason to cry over that gravestone.

But the combination of the warmth against his side and the smell of lavender wafting from the red hair was starting to make him a little dizzy.

And I thought Harry had girl trouble...

xXxXx

I feel like we should have music playing, Neenie said through the mental link Meghan’s blue jewel had established as she loped down the path towards Hogwarts’ gates. The intrepid rescuers departing.

Do you really want music? Snow Fox, the brown of his coat darkened with the same spell that hid Neenie’s white and orange patches, twitched his nose in the air to catch the wind. Music would give us away.

Music like in a movie. Where nobody can hear it and be distracted by it, but where it adds to the tension.

I don’t know about you, said Captain from his carry-sling on Pearl’s harness, but I don’t think I need any more tension right this second.

True, Neenie conceded.

Starwing drifted above them, her feathers a shadowy gray for this one night. We will all do well, she said surely. Because we have to.

People have messed up things before that they ‘had to’ do, said Harry, who was walking—in both senses of the word—beside the half-Pride of Animagi. If Neenie didn’t think too hard about it, she could see a vague glowing shape in the air that might be Harry...

Or I might be making it up.

That’s cheerful, said Ron with a mental snort. Let’s try and think positive about this, all right? Mum would have a litter of knittens if I ran out there to try to save you, and you know I’ll run out there and try to save you if you get in trouble.

Harry chuckled. All right. Just for you, Ron, we won’t get in any trouble.

You can’t get in trouble anyway, Harry, Ginny chimed in. No one will even know you’re there.

The yellow bedroom at the Den as Neenie had last seen it drifted into her mind’s eye. Ginny was curled up in a comfortable chair beside the bed where Harry’s body lay, her fine gold chain looped around his neck as well as her own, while Ron sat at his modeling table with the house in front of him, waiting for the Pride’s descriptions to lay out his modified chess figurines, black for Death Eaters, white for Pride members...

—if any of them are like Luna, Harry was saying as Neenie returned her attention to the conversation. For that matter, I haven’t gone anywhere near Voldemort like this. And I’m not going to. What if he could grab me and keep me out of my body, or split me off from it and turn me into a ghost? I’m not that stupid.

How stupid are you? asked a small chorus of voices.

Stupid enough to give you lot a straight line, Harry answered promptly.

Everyone laughed, and Neenie felt her spirits lift slightly.

We will do this. We will. We have everything we need, and we know everything we can. We can fight, we can sneak, and we will not let Graham Pritchard die just because His High Darkness wants Graham’s father to fight for him.

She bared her teeth and hissed. Look out, Death Eaters. Here comes the Pride.

xXxXx

Graham Pritchard awoke in the darkness to someone shaking his shoulder and a hand over his mouth. For one instant, he panicked. They’re here to kill me—

No, why would they wake me up?

Because they like to see people scared—

“Meghan sent me,” said a low voice in his ear.

The panic vanished, and he realized he knew the voice. “Longbottom?”

“Yeah.”

“Who else?” He could hear someone else breathing in the room, maybe two people.

“Her sister and brother. She’s outside. Long story. Listen, we need you to drink this.” The cool glass shape of a flask touched his fingers. “You’ll feel strange, then you’ll fall asleep, and when you wake up we’ll have you out of here.”

“Why—”

“No time. It’s the only way.”

Graham almost put the flask to his lips, then stopped. “Is it going to hurt?”

“No more than my coming over there and smacking you if you don’t get a move on!” snapped Hermione Granger-Lupin’s voice from a few feet away.

“Way to be inspirational, Neenie,” said Draco Black under his breath.

“I’m not trying to be inspirational, I’m trying to be scary!”

Graham smiled for the first time in a month and a half. I wasn’t imagining it. I didn’t make it up. They came after me. I’m going home.

Lifting the flask to his mouth, he drank off the potion—or I guess that’s what it is —without hesitation.

A moment later, he knew why they hadn’t explained.

xXxXx

The baby on the bed drew breath to howl in frustration—

And Hermione slid the nipple of the baby bottle deftly between his parted lips.

Automatically, baby-Graham’s mouth closed around the rubber nipple, and he sucked. His eyes opened wider at the taste, and he continued sucking for about five seconds before suddenly sighing and going limp with the finality that only infants could manage.

Hope he’s not too attached to these clothes, Draco remarked, pulling out the soft cloth they’d brought along to wrap up the baby.

I think he’ll want to get rid of anything that reminds him of this place, said Harry. But we should take them with us. Make it seem like he just vanished.

Hermione grinned. And I have one final touch.

What? asked Neville, looking up from the sleeping baby he was now cradling.

Make the bed. Hermione took the cloth from Draco and started wrapping Graham in it. I’d do it, but my hands are full.

Harry laughed. And I don’t have hands. At least, not corporeal ones.

Slave-driver, Draco grumbled, stepping up to the bed and beginning to pull the sheets straight. So this way, it looks like he got away before he ever went to bed?

Right. And if any of them saw him in bed—you mentioned, Harry, that there was a woman taking care of him—they’ll start thinking maybe they didn’t see it, maybe it was a trick... Hermione tucked in the loose end of cloth and nodded to Neville.

Captain the demiguise held up his arms. One invisible monkey, ready to carry baby, he said. Ron, how are we doing?

No guards anywhere near you, Ron’s voice answered. Most of them are downstairs talking and drinking. One’s at the back window, but he’s not really watching for anything. He missed you coming in completely.

He hasn’t seen Pearl, Ginny added, and she’s out in plain view.

She’s what ? Everyone winced at the force of Captain’s mental shout. Pearl, hide, for Merlin’s sake—!

But then I won’t be able to see when you come out! Pearl protested. I won’t be able to start opening the wards for you!

You won’t be able to do anything if you get caught!

I won’t get caught! The thump of a hoof being stamped on pavement rang through the link. You always think I’ll get caught, or get in trouble, or get everyone else in trouble, and I won’t, I never do—

Um, everyone? Harry broke in. The guard at the back just heard something, or at least he’s acting like he did...





Facing Danger

Chapter 15: Cooperation Makes It Happen (Year 5)


Chapter 15: Cooperation Makes It Happen

Everyone froze in position, breaths held, waiting to see what would happen.

I don’t think he sees you yet, Pearl, Harry reported after a moment. But he heard you. Listen carefully—wander out into sight, then let your deer instincts take over. When you see something, or hear something, that scares you, run. With luck, they’ll just think you were in town looking for food.

That doesn’t make sense— Hermione began doubtfully.

They’ll never— Captain started.

People see what they expect to see, Harry cut them both off. And they’re not expecting anything strange or dangerous here, so they won’t see it if we don’t make it obvious. Pearl?

I’m doing it, said a small voice.

What about everyone inside, though? Ginny asked. If that guard sees one unusual thing, it might make him start wondering about other unusual things. He might decide to have a look around.

That’s why everyone inside is either small or can go invisible, answered Ron before anyone else could.

And I think you all should, right now, Harry added. The guard isn’t looking yet—he’s still watching Pearl—but he might start thinking something’s funny any minute.

Captain accepted the swaddled baby from Hermione and crouched on the floor, bending himself over so that his fur fell around the bundle. A few seconds later, they were nowhere to be seen. Neenie leapt up onto the bed, Snow Fox just behind her. Should we be up here? Snow Fox asked, pressing his paw to Neenie’s side to speak to her privately. What if they come in?

We’re up here in case they come in.

What do you mean?

Like this...

Neenie outlined her idea ‘out loud’, and was gratified to hear Ron laugh as he took it in. It’ll give you a little more cover, as long as they don’t actually come in, he said. And if they do...

Then we’re dead anyway, Snow Fox said resignedly. All right, I’ll go along with it.

Then do it now, Harry broke in. There’s two of them coming your way!

xXxXx

Nuncius Avery trudged up the narrow stairs. “Gibbon thinks that he might have seen something, and for this we go on alert,” he said over his shoulder.

“I would rather be sure than sorry,” said Patroclus Nott from behind him. “And it costs us nothing to be more wary rather than less.”

“Nothing but some twinges in our knees from too many stairs.” Avery caught his breath at the top of the current flight. “Why could we not have found something more spacious on one floor?”

“This is the safest place we could be,” Patroclus said sanctimoniously. “No one will suspect us here, or see what we do.”

Avery grumbled under his breath. I know that, you pretentious swot. Haven’t you ever simply wanted to complain about a situation, even though you knew why it was the way it was?

He rubbed most of a cramp out of his calf, limped down the hallway, and opened the door to the room where the Pritchard boy slept.

A tangle of dark hair was visible above the bedclothes, which rose and fell evenly. Avery sighed and shut the door again.

“Such a shame,” he said musingly. “To use our own children—as if there aren’t few enough...”

“He was being raised wrongly,” said Nott, a warning creeping into his tone. “Now that we have him in our control, he can be retrained. Or, if that proves impossible, kept secure until he is of age to pass on his bloodline. You are still devoted to the cause, I take it?”

“What sort of stupid question is that?” Avery glared at Nott. “Just because you were one of the first to join the Dark Lord, that says nothing about the loyalties of those who joined later!”

“But it could. Or some people might think that it could.” Nott started back down the hall. “Just think about that, the next time you start to feel sorry for one our Master has rightfully taken into his possession.”

Avery clenched his fists for a moment, then followed Nott towards the stairs.

xXxXx

In the bedroom, three breaths of relief were exhaled.

That was closer than we really want to come, said Ron shakily. All right, those two are on their way back, the guard on the back window’s being replaced because they think he’s seeing things—Starwing, where’s Pearl?

A momentary vision drifted before everyone’s eyes, Hogsmeade from above, with a tiny moving blotch in a street below. Two alleys away. She’ll be ready by the time they make it downstairs.

Right. Harry’s decisive nod was audible in his tone. We’ll never get a better time. Go, go, go!

Snow Fox tumbled out from the place partway under the covers that had shown his dark-furred back to the watcher at the door. Hermione flipped back those covers and leapt out of the bed, quickly pulled them back up, and transformed. Captain, now visible again, was the last one out the door, moving unsteadily on his short legs while his arms cradled the sleeping Graham.

Down the stairs, Ginny’s voice guided them. Move quietly, the Death Eaters are on the floor you’re coming to. Good...very good...

Captain nearly stumbled on the steps, but Neenie was there for him to catch himself on, though she hissed under her breath as he pulled on her fur. Sorry, he said.

It’s all right.

Death Eaters moving around, Ron told them as they crept to the next flight of stairs. Some of them like the bloke who was on duty and want to stay and drink with him, some of them don’t. Keep your eyes open and be ready to hide.

Down, down, down the stairs. Cat paws, fox paws, pressed only lightly against the stair treads. Demiguise feet pressed a little more heavily, but even so no creaks erupted to betray them.

Almost out, Harry told them, his form flickering at the corner of Neenie’s eye. Ground floor.

I know that, Snow Fox snapped, then shook his head. Sorry, Harry, I—

Never mind. Get safe now. Apologize later. And that goes for you, too, Pearl, Harry added ‘loudly’. Whatever happened, whatever needs to happen, we’ll deal with it when we’re all safe.

Okay, said a small and meek voice.

Neenie backed up until her tail draped across Snow Fox’s back. We should let Meghan put our lives in danger more often, she said sarcastically to him. It might break her little ‘queen of the world’ act.

Hey, she’s usually got it under control, Snow Fox pointed out. It’s annoying, but no worse.

Yes, but why do we put up with it?

Snow Fox shrugged. Because most of the time, she acts so grown-up that we don’t even notice she’s younger than us until we run straight into it?

There’s that.

xXxXx

Harry stood in the second-floor hall beside the Death Eater sentry, who was watching out the back window vigilantly. Starwing , go.

A silent form shot through the half-shadowed courtyard, making the Death Eater jump back and swear. “An owl,” he said aloud, regaining his composure. “Just an owl, that’s all...”

Excellent fly-by, Harry told Starwing. Watch from above. I need to run one more recon through the house before we head out.

Yes, sir.

Harry was about to tease her for calling him ‘sir’, when it dawned on him that there was nothing funny about it.

She’s using it where it should be used. In the field, on a mission where we have to know who’s in charge. And who’s in charge is... me.

He swallowed his discomfort firmly. I know how to do this. I’ve been in training for it my whole life. This is no time to get cold feet.

Besides, in five minutes it won’t matter. We’ll get out of here, take Graham back to Hogwarts, and then we can all collapse.

I look forward to it, murmured Ginny in the back of his head.

Harry jumped a little. What’s that supposed to mean?

It means I’m scared and I want this to be over with, said Ginny tartly. Now, is there anyone out of place with Ron’s map?

Harry looked through Ginny’s eyes at the sculpted house, the chess-figure Death Eaters, the animal figurines huddled in a cluster at the back. Looks right to me, he said. They’ve checked the house, they’re sure there’s nothing wrong here, it was just an animal in the back—

And if we’re lucky, that’s all they’ll think it was until morning, Ron finished. Never get a better time, mate, most of them are half the house away, and there’s two or three closed doors between them and you. Even if you tripped the wards, by the time they could get there, you’d be gone.

Harry turned and hurried through the nearest door. Then let’s get going. Pearl, you back in place?

Yes.

Wait until I tell you it’s safe to open the wards. Then do it as quick as you can. Got it?

Yes. Meghan’s voice was a mental whisper, so quiet Harry had to strain to hear it.

Poor Pearl. But she can’t just do whatever she wants, especially not on a mission. The sooner she learns that, the safer we’ll all be.

Two more strides brought him back into the hallway where the sentry stood, still scanning the courtyard. Wait for it, Harry said, his eyes on the sentry. Wait for it—wait—

The sentry yawned, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth, half-closing his eyes.

Now, Meghan, now, now!

Harry only half-saw the tiny spark of Meghan’s beginning the spell, and that only because he knew where to look. The Death Eater finished his yawn, lowered his hand, and swept his eyes across the courtyard with a satisfied nod.

At your own discretion, Harry sent to Snow Fox, Neenie, and Captain. Make it quick, though.

Yes, sir, came three brisk replies.

Harry crossed all his fingers and edged closer to the sentry, trying to get the same view of the courtyard that the man had. Just a little longer... we’re almost out, almost free...

xXxXx

Snow Fox slipped from shadow to shadow on one side of the courtyard, Neenie mirroring him a few steps behind. Captain could move from shadow to light without fear, but was slowed by the need to carry and conceal the baby in his arms. So far, though, so good. Almost there—one more tricky bit...

He flattened himself against the wall and crept past a patch of light, his tail between his legs so it wouldn’t twitch and give him away. Safely in the shadows on the other side, he exhaled in relief.

Now a straight run to the wards...

Stopping short of the smell of magic, he sniffed delicately. Yes, yes, yes, yes—ah-ha, no. No magic right over... here. And little sister/deer on the other side.

Here, Meghan whispered silently, and one dark hand flirted through the air and was gone. Here’s the hole.

Thanks, Pearl, I see it now. Snow Fox shrank down to the ground and oozed forward. Tighter than any snow tunnel, more dangerous than any thorny hedge, this was the greatest challenge he’d ever undertaken in fox form—

And then he was out.

Well, now, that wasn’t too bad.

He pulled his brush free of the ward, turned, and retransformed, quickly drawing his wand. Hold it just for a second, Pearl, he said, clasping her hand with his free one. Let me take over.

Meghan nodded silently.

Perforo avertos , Draco pronounced within his mind, envisioning the energy from his wand blossoming from the end, flowing outward until it brushed the inside of Meghan’s, ready to take over when she stopped. All right, try it now.

Meghan took her wand away from the wards. Neenie, on the other side, sniffed at it. I still smell the hole, she said. I think you did it.

Good. Come on through.

Neenie was faster about slipping through than Draco recalled himself being. Once on the other side, she too retransformed, and set about helping Meghan adjust her harness, making sure both slings were ready for their occupants.

How’re we looking up there, Luna? Ron asked. Draco spared a moment to think of his friend, hunched intently over his model house, directing his pieces here and there, and as likely as not wishing he was in Draco’s place holding open the wards...

No one for three blocks, Luna reported.

Harry, what about inside? asked Ginny.

He still hasn’t seen anything. Not even the little bit of Snow Fox’s tail I spotted once.

Oops, said Draco guiltily.

I said he didn’t see it, dragon dung for brains. The words came with an affectionate mental flick.

Yes, but you did. Draco let just a bit of exasperated moan get into his voice. And you’re going to tease me about it for years.

That’s right. Alpha’s privilege. Harry chuckled, then turned serious in a heartbeat. Captain, how’s it coming? I can see you if I squint just right. You’re almost there.

Almost. Captain’s tone was ragged, giving the sense of panting. I didn’t know it’d be this hard... this form’s not designed to walk like this. Not just on two feet... but hunched funny to hide the baby.

Meghan, transformed into Pearl, nuzzled at Hermione with fear plain in her eyes.

You going to make it? Harry asked worriedly.

Yes. Of course. Just... I need a second... need to breathe...

Right, Harry said. Take the time you need. No sense rushing and getting caught, not when we’re so close.

Draco’s nose twitched. He wanted to be back in Snow Fox’s form, so he could smell Captain and know where he was, but they’d gotten the wards open without setting off any alarms, and there was no sense in risking one just to satisfy his curiosity.

Five heartbeats. Ten. Fifteen. No movement, no sound, nothing but his own breathing and that of his sisters.

Ready, Captain reported just as Draco’s twentieth heartbeat sounded in his ears. Here I go.

A scrap of movement in the courtyard caught Draco’s eye. Fabric, a scrap of fabric—the edge of the blanket Hermione had wrapped Graham in—it was visible, it must have fluttered loose while Captain was resting—

Look out! shouted three voices at once.

Captain hissed wordlessly in his mind. Take him! he demanded, and baby Graham flickered into view just as a window slammed open upstairs—Hermione dropped to her knees and snatched the baby through the hole in the wards, yanking him out of the path of spellfire—

A blue spell lanced down from above, striking just to one side of Captain, or so Draco thought until he heard a mental gasp of pain and saw a bright blotch of blood appear on the stones of the courtyard. Meghan noticed it too, a little whimper breaking from her.

Run, get out NOW, Harry snapped, his tone preoccupied. I’m overlapping him, shouting at him, he thinks he’s being possessed—he can’t cast right now, get OUT of there—

Hermione snapped shut the last buckle on Graham’s sling, swiveled back to the wards, and reached through the hole, her left hand closing on nothing and dragging it through. With her right hand, she drew her wand and aimed it up at the window, where the figure of a man was just visible, writhing with his hands to his temples. “Stupefy, ” she hissed aloud, and the red blast of her spell shot straight and true.

That’s got him! Let’s go! Harry shouted.

No, wait! cried Ginny, urgent and sharp. The blood! Captain’s blood! They can test that, they’ll know whose it is!

Ginny, we don’t have time— Harry began.

We don’t have time not to, Ginny snapped back. If they find out Neville was here, they’ll know we’re more than we seem.

Being underestimated is our strength, Starwing added in what Draco thought of as her trance voice. We cannot give it up so easily.

They’re only halfway there, Harry, Ron put in. You’ve got long enough for this.

Harry threw up his mental hands. Fine. All right. You win. Who does the best Cleaning Charm?

I do, but I’ll need hands, said Ginny. Meghan? Will you let me in?

Yes. Meghan turned human, and staggered a little under the combined weight of baby and demiguise, but Hermione caught her. Help me?

Right here with you, Pearl, Harry said comfortingly, and Draco thought he saw a flicker of white pass into Meghan. We’re here. Let us guide you.

Meghan went to her knees in front of the hole in the wards, drew her wand, and aimed it carefully. “Scourgify , ” she whispered.

In Ginny’s voice.

That is just a little bit creepy.

But the blood was gone, the stones much cleaner than they had been a moment before. Meghan stowed her wand away, got her feet under her, and began to whisper her incantation—

Here they come, Ron warned. Draco, let the spell go, now—everybody get out of sight—

Draco released the spell and backed up a few steps. Hermione did the same, but Meghan was still transforming, and the voices of Death Eaters were audible now—

Forget you have something? Harry asked, and Draco’s hand went into his pocket without him sending it there.

Hey!

Sorry. No time. Get her covered!

Right. Draco tossed one end of the Invisibility Cloak to Hermione, then ducked under it, transforming as he went. Hermione did the same, Neenie the cat nipping under the belly of Meghan/Pearl, now almost fully transformed—

You made it, said Luna, her voice slightly shaken for once. They didn’t see you. If you back up slowly, they won’t know you were ever there.

And that’s the way I want it. Harry’s voice receded slightly, and Snow Fox thought he must be on his way home, back to his body. Come on, before they start throwing spells.

Step by careful step, fox, cat, and doe backed up. Snow Fox could feel Starwing pacing them silently above. Neenie warned them with a low hiss as she came to the corner, and Snow Fox swung wide to navigate the turn—the noise from the courtyard they’d left behind was growing—

Let’s GO! Neenie pivoted in place as only a cat could and raced off. Snow Fox dropped back to rearguard, behind Pearl—hoofbeats rang out clearly on the hard ground of the alley, but what did that matter now? They were free, free, free and safe—

They’re trying to cut you off, Starwing warned urgently from above. Coming at you from your left!

Neenie and Pearl increased their speed. Snow Fox slowed deliberately. Tell me where, he sent upwards.

NO. Snow Fox winced as Harry’s voice drilled through him. We do NOT need anyone to play hero. Just keep running—you’ve got a good lead on them, and four feet are faster than two. Unless you want us to have to do this all over again for you?

Awww ... Snow Fox pouted. You’re no fun.

An image of bared fangs. Get running.

Snow Fox ran.

xXxXx

Harry opened his eyes, blinking against the gritty feeling they always seemed to have when he’d been out walking. “Glasses,” he croaked.

“Here.” They appeared in his peripheral vision, Ginny’s fingers around the nosepiece. “Ron’s gone down to the gates already, to wait for them there. Do you think you can get there?”

“Give me—oof—five seconds...” Harry flinched as his muscles protested movement. What happened?

Your body was tense from all the worry, Ginny told him, unfolding the glasses herself and sliding them onto his face. I tried to keep you from knotting up too badly, but I don’t know how well it worked.

I’ll live. Harry rolled his shoulders forward, then back, then forward again, turning the motion into a surge upwards. He stumbled, but Ginny caught him. Thanks.

Anytime. Ginny’s cheeks went pink, but her tone was steady. Can you walk?

I’ll do better on four feet. Help me down?

Of course.

Ginny’s hands bracing him, Harry dropped to hands and feet, shook himself all over, and was Wolf almost immediately. He licked his chops appreciatively at the scent beside him, then turned his attention to the task at hand. Get to my Packmates. Bring them safe.

He bounded across the room and shouldered through the door he wanted, Ginny running beside him. “Thank you, Godric,” she said breathlessly, and Wolf leapt into the passageway that opened for him. Dropping to his side, he let his momentum and the inherent magic all around carry him forward. To the place I want to be, to the closest way to my Packmates...

Behind him, the distinctive scent of Lynx blossomed, and a low, excited yowl filled the stone slide. Wolf answered it with a half-toned croon, the ‘indoor voice’ of a howl, and the music of the two voices reverberated through the passage and through Wolf’s bones.

This is good, murmured Wolf’s instinct, this is right, this is as it should be...

Harry’s mind kept this carefully shielded from the part of him that was linked to the Pride.

xXxXx

Ron pelted down the path towards Hogwarts’ gates, fumbling in his pocket as he ran. Where are you? he broadcast over the Pride’s link.

Coming in above you, Starwing called. The others are close behind, but someone is chasing them.

Ron swore once, mentally, saving his breath for running.

You can’t come up to give me passage, can you? Starwing asked.

No, I can’t, it’d take too long to get off the ground and then back down again. Come in with the others.

I will. He felt rather than heard her sheer off, and then his hand closed around what he’d been looking for—

Written confirmation that I’m allowed to open the gates. Dumbledore’s handwriting, Dumbledore’s magic, to let us let them back through the wards and the walls once they’ve got Pritchard safe. Now I just need to use it.

Ron scrambled to a halt at the gates and yanked the paper free of his pocket, unfolding it frantically and pressing the inked side flat against the padlock. He could hear them now, paws drumming the earth, rough panting as they fought for breath—

The padlock shot open, and the gates creaked under his hand.

Home free! Ron shouted through the link, slamming himself against the left-hand gate, which opened a few inches with great reluctance. Come on, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!

A streak of grey shot past Ron at eye-level, brushing his face with feather-softness—Starwing — two streaks past his ankles—Snow Fox, Neenie —

And then he looked out and saw Pearl, running straight at him, and a shape in the dark behind her, a shape which could well be a man, a Death Eater, with a sudden gleam bursting from it—

Left! he shouted, and Pearl swerved just in time, as a Stunner dug a furrow beside her.

Ron, the gate—not enough— Neenie’s voice was faint but terrified, and Ron glanced at the opening he’d made and swore again. He’d only just barely opened the heavy gate, and the slings on Pearl’s sides made her wider than the others—she’s not going to fit—

He reared back, ready to throw himself against the gate again, knowing it wouldn’t be enough—she’ll crash into it, or she’ll slow down so much he’ll get her, and then this will all have been for nothing—

On three! shouted Harry, and Ron’s head swiveled. Wolf was running flat-out towards the gate, Lynx pacing him perfectly, and there was just enough room between them for a skinny human—

One! Two! THREE!

Ron slammed his whole weight against the gate, feeling a double impact, one on either side of him. With a rusty groan, the hinges complied, and Pearl shot past the three of them at full speed, her pursuer almost at her heels—

Ron, change, now! Lynx snapped. Don’t let him see you!

Ron dropped to the ground and thought hard about feathers and talons. A moment later, Redwing the hawk mantled his wings uneasily. He hated nighttime; it meant he couldn’t see properly, and besides, owls hunted at night and would gladly take a hawk down a peg or two if they got the chance...

Stay human-minded, Neenie reminded him, prowling into his sight. I don’t think we’ll want to miss this.

Miss wha—

“I’ve got you now!” shouted a hoarse voice, and a man in black robes pounded through the gates of Hogwarts.

Oh.

xXxXx

Harry seated his human mind firmly in Wolf’s body and started snapping off orders. Starwing , stoop on the Death Muncher. Lynx, get Pearl to the Forest in case he doesn’t flinch. Fox, run get help. And me...

He turned and gave Dumbledore’s paper a glance. A flash of fire, and it was gone.

The gates slammed shut behind them.

The man had just barely turned to see what the noise was when Starwing materialized out of the night, screaming like a banshee’s ghost. The man shrieked in his turn and flung his arms over his head, dropping to his knees.

Pearl and Lynx vanished into the darkness, Starwing turning her dive to follow them. Wolf’s nose knew they were still out there, but he was focused on the threat—though it’s not much of one at the moment. Still, better to keep him off guard.

He stalked forward, letting a low rumble come to his throat. You hunted my sister. Both my sisters, my brother, and my sister’s friend, you hunted them and tried to hurt them. So now I hunt you.

The man’s eyes widened, and a very gratifying fear-stench permeated his scent.

You don’t like this. Wolf let his lips draw back from his teeth and the rumble emerge from between them. You don’t like being the stalked one, instead of the stalker. Too bad for you, there’s nothing you can do about it—

Except that! snapped Neenie, and her dark shape shot past Wolf’s nose to land on the man’s face, all her claws extended.

What—Neenie—

He had his wand! Neenie leapt straight up into the air, her claws digging furrows down the man’s face. He screamed and clutched at them, blood and pain now mingled with the fear in his scent. Redwing, if Wolf lights it up around here, can you help us watch him?

Hey, I hadn’t thought of that. Good one, Neenie. Wolf, can you?

Wolf shook his head, admonishing himself for not noticing the man’s wand hand starting to come up. Yes, I can, he sent. Hold on a second.

A quick thought, and four balls of fire burst into being, along with one smaller one alongside the man as his wand burned to ash in an instant. Redwing chuckled—there was no other word for it—and rustled his feathers down into place. Better, he said, sweeping his wings once or twice before he made the strong downward sweep that thrust him into the air. Much better.

Plus, said Wolf in satisfaction, glancing toward the castle, it makes us very easy to see when people come to help us...

xXxXx

Shaun Dietsch flattened himself on the ground, panting in pain. No part of this night had made sense. First had come the alarm from Gibbon about noises behind the house, but nothing in sight when they’d gone out to check. The Pritchard boy had still been in his bed when Nott and Avery went to check, and everything was fine.

Then another alarm, from Runnals this time, cut off in the middle, abruptly. Shaun had heard some nonsense being shouted from the window as he ran out of the courtyard, something about being possessed, but he’d paid more attention to the chase than to the words.

And then the very nature of the chase. Animals. A human, chasing animals—animals who always seemed to know when he lifted his wand, and which way to dodge—and he’d been so busy running, he hadn’t noticed where they were going until he’d barreled past gates and suddenly registered his whereabouts—

Hogwarts. They’ve led me to the school—are they Animagi? Teachers?

In the very moment he’d realized where he was, the gates had slammed behind him, and a hideous scream had accompanied a devil diving at him from above. Some fragment of his mind recognized an owl, but the rest was too busy shielding his head and dropping to the ground, away from those wicked talons.

But the ground had been no refuge, for a wolf waited there, a snarling wolf which seemed to glow with its own inner light—and when he’d tried to bring his wand to bear, a spitting demon had leapt into his face and left him half-blinded by his own blood. The same fragment of his mind was still trying to tell him that it was a cat, only a cat, when fire erupted above him and lit the scene as brightly as day, and his wand flamed up where he’d dropped it and was gone.

This can’t be real. I must have fallen and hit my head, or been caught by a spell that makes me see things—none of this is possible, it’s not happening—

A sweep of wings overhead, and a sound like a satisfied laugh.

Or perhaps I’m dead, and my grandmother was right—there really is a Devil, and he does come for you after you die if you’ve done evil in your lifetime—

Darkness, looming to one side. A sardonic voice. “I assume all of your... people returned safely?” A pause. “So I see there is one area in which you are not totally inept.” Another pause, longer this time. Then, in a voice like chewing glass—

“Well done.”

The light went out over his head, and something screamed.

Shaun Dietsch, Death Eater, fainted.

xXxXx

Godric’s sword and shoes—

Wolf! What happened to the light?

Sorry! I’m sorry! I just—I was so surprised I lost it!

I can’t blame you—I mean, considering the source—

“Lumos ,” said Snape, and Wolf and Neenie blinked in the sudden wandlight. Redwing squawked in pleasure and glided down for a landing.

Snape stepped to the Death Eater’s side and prodded him with a toe. “He seems to have fainted,” he observed. “That would make it safe for you to resume your human forms.”

Wolf rolled his eyes. And contrary to popular opinion, we can take a hint—

Only when it’s applied with a sledgehammer, Neenie said acidly, shooting upwards into Hermione. “Thank you, Professor,” she said aloud as Harry, Ron, and Draco followed her lead. “Will you take care of him?”

“I will. And I believe you will need this.” Snape extracted a small bottle from his pocket and handed it to Hermione. “Four drops should suffice to reverse the effects. I remind you that it is for external use only.”

“How come?” Ron asked. “I mean, you drink the first one, shouldn’t you drink the second too?”

Snape bestowed his patented glare on Ron. “The potion I have just given to Miss Granger-Lupin, as you would know had you been paying attention in your third year Potions lessons, contains several toxic compounds. Drinking it would have results ranging from messy to fatal. If this is any indication of your retention rate, Weasley, I doubt we shall meet again in an official capacity after this year.”

“And isn’t that just a shame,” Ron muttered.

“Thank you for the reversal potion, Professor,” Harry said loudly before anyone else could talk. “We’ll just go and take care of that, then.”

“Do.” Snape turned away from them, his attention already on the Death Eater crumpled on the ground.

Come on, let’s go. Harry twisted back into Wolf. Ron, want a ride?

Sure. Give me a second—

Snow Fox, race you! Neenie shouted.

Marks, get set, go!

Talons fastened into Wolf’s ruff, and he left the ground with a great leap. You won’t win, he called after them, paws slamming into the ground. Not either of you—we will!

Will not! chorused two voices, and the race was on.

xXxXx

Deep within the Forest, two sets of eyes and three noses tracked the coming of the Pride and their prize. They had seen the Death Eater enter the gates of Hogwarts, had been ready to act if action was necessary, but none had been, and they were proud.

Now they guarded the little group hidden within the trees, one girl tending to the baby, one to the injured boy, and the last girl sitting alone, her knees drawn up to her chest. They had thought of approaching her, but her scent shouted that she wanted to be alone, and so they left her that way, instead prowling about to ensure the safety of the five.

Four more joined them in time, and one of the guardians decided it was time to make herself known.

xXxXx

Ginny gasped, Hermione squealed, and Draco and Ron yelled as a great green blunt-nosed head poked around a tree.

“Sangre ! Don’t do that! ” Harry darted across the clearing, pounded a fist against the basilisk’s nose, then hugged her. “You scared us half to death! ”

“My apologies, ” said Sangre with a chuckle in her tone. “I only wanted to tell you how you are guarded, so that you will not fear to stay here as long as is needful. And also to tell you something I doubt that you know—something to do with the lake not far from here, where I sometimes go to swim on nights when I will not be seen... ”

“She’s guarding us,” Harry translated over his shoulder, “so we can stay here even if we’re human. What about the lake? ” he asked, switching back to Parseltongue.

“I sometimes speak aloud to myself, ” Sangre said. “It is often a fault of those who are much alone. And one night, when I was lying on the shore of the lake and telling over a tale my first master once told me, I felt a strange motion in the earth nearby. I stopped speaking, and the vibrations also stopped. When I spoke that section of the tale again, the same pattern of vibration recurred, but this time moving the other way. As though my words had wakened something, something which moved back and forth. ”

“Tell me the story? ” Harry asked, sitting down.

Sangre swayed back and forth, flicking her tongue in her form of laughter. “You will find it funny, eggling—my master loved himself above all else, and his tales were usually about himself. ”

Her tone took on a singing quality, strange to hear in a hiss. “‘Hear now the tale of the greatest wizard of all time, the master of subtlety, Salazar Slytherin, who alone among wizards of his time understood the necessity of the purity of blood. But he was not to be alone forever, for with his three underlings of greatest promise he caused a school to be founded, and there he taught the young of his land, though he himself taught only the strongest and the purest among them. And when he had taught them what he knew, they fell at his feet in gratitude, saying, “Thank you, Master, for this gift of knowledge—unworthy as I am to thank you, Salazar Slytherin...”’ ”

“Stop right there, ” Harry said, feeling a grin start on his face. “Can you show me where this happened, Sangre? ”

“Of course—why? Do you know what I felt? ”

“I think I might. ” The grin developed to full strength. “I think I very well might. ”

xXxXx

Graham Pritchard stirred, licking his lips. A strange taste lingered on them, vying with the sourness of sleep in his mouth.

Did I ever really wake up? I thought Longbottom was in my room, and Black and Granger-Lupin, Meghan’s brother and sister—

But that’s stupid. How could they get in where I was? It was just a dream, like the time I thought someone was talking to me, telling me he knew where I was, that he’d help me, that he’d come back for me. Just a stupid dream.

That’s all it was.

He opened his eyes.

Far, far above, the slight silhouettes of bare tree branches swayed against a star-filled sky. Graham caught the scent of woodsmoke and an odd musk he’d never smelled before, and voices were whispering nearby.

“—harm done, just save it for later next time—”

“—course we still love you, you silly, how could we not—”

“Wait, I think he’s awake—”

“Graham?” A girl’s voice, shrill with excitement and familiar...

“Meghan?” Graham rolled onto his side and pushed himself up on his elbow, his incredulity growing—this had to be a dream—

“Graham, you’re awake!” Meghan launched herself at him, her eyes almost glowing in the firelight. Over her shoulder, Graham could see the fire, and other figures gathered around it—Meghan’s family and friends, her Pride, he realized as his eyes adjusted to the light—Potter and Granger-Lupin and Black, the two Weasleys, Longbottom and Lovegood, all looking at him, smiling with real happiness, real care in their eyes—

“H-how—” he stammered. “How d-did you—”

Meghan pushed away from him and smiled, one tear sliding out of her silver eyes. “Magic,” she said simply. “We used magic. And now you’re safe.”

Graham closed his eyes and hugged Meghan again, commanding his own tears to go away but, just this once, not really caring whether they obeyed or not.

Safe.

It was worth shedding a few tears over.





Facing Danger

Chapter 16: Did He Just Say It's Time? (Year 5)


Chapter 16: Did He Just Say It’s Time?

One of the perks of being Headmaster of Hogwarts was that one could choose whether or not to make an appearance at breakfast. Today, Albus Dumbledore chose not to, since he had a feeling that good humor would be in abundance elsewhere.

“Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place,” he said clearly, and stepped into the Floo fire.

The sound of laughter greeted him as he emerged from the flames on the other side of the connection.

It seems my feeling was accurate.

“—ran circles around them, and the best part is, they have no idea who it was!” Danger waved a hand in the air, giggling as though she and not Hermione were the younger of the sisters. “We could take credit for it, or some Aurors who’ve done work off the books—”

“Even better,” Sirius broke in. “Spread around four or five different stories. It was us, it was Aurors, it was real animals on some kind of intelligence potion the Department of Mysteries dreamed up, it was animals under Imperius by other Death Eaters making a power play, it was shape-shifting American kids playing superhero—”

“Not that one,” Aletha said, shaking her head. “Too close to reality.”

“Coupling reality with absurdity will make them less likely to believe the real story if they ever do hear of it,” Remus disagreed. “And the less likely they are to believe the real story, the better, in this case.”

Danger caught her breath, looked up, and smiled. “Oh, Albus, hello! We’re just talking about last night, and the cubs—they did good work, if I do say so myself, though Meghan... but we’ll talk to her. Come for breakfast?”

“I admit I harbored some such hope.”

“And there’s only good news to talk over, for a change,” said Sirius, standing up to shake Dumbledore’s hand. “Whoever’s been keeping Letha on double-shifts at the hospital finally gave up.”

“Excellent.” Dumbledore turned to take both of Aletha’s hands in his. “You have my apologies for the inconvenience,” he said, “since it was likely our association which caused it.”

“I’d sacrifice far more than a few sleepless nights for such an association,” Aletha answered. “Besides, there were... compensations.” She winked at Dumbledore with the eye farther from Sirius. “My loving husband felt it his duty to repay me for the times we missed together.”

“I see.” Dumbledore released Aletha’s hands and went around the table to take his usual seat. “And did these repayments eventually take on... a separate physical form, shall we say?”

Aletha raised an eyebrow. “I’d ask how you do that, except I doubt I really want to know.”

“Separate physical form?” said Sirius, sitting down across from Dumbledore. “I don’t think I get it.”

“Nothing new there,” muttered Danger.

“Sirius, let me put it this way,” Remus said, adopting the tone he might well have used with the cubs when they were small and didn’t seem to understand something. “When a man and a woman love each other very, very much...”

Sirius rolled his eyes and put his hands over his ears. “That I know,” he said loudly. “If there’s something else going on, would you all please stop speaking in code and just say it in plain English?”

“Only if you take your hands off your ears,” Aletha said just as loudly. “I don’t want to be shouting this all over the house.”

Sirius snickered. “Oh, no. The hands stay where they are.”

“That will tend towards awkwardness when you attempt to hold your son for the first time,” said Dumbledore conversationally.

The hands came down in a hurry.

xXxXx

Remus slipped out of the kitchen with a mental sigh of relief. Call me when I can come back in without being in danger of strangling on estrogen fumes.

I will. Sissy. Danger’s affectionate laugh was accompanied by a slight mental shiver as she closed her barriers against him, leaving only the sensation of joy behind.

And no jealousy, thank God. She may still want a child, but she isn’t angry with Aletha for having one.

That fear had lurked at the back of his mind ever since he’d noticed the difference in Aletha’s scent a few days ago, but it seemed groundless at the moment. I’ll just keep an eye on things, but I doubt there’ll be anything to keep an eye on after this...

So a new cub for our Pack. Will we even remember how to do this? It’s been so long since they were little—we’ll be back to diapers and midnight feedings and colic—

But we’ll also be back to bright round eyes and big toothless smiles and all the firsts. First time rolling over, first time sitting up, first time crawling—first step, first word, first “NO!”—

He smirked. And best of all, I can always hand the baby off to his “real” daddy whenever he gets too troublesome.

I doubt it, murmured a voice in the back of his head. For one thing, he wouldn’t let you, and for another, I’ve seen you with babies. You get besotted awfully fast.

I thought you were blocking me.

I had my blocks up. You didn’t. It takes both of us, these days. And you were thinking pretty loud. But I do have one question.

Yes, oh my beloved and oh the delight of my eyes?

...if you ever do that again, I shall find you and turn you into a donkey.

Remus chuckled. Hee-haw. I am ashamed. What was your question?

How on earth did Dumbledore know the baby’s a boy?

xXxXx

Maya Pritchard poked a sausage moodily with her fork. Nothing was going right—well, things weren’t actively going wrong either, but that wasn’t much comfort. The DA meetings were the best times of her week, since there she could let loose her feelings in the spells Harry Potter was teaching them—

It’s like Professor Moody said last year, and like Professor Longbottom has been saying all along. Any spell can cause damage if you use it wrong—or maybe I should say if you use it right. Because sometimes there are things, or people, that need to be damaged.

Her Disarming Charm was one of the strongest in the class, and although she couldn’t do a Full Body-Bind well yet, her Leg-Locker was reliable. Now if there was just an Arm-Locker, so we could be sure whoever we down won’t pull out their wand anyway and get us from where they are—

Her thoughts dissolved as a sharp point poked her in the arm.

She looked down. A small note protruded from the hand of the girl next to her—Natalie McDonald, if she recalled correctly—and it was addressed to her.

Delicately, Maya slid the note from between the girl’s fingers. Natalie never looked at her, instead continuing her conversation with Meghan Black across the table, but then, that was good note-passing etiquette.

The elaborate folds gave way after a few moments of tugging. Maya looked down at the paper and sighed.

There was nothing there.

Just a silly prank—

Wait, there is something. There in the corner. Something very small.

Maya sneaked looks at the note in between bites of eggs. “Walk Me”? “Warn Me”?

No, that’s an M. It says “Warm Me”.

She slid the note under her leg and left it there for the time it took to clean her plate.

Then she pulled it back out.

The neat copperplate handwriting was faint and brown, but visible.

DA place at noon. “Cracker”.

Maya slid the note into her pocket, her mind working furiously.

The DA place is the Room of Requirement—that last word must be a password—but why tell me about a meeting this way? Why not just use those coins Hermione made for us? And what’s with a password? They’ve never had that for meetings before...

Wait. Noon. We can’t be having a meeting then, we wouldn’t have time. We’d run into afternoon classes.

Something strange is going on here.

The hours between now and noon suddenly looked much longer than they had a few moments ago.

xXxXx

Harry was awakened by someone knocking on his bedroom door. “C’min,” he mumbled, shoving the covers off his head.

Graham Pritchard opened the door. “What is this place?” he asked. “A guest suite?”

“Sort of.” Harry rubbed his eyes with one hand and located his glasses with the other. “See you found the bathroom.”

Graham ran a hand through his wet hair. “Theirs was small. And not too clean.”

A sudden flash of a small and blindingly white room which smelled excessively of Lysol came to Harry, and he grinned in sympathy with Graham. “Hungry?” he asked, pushing down the covers and swinging his legs out of bed. “You can call a house-elf from the kitchen if you haven’t eaten. Just tell them what you like, and they’ll bring it. I do my own cooking sometimes, but that’s because I like doing it.”

“This is where you’ve been hiding, isn’t it?” Graham asked. “Meghan was telling me last night about everything I’ve... missed.”

Harry nodded, then stopped. The last word had held a brittle tone, and Graham’s scent had a sour twist to it that Harry hadn’t encountered before. “Did Meghan tell you we got one of them?” he asked off-handedly. “One of the Death Eaters who chased us here?”

Graham’s eyes widened for an instant, and the sourness was momentarily overwhelmed by triumph. It was still there, Harry knew, but some of it had been washed away by the knowledge that at least one of the people responsible for what had happened to him would pay.

The rest of it... well, deal with that when it’s time.

“No, she didn’t,” Graham said belatedly. “Thank you for telling me. And the lady in the painting in my room told me about the house-elves, so I’ve already eaten. I kept some over for you if you want it.”

“Thanks, I might—wait, the lady in the painting?”

Graham nodded. “The one with the red hair and the glasses. Should I not have talked to her?”

“No, it’s just...never mind.” He definitely needed to have a word with Alex, Harry decided. Assuming Alex was still around when he went to look. “I’ll probably shower first myself, though. There’s a library under one of the blue banners if you’re bored, or an indoor Quidditch pitch under the other green one.”

Graham’s eyes widened. “You’re not serious.”

“Go have a look.”

Graham disappeared. Harry shut the door and changed into his dressing gown, picking his day robes off the chair where he’d left them. His watch was with them, and he grimaced slightly at the time. 11:20—he’d have to move fast if he was going to get Graham to see his cousin at noon—

And maybe I should tell him about it before we go. He’s had enough people surprising him with things lately.

xXxXx

At five minutes to noon, Maya was waiting in the seventh floor corridor, her heart thumping painfully. She’d considered telling someone about this—Lee, maybe, or Lindz—but the fact of a password made it likely no one else was supposed to know about this, not even anyone else in the DA.

What is it about? Why just me? What do I have, or who am I, that this is so important for me to be here and no one else—

Then it hit her.

It’s who I am. But it’s also who somebody else is.

This is about Graham. It has to be.

That’s the only reason they’d be so secretive, was if they knew something about him...

Movement caught Maya’s eye. The outline of a doorframe was starting to emerge from the stone of the wall. It’s time!

She ran to the outline, found the crack between the door and the hinges, and whispered the password. “Cracker.”

A moment of silence. Then the door was suddenly fully there, and Maya’s hand was on the handle—she wrenched it down and pulled—

Harry held up a hand. “Go easy,” he said. “No need to rush. He’s here.”

He—oh, great Merlin’s socks, does he mean—

Harry stepped aside, letting her in, and slipped around her to step out into the hall and shut the door behind him. Maya barely noticed. Her attention was focused on the other end of the room, on the too-thin, too-pale boy standing there.

“Hello, Maya,” Graham said, a half-smile on his face, obviously forced.

Maya shook her head. “Don’t,” she said, crossing the room to him. “Don’t pretend. You don’t have to, not with me. Not ever with me.”

Graham shut his eyes, and his face began to crumple. Maya caught his shoulders, pulled him close to her, and sat them both down on the large silk puff the Room had thoughtfully provided right beneath them.

“It’s over,” she told him again and again, putting her arms around him. “Whatever happened, it’s over now. You don’t even have to tell me about it if you don’t want to. I won’t ever ask, I promise.”

Graham simply held tight to her and shivered, an occasional tear slipping from between his eyelids. “They never touched me,” he said finally. “Except to take me places. And none of them ever looked at me like I was a person.”

Maya laid a hand on his cheek and leaned back until her cousin’s face came into focus. “I see you,” she said softly.

Graham looked up at her and smiled, a real smile this time, if a slightly damp and shaky one, and in that moment Maya knew they’d won. There were a few battles still to fight, but the war was over, and victory was theirs.

xXxXx

“But why not?” Meghan stared at Neville. “It’s your hand! You need it!”

“It’s my finger,” Neville corrected. “My little finger, on my off hand. I don’t really need it—well, except for chording, but I can learn to do without it.”

“But you don’t have to! I could heal it!”

“And I told you, I don’t want you to heal it. Not any more than you already did.”

Meghan boiled up, then clenched both hands into fists and visibly pulled herself together. “All I could do while I was so scared was stop the bleeding,” she said. “And make sure that it wouldn’t get infected.”

“You did that really well.” Neville touched the finger in question, which now had only one joint and no fingernail. “It doesn’t hurt, and the skin’s regrown over it. It just looks like I was born with this finger a bit shorter than the others.”

“But you weren’t!” Meghan cried out. “You shouldn’t have to have it that way! I don’t understand! Why won’t you let me help you?” Her eyes began to glisten. “Is it—is it because I was bad? Because I got angry and made the noise? That’s why you got hurt...” Her fists tightened again. “Are you trying to make me remember, so I don’t ever do it again?” A tear spilled over, and she flicked it away angrily. “Is that why?” she demanded. “Tell me the truth!”

“It’s part of the reason,” Neville began, “but—”

“I knew it!” Meghan burst out. “I knew you were just doing it for some stupid reason like that—I don’t need you to do that, I don’t need you to do anything, I don’t need anyone to do anything, I won’t ever forget that as long as I live!”

She searched her pocket for a tissue, sniffling a bit, until Neville held one out to her. “I can’t forget it,” she said through the tissue. “I keep thinking about it all the time. The way my stomach felt, and my legs—I was sure you were going to get caught, and then the Death Eaters would have hurt you, and the Order would have had to come and rescue you if you weren’t already dead , and nobody would ever take us seriously ever again, and all of it would be my fault...”

Neville pulled her into a hug. “None of that happened,” he said quietly. “But it could, if you do something like that again. You know that now, and I don’t think you’ll forget it. But I can’t be sure. Nobody can be sure about something like that. So I want you to have a way to always remember, a way to remember forever and ever.” He reached down and brushed his hand under her chin, lifting her face to meet his. “So I don’t ever have to feel that way about you. Because in a war, if you make a noise, you’re the one the enemy will find.”

Meghan nodded, her eyes still gleaming with unshed tears. “Promise me one thing?” she whispered.

“If I can, I will.”

Meghan’s hand closed around Neville’s injured one. “The day the war is over. After Harry wins. Promise me you’ll let me heal you then.”

Neville smiled. “I promise. The day the war is over.”

Meghan pulled his hand around and kissed the little finger. “It won’t be too much trouble to learn how to do the chords again,” she said with determination. “For some of them, you can just spread your other fingers a little wider, and for other ones you’ll have to turn your hand more so you can use what you have...”

xXxXx

“Hello, is anyone—” Bartemius Crouch pushed open the door of the kitchen at Number Twelve. “I seem to have stumbled on a party,” he said. “Is there an occasion?”

“I’m going to be a father,” Sirius said. “Well, not that I’m not a father already, but—”

“Ah, I see. Congratulations.” Crouch nodded to Aletha. “I was hoping Dumbledore was here, or that perhaps you know when he’ll be back...”

“Possibly later tonight,” said Danger from the stove without turning around. “But it might not be until fairly late. Professor Umbridge has been watching him more closely in recent weeks. She thinks he knows where Harry is.”

Crouch gave a dry little laugh. “I can’t imagine he wouldn’t,” he said. “He seems to know most everything that goes on in that school, unless someone has made their first and only priority keeping themselves secret from him. And seeing as it’s Potter—his secret weapon, you could say...”

“Secret weapon?” Remus said, in an even tone that nonetheless drew eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Come now, Lupin. Isn’t it common knowledge the—” Crouch stopped and cleared his throat. “I mean, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is after Potter? And he seems unable to kill Potter, though he’s tried multiple times. With the enemy so fixated on that one target, we have more latitude, more ability to strike at him, because he’s blind to other areas from which a threat might come. Don’t you agree?”

“Of course,” said Aletha, taking a sip of her drink. “And that’s why we’ve been so vigilant about teaching Harry, and all our cubs, self-defense and basic fighting spells. If they must be targets, at least they won’t be sitting jobberknolls.”

Crouch inclined his head to her. “Nicely put, Healer. You taught Defense for a year at Hogwarts, didn’t you?”

“Co-taught with Sirius, yes. Though I had to finish the year alone when he got himself Petrified.” Aletha laughed. “I suppose I should be grateful he thought fast enough to keep the basilisk—Sangre—from killing him and Hermione out of hand.”

“Sangre?” Crouch looked intrigued. “You mean Slytherin’s basilisk had a name?”

“Has,” Danger corrected. “She has a name.”

Crouch frowned. “Are you telling me that Dumbledore’s allowed the thing to stay at Hogwarts?”

“She lives in the Forest,” said Sirius, irritation clear in his tone. “She can’t see anymore—her eyes were wounded, then healed closed. She hunts by scent, and she agreed not to kill humans in return for being allowed to stay.”

“Agreed?” Crouch’s face cleared almost as soon as he’d said the word. “Ah, yes, I had forgotten Potter’s Parseltongue. I’d imagine he acted as translator, yes?”

Danger chuckled. “I’ve heard it was quite a sight to see,” she said. “Dumbledore on one side, a forty-foot snake on the other, and the skinny little Harry in between them. Harry’s become rather close with Sangre, actually. He sometimes sneaks out at night to play with her—” She stopped, her face worried.

“Or he would, if he were still at school,” Crouch finished smoothly for her. “Never fear, Mrs. Granger-Lupin, I have no love for Dolores Umbridge. Besides, I had already decided he must still be somewhere at Hogwarts, or you and your compatriots—” He gestured at the rest of the Pack-parents. “—would never be so sanguine about his apparent disappearance.”

“Harry has always been good at hiding when he doesn’t want to be found,” Sirius said. “I think it’s a family thing.”

“And yet sometimes, even those who do not wish to be found, are,” Crouch said blandly.

Sirius half-rose. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Sit down ,” Aletha hissed at him, grabbing a handful of his robes and yanking. “You’ll have to excuse my husband,” she said to Crouch. “I sometimes think he’s categorically unable to let go of the past.”

“You should talk,” Sirius muttered.

“What was that, dear?” Aletha said dangerously.

“Nothing.”

xXxXx

“So,” Minerva said conversationally. “We have a second year Slytherin boy and a sixth year Gryffindor girl who refuse to be parted. Not to mention a pair of second year Gryffindor girls who are beginning to show the signs of wishing to join the party.”

“And the Slytherin of the pair, at least, cannot at the moment return to his dormitory.” Severus seemed perfectly calm, but Minerva knew well that was only the outward composure acquired by any double agent who remained alive for longer than a few days. “In fact, he may be permanently unable to return there. I can never be sure that I know all my students’ loyalties, or what they would do if properly motivated.”

“It would be a shame if anything happened to Mr. Pritchard here at Hogwarts,” Minerva agreed, “after what he has already been through.”

Severus glanced at her, as though weighing her words for double meanings or hidden slams. Unless he was being unduly critical, though, he would find none, for none had been intended. “Indeed,” he said finally, his tone noncommittal. “So we must find some alternate lodging for these two students, and do it in such a way that we cannot be faulted for favoritism.”

“For Pritchard, there’s an easy answer, at least to begin with.” Minerva ran a finger across the top of the framed picture on her desk, grateful that its frame was currently empty—she wasn’t up to the barbed comments Severus would toss her way if he saw the occupants of the photograph she had kept for all these years. “He can remain hidden, as...another has done.” She didn’t quite dare to say Harry’s name aloud, not while Dolores Umbridge was in the castle. “I’m positive Poppy will want to see him, and probably keep him under observation for a few days before she permits him to go back to class.”

“It also strikes me that a full Healer might be needed in his case,” Severus observed. “One whose specialty is troubles of the mind and the heart.” The faintest touch of distaste colored the last word. “Adults, fully capable and rational, usually have a great deal of trouble dealing with the aftermath of a situation such as Pritchard’s, and he is a twelve-year-old boy.”

“Which may yet be his salvation,” Minerva countered. “He knows, or ought to know, that there’s nothing he could have done to save himself. Most adults would feel that they should have been able to rescue themselves, even if that is completely illogical.”

“Allow me to remind you of the Headmaster’s caution to me, when this situation was first made known to us,” Severus countered in his turn. “‘War ages us all.’ Pritchard may have lost his childhood by this act. He will certainly have lost a great deal, if not all, of his innocence. And he will have been hurt, deeply, by his treatment among the Death Eaters, even if it was relatively kind.”

Minerva nodded slowly. “We’ve worked ourselves rather thoroughly off track,” she said after a moment. “We were discussing housing, and how to deal with the fact that the Pritchard children need one another after what they’ve both been through.”

“We briefly discussed another,” said Severus, a brief frown of distaste crossing his features. “Do you perhaps have information that I lack about the spaciousness of that other’s chosen...den ?”

“Not directly. But I can obtain it. Are you suggesting...”

“That if there is room, and if it will not compromise security, the Pritchards should remain with this other for the time being.” The frown had mutated into a sour smile, as though discussing Harry Potter in such coded terms appealed to some portion of what passed for Severus’ sense of humor. “He has certainly proven himself difficult to find.”

“So he has.” Minerva’s lips twitched as she thought of the pranksters’ latest offensive against Professor Dolores Jane Umbridge. “I believe Dolores would eat her own wand if it meant a chance to find him.”

Severus snorted a laugh. “I agree.”

Harry, or whoever was helping him, must have done hours of research on this latest prank, and Minerva’s ears ached to think of it. They had carefully winnowed through children’s songs and rhymes to find the most disgusting, most banal, or most unforgettable of them, with a priority placed on those which combined the three elements. Then they had enchanted the suits of armor throughout the castle to sing them whenever Dolores passed by.

Added to this were wicked little cartoons, usually illustrating a line or two from the songs, posted in some of the most public places the pranksters could find. Dolores removed them as fast as she found them, of course, but they seemed to multiply magically, so that every time she tore one down, two more appeared in its place.

Peeves, of course, had ‘improved’ upon the songs, and was not tied down to any one spot as the suits of armor were. He could, and did, follow Dolores around the castle, humming the tune of one or another of the chants incessantly and bursting into full-fledged song as the mood struck him. He had also made a suit out of the cartoons Dolores had ripped down, and the pictures on them danced in time to his humming. All in all, he was a most amusing sight to behold.

“I would love to know,” Minerva mused aloud, “which of them thought of combining visual and auditory attacks.”

“I have a guess,” said Severus, surprising her. “Only a guess, but I would be willing to take a risk on it.”

“Oh?”

“Ginny Weasley.”

“Really?” Minerva frowned. “I wouldn’t have thought...”

“She remains deliberately in the background much of the time,” Severus said with a degree of certainty Minerva wasn’t used to hearing from him. “I believe she wishes to be underestimated, so as to be more free to work. She has intelligence, cleverness, and the ability to plan a few steps ahead, which is more than I usually see in a Gryffindor. And she was the one in the costume near the beginning of the school year. I recently had a chance to reexamine my memory of the event, and it could have been no one else.”

“But I saw her at the Gryffindor table!” Minerva protested. “She couldn’t possibly have changed her clothes and removed that makeup in the amount of time she had—not to mention that the doors were locked from the inside after she’d left!”

Severus shook his head. “I have no idea how she could have done that,” he said. “All I know for certain is that it was Ginny Weasley who mimicked Dolores Umbridge so perfectly that some of the students are still laughing about it now, almost two months after it happened.”

“Well, then.” Minerva smiled. “I will have to watch Miss Weasley more closely, to be sure I notice all the times when she’s doing something she shouldn’t.”

The two Heads of House shared a long look, for one all-too-rare moment perfectly in accord.

xXxXx

Harry shut the door of the green bedroom and looked up at the painting on the wall, empty except for the green leather chair. “Alex? ” he said in Parseltongue.

A dark head poked around the edge of the frame. “Somebody calling me? ”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Hello, Me, you’re looking well,” Alex said cheerily.

“Har har. Look, I was talking to Graham this morning, and he said there’d been a woman in the painting on the wall of his bedroom. A red-haired woman with glasses. But this is the bedroom where he slept last night, and yours is the only painting on the wall...”

“Which means there was a redhead with glasses in my painting, doesn’t it?” Alex finished. “And you want to know who it is.”

“I might like that.”

Alex seated himself and folded his arms. “And what if it’s none of your business?”

“I’m hiding here,” Harry said, “and that makes anybody who might know where I am my business.”

“Ah.” Alex nodded. “You don’t need to worry about her for that, Harry. She’d no more give you away than I would.”

“Yes, but who is she? There’s only Margaret of all of you who has red hair, and she doesn’t wear glasses.”

“But you’re forgetting, Harry, I have the entire castle to roam in.” Alex spread his arms wide. “Or, at least, the portrait world of it. She could be anyone, couldn’t she now?”

“Yes. She could be.” Harry folded his arms. “And that’s why I want to know who she is, so I know if I can trust her.”

“Don’t you know by now?” Alex grinned. “You can always trust a redhead. They’re inherently trustworthy. Not to mention very attractive.”

Harry’s cheeks flamed. “Shut up.”

“Only if you promise to stop impugning my lady’s honor.”

The blush disappeared as fast as it had come, and Harry grinned in his turn. “Oh, so she’s your lady , is she?”

“Yes,” Alex said with dignity. “As it happens, she is. And she is as trustworthy as I am, quite possibly more so, because I am a Slytherin and everyone knows we are sneaky bas—”

“A-lex,” crooned a woman’s voice from somewhere out of sight.

“Baskets of muck,” Alex finished, rather lamely. “She doesn’t like swearing, ” he confided in Parseltongue. “It takes some time to get used to, but I think I like it. ”

“Like what? ”

“Having a girlfriend again. Being able to feel this way. I shouldn’t, you know. It’s not the way we’re meant to be. But— ” Alex stopped, frowned, then switched back to English. “Extenuating circumstances called for it. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised there’s no way to say that in Parseltongue. It’s a more complicated concept than most snakes could deal with.”

“You’d be surprised,” Harry said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “You remember Siss?” The name brought only a small pang, now, before the memories of the good times they’d shared wrapped their comfort around the ever-present pain of loss. “She was pretty smart. She knew a lot of things I didn’t know, or was too young to understand all the way.”

“Well, she was a special case...” Alex glanced off to one side, rolled his eyes and nodded, then returned his attention to Harry. “Sorry, Harry, I have to go. Anything that you have to tell me right away?”

“Well, I think we found the last entrance here. The one through the indoor Quidditch pitch. I think it lets out by a big rock out near the lake—does that sound right?”

Alex looked away, his eyes suddenly shadowed with pain. “Yes,” he said roughly. “Yes, it sounds exactly right. Just...don’t ask me why. Not now. Not today. I have to go. Good luck—”

And an instant later, the chair was empty.

“Good luck?” Harry repeated aloud. “Good luck with what?”

Someone knocked on the door of the green bedroom.

“Come in!”

Ginny stuck her head around the door. “Professor McGonagall sent me with a message,” she said. “She wants to know if Graham can stay here with you for a while, and Maya too. Do you think they can?”

Harry laughed aloud, standing up. “It’s not like there isn’t room. But what about Maya’s classes? Are we going to tell her how to get in and out of here so she can come and go when she needs to? It’s not that I don’t trust her, but the fewer people who know the password here, the better—it’s not like guessing the others is hard, once you know one, you know them all...”

“That’s why I was thinking of asking the twins for a reusable voice spell set on a watch or a pin or something,” Ginny said, shutting the door behind Harry. “One that’s inaudible to people. That way, she could trigger the spell any time she needed to get in or out, and the door would open for her, but she’d never know the password herself. Just knowing where the door is doesn’t do you any good if you can’t open it.”

“But what if Umbridge got a hold of her and made her use the spell to open the door anyway?” Harry objected. “I’m still dead if she finds a way in here. Unless I run out the Quidditch pitch door as Wolf and go hide in the Forest...”

“That can be the backup plan. But there has to be a way to make sure no one can take that spell from Maya. Table and chairs, please,” Ginny said to the ceiling of the main room.

Harry sat down on nothing, a cushioned chair bursting out of the floor to catch him. “What about an automatic ending spell on the voice spell if whatever it’s in leaves Maya?” he suggested. “Maybe if it gets cold, because that’d mean it was away from her body. But that still leaves someone forcing her to use it while she still has it...”

“Have two triggers for it,” said Ginny promptly. “One for normal use, and one for forced use. The forced one will destroy the spell instead of making it work.”

“That would do it.” Harry pulled out the parchment and quills he knew would be waiting on a shelf under the small table. “So let me write this down—a voice spell in something like a watch, with a destruction spell if it gets colder than body temperature, and two separate triggers for it... you think Fred and George can handle that?”

“In their sleep,” Ginny said, chuckling. “You know how Mum was so angry with them for only getting a few O.W.L.s each? They could have gotten as many as they’d had classes if they’d wanted to. It just suits them to have people think they’re stupid or lazy.”

“When really, they work very hard,” Harry finished. “Just not on school projects.”

They both laughed.

“Sometimes I envy them,” Ginny said, leaning forward and resting her chin in her hands. “They’ve always known what they wanted, from the time they were young. And they’ve never been alone, because they always have each other.”

“It looks like that,” Harry said, thinking of one of Letha’s favorite sayings. “But you can only see their outsides, the faces they put on. Maybe they don’t know what they want as much as you think they do. Maybe they still get lonely, even with each other around.” He shook his head. “Or maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about, and you’re right, which is a lot more likely.”

“No, you could be right. You are right about one thing—I can’t see inside them. So I don’t know for sure. But I do see them a lot, and it’d be hard for them to be pretending all the time.” Ginny shrugged. “Who knows?”

“Only them,” Harry said with an answering shrug of his own, “and they aren’t telling.”

“So,” said Ginny after a moment’s silence, “were you talking to Alex?”

Harry nodded. “Apparently he’s got a lady-friend—Graham saw her in the portrait this morning.”

“Ooh.” Ginny’s eyes danced. “Should we try and catch them...”

“Playing guitar?” Harry suggested when she seemed to be fumbling for a phrase. “Long story,” he said at the puzzled look in her eyes. “It’s from before we met you, when we were in America—we met some wizarding kids in a place called Phoenix, and that was what they called it when a guy and a girl went off together, was ‘playing guitar’.”

“So I could say that Neville and Meghan play guitar together and be right both ways, then.” Ginny laughed. “I like that.”

The laughter, light and sweet and musical, drew Harry’s thoughts back to the moment Alex had implied that redheads were especially attractive. Since Harry only knew one redheaded girl—

Well, two, but I’ve barely talked to Amanda Smythe at DA meetings. She hangs around Draco more than me.

He amended his thought. However many redheaded girls he might know, Ginny was the only one he knew well, and certainly the only one for whom he had, or might have, or was starting to have, feelings in that direction.

Part of me feels like it’s wrong, like she’s my friend, like I’m betraying something by liking her, but another part of me feels like it’s the best thing I could be doing—

Harry would have smacked himself on the forehead if Ginny hadn’t been sitting right there. Idiot. What are Padfoot and Moony always telling you? Always, every time this comes up? “Don’t date someone who isn’t a friend first. Don’t get involved with someone you can’t talk to. If you don’t have things in common, you won’t last. The best person to marry—”

Um, I think I’ll stop right there for now. That’s going a little far at the moment.

But it’s not wrong to like a friend that way. It’s right. It’s a lot more right than liking a girl you’ve only seen in the distance, just because she’s cute, without ever knowing anything about her.

But how do I tell her? Or should I tell her at all? Maybe she’ll do something first—maybe I don’t have to—

No, she won’t do that. She’s been talking to that one Ravenclaw, Corner, Michael Corner—I don’t know how serious they are, but she won’t dump him unless she has a reason, and she won’t have a reason unless I give her one—but how can I give her one without looking stupid?

“Knut for your thoughts.” Ginny’s voice broke into his ramblings, and suddenly Harry knew exactly what he was going to say, and how.

“Show me the money,” he said.

xXxXx

Ginny dug a Knut out of her pocket and slid it across the table. “Money-grubber,” she teased.

“It’s for the war effort.” Harry picked up the coin but didn’t put it into his own pocket, starting to play with it instead. “Though I should probably give you this back. I’ve been trying for a while to figure out how to ask you this.”

Ginny’s heart started to pound, despite her best efforts. Stop that! she told it firmly. This can not be what it sounds like...

“I suppose I could ask Hermione, but I don’t think she’s even noticed boys are different than girls yet, except that boys annoy her more. Meghan knows a little about it, but I feel silly asking her. She’s so young still. And I don’t think Luna’d say anything I could understand. Besides...” Harry spun the coin on the table. “I like talking to you. I like how we always sort of know what the other one means to say.”

“So what do you need to ask me?” Ginny said, amazed at the evenness of her voice.

“I need some advice. Er, for a friend.” Harry picked up the Knut and spun it again. “He thinks he really likes this girl, but they’re just friends right now, and he doesn’t know how to tell her he wants it to be more than that. He doesn’t want to just say it, because if she doesn’t like him that way he’d feel stupid. Besides, he made a fool of himself with a girl once this year already, and he doesn’t want to do it again. But if he doesn’t say anything, then he won’t ever get anywhere.”

Ginny felt her heart hit the floor. “For a friend” would work so much better if you weren’t down here all the time except for DA meetings, Harry. And you never have time to hear something like this from the other boys—not that they’d tell you this anyway. You might know about it if you were up in the Tower with us, but down here? Not a chance.

So the “friend” is you. Has to be. But a girl you’re just friends with... who’s that? You’re friendly with the DA, but I don’t think I’d call an awful lot of them your actual friends. You just haven’t known them long enough.

“Ginny?”

Get a grip, girl. Think later. He needs that advice now. “Right.” Ginny took a deep breath, thinking over what she’d like in this position. “Well, if he’s not good at dropping hints—going off with her to talk alone, just the two of them, or always offering to help her with things—he might just have to come out and say it. Do you want me to help you figure out how y—he can make it sound good?”

“Yes, please.” Harry either hadn’t heard or was ignoring her slip of the tongue. Ginny would have bet on ‘ignoring’. Not much got past Harry these days.

“All right. Does the girl have a name?”

Harry thought for a second. “Just call her Molly.”

Ginny snickered. “That makes things easy. I can just crib from Dad.” She pulled herself up and put on her father’s voice. “Molly, I have to tell you this, because it won’t leave my head until I do. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, and I think I really like you. Would you go with me to Hogsmeade on Saturday?” She dropped the voice. “Only you’ll have to slot in something else, since you can’t go to Hogsmeade.”

Harry pouted. “I didn’t fool you with my friend?”

Ginny gave him a look.

“All right, it was pretty transparent. Thanks, Ginny, that’s a big help.” Harry pushed back his chair and stood up.

“You’re welcome.” Ginny closed her mouth firmly after the second word, to avoid making any noises that would tell him how she was really feeling. He was walking away around the table, he must be going into one of the other rooms to practice—

No, he was circling back around to her side of the table—

Wait a minute—

Harry sat down on the corner of the table beside her. “Ginny, I have to tell you this,” he said, looking into her eyes with a straight face, “because it won’t leave my head until I do. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, and I think I really like you. Would you help me plan my best prank ever on Professor Umbridge?”

Ginny blinked once. Then again. “No,” she said hoarsely.

“No?” Harry stared at her. “You don’t want to help me?”

“No, this can’t be happening! This is crazy! You can’t really mean this! This is a joke or something—Ron put you up to this, didn’t he? Ron or the twins, but they’d have had to go through him...I’ll kill them, you wait and see, I will kill them so dead they’ll wish Voldemort got a hold of them first...”

“That’s part of the reason I do really mean it,” Harry said over her rant. “You’re not afraid of his name. You just say it out.”

“Only because you did it first,” Ginny retorted. “I’ve spent my entire life—well, the part of it since I met you—trying to be like you. I think you’re amazing. I had a crush on you for years, and I thought I was over it, but obviously I’m not...” Her cheeks and ears might as well be on fire for all the heat they were generating. “I knew you liked Cho Chang, I thought you were going to start dating her, I thought you and I would just be friends and Pridemates forever, and I’d finally got myself convinced that was all right...”

“You think I’m amazing?” Harry was starting to grin, that little cocky grin Ginny knew irritated Hermione endlessly. “Who stabbed a huge snake with a borrowed dagger? Who figured out what Luna meant in time to send Buckbeak to save Hermione and Draco? Who was the first one to think of getting the Pride together to help me when I was at the graveyard?”

Ginny’s mouth fell open. “How did you know about that?”

“Hermione told me over the summer. And speaking of Hermione, did you notice she’s not doing a lot of alpha female things in the Pride anymore?”

“No,” Ginny lied.

Harry lowered his head and looked at her over his glasses. “You know I can smell it when you do that,” he said. “The same way you can smell it if I do. But I’m not. And you know that.”

Ginny folded her arms across her chest and glowered at him. Just like a boy, bring logic into an argument...

Surreptitiously, she inhaled.

A fresh, clean scent like a beam of morning sun warmed her from the inside out.

He is. He’s telling the truth.

Harry Potter is sitting here, on this table, telling me that he likes me. That he likes me. And I know it’s the truth.

“So you think you really like me,” she said quietly, not meeting his eyes. “Would you do something for me, then?”

“Anything,” Harry promised. “If I can.”

Ginny stuck her arm under his nose. “Pinch me.”

Harry obliged.

Ginny blinked several times. Nothing changed.

Well, that rules out the dream theory.

So it’s not a dream, and it’s not a lie...

I guess that only leaves one thing it could be.

I’m going mad.

“May I?” Harry asked, still cradling her arm in his hands (and wasn’t that sending chills all through her spine).

“May you what?”

Harry brought one finger to his mouth, kissed it, and laid it against the spot he’d pinched her. “To make it better,” he said solemnly.

All right, that does it. You are going down, Harry Potter.

Ginny yanked her arm back, got her feet under her, and transformed and leapt at the same moment.

The panicked look on Harry’s face was very gratifying for the instant it lasted, but then Lynx had Wolf to deal with, and Wolf wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Not that I’d really want to give him one.

They ended up in a tangled heap by the library door, and Harry retransformed an instant after she did. He sat up, she leaned down, and half by accident, half by design, their lips met—

All right, maybe a little more than half by design. At least on my end.

Ginny’d tried kissing Michael once or twice, but it had always felt awkward and strained. This...didn’t.

No lightning and thunder. No sunbursts and angels singing. But then, we’d want to pay attention to that instead of to this.

I think I like this better.

Her arms were going around him. His were already around her. Neither of them seemed to want to let go, and Ginny had heard about this interesting thing you could do while you were kissing someone...

A door opened somewhere in the room. “Harry? Ginny? You in here?” said Ron’s voice. “I was just—oh my God.” A long pause. “Er, I’ll come back later.”

The door shut again, very firmly.

Ginny burst into giggles, pulling back from Harry just in time to avoid spitting on him. A second or two later, Harry was laughing too. “I think we broke him,” he managed to get out. “You think he’ll ever get over it?”

“He’d better,” Ginny said coolly. “I’m not giving you up.”

“Well, good. I happen to feel the same way.” Harry rearranged their positions slightly. “And we were just getting to the interesting part... should we try again?”

Ginny smiled. “Let’s take it slowly,” she said. “We won’t get a second chance at this.”

Harry sketched a bow in her direction. “I am at your service, m’lady.” He stopped. “My lady,” he repeated more slowly. “You know, that sounds really good.”

Ginny’s smile grew until she felt like it would stretch right off her face.

Off mine and onto Harry’s... sounds like a plan.

A plan they proceeded to put into action.

If I’m going mad, please don’t ever let Meghan and Neville come after me...





Facing Danger

Chapter 17: I'll Be Seeing You (Year 5)


Chapter 17: I’ll Be Seeing You

George Weasley looked up in mild surprise as Ron dropped into the armchair next to his. “Where’d you come from?” he asked. Then he took another look at Ron’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Ginny,” Ron croaked.

That got George’s attention instantly, and Fred’s too. “Is she hurt?” George’s twin demanded urgently. “Sick? In trouble?”

“No! No, no, no, no, no...” Ron waved his arms jerkily, warding off those ideas.

“Good.” Fred settled back into his own armchair. “So something about Ginny has your robes in a knot...”

George took another look at Ron’s pallor, put it together with some of the looks he’d noticed flying about during DA meetings (though always strictly when the other party wasn’t watching), and made a guess. “Harry?”

Ron shot upright. “Y-you know ? How—”

“No magic this time, little brother,” said Fred in the tone of superiority he’d perfected. “Just native wit and the proper combination of information.”

George took on his own carefully crafted voice, that of placation and sympathy. “It had to happen sometime, Ron. And Harry’s hardly likely to hurt her.”

“He’d better not,” said Fred, tapping the list in his hand significantly. “Or the more explosive products of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes will have a new tester.”

“He’s practically family already,” George took over again. “You two have been impossible to pry apart since the day you met. You tell me. Would Harry ever do anything on purpose, or even accidentally, that might hurt Ginny?”

Ron blinked a few times, then slowly shook his head.

“And she’s just right for him, too,” said Fred, blowing on the list to dry the notations he’d written on it. “Or should I say, they’re just right for each other. Ginny needs someone who’ll think the world of her, but not try to put her on a pedestal or lock her up for her own good—”

“And Harry,” George picked up, “needs someone who can keep up with him, even challenge him. A partner, every way that goes.”

Ron’s color was returning to normal. “I know,” he said a bit hoarsely. “I know all that. But it’s just—I mean—you weren’t the ones who walked in on them snogging !”

The twins glanced at each other. It was a mistake. Fred cracked first, or at least George thought he did; he might have done it himself, and in the end, it didn’t matter. The result was the same. A pair of roaring redheads, a third slumped in a chair with his face in his hands, and most of Gryffindor Tower craning their necks to see what had the Weasley twins so amused.

“It’s not you,” George assured his brother when he could breathe again. “It’s just like the old joke...”

Fred pulled a long face. “Oi, George, I broke my arm in two places.”

“Well, Fred, if I were you—”

“I wouldn’t go to those two places anymore!” they finished in unison, and surrendered to laughter once more.

It was an improvement, George thought as he sneaked a look at Ron’s face. Red, rather than white. Yes, it would do. For the moment, anyway.

They were simply going to have to teach Ron how to give a stern older-brother look.

xXxXx

Draco paused with his hand on the doorknob of the door to the Quidditch pitch. The sounds coming from inside the room were the normal ones he’d expect—shouts, laughter, squeals—but only two voices were making them. One male, one female.

And since there’s only one of the girls who really likes to fly...

He opened the door and stepped inside.

High above one set of goal hoops, Harry perched on his Firebolt, both hands above his head. “Try this one!” he shouted, and a shining ring of fire appeared in the air over the pitch, closer to the other end than to his own. “Take them as they come!”

“Here I go!” Ginny called back, and she zoomed out of the shadows and guided her Cleansweep expertly through the hoop. Another appeared, low and to one side, and she dived and swooped through the center of that as well, then pulled back sharply to climb and make the next one, higher even than the first and almost in the stands—

An obstacle course. Or flying practice. We should do this when Harry’s back on the team.

Draco pulled his eyes off Ginny long enough to look at Harry. He wanted to be sure this wasn’t too much of a strain on his brother.

He snorted. Strain. Right. If that’s a strained look, I’ll get strained any day...

Hey, wait a second. I know he loves using the Gryffindor magic, now that he can, but that’s not all that’s going on here.

Draco followed Harry’s line of sight and came up with Ginny, which shouldn’t have been a surprise. She was his friend, his teammate, his Pridemate, and a fine flyer, and she’d just shredded through his obstacle course. But there was something more in Harry’s look today, something Draco hadn’t seen before—

Well, not on Harry. I see it on the Captain every now and again. Padfoot or Moony, or Mr. Weasley. And I’d bet I look like it too sometimes.

The new element in Harry’s expression was the incredulous pride of a man who has somehow, by the gift of some mad god, been deemed worthy by the finest woman in the world.

He’s in love. And so is she, or he wouldn’t be grinning like that.

Just for confirmation, Draco glanced back at Ginny. The youngest Weasley wore the same look on her face as Harry, the look Draco was still privately astonished to find in Luna’s eyes when they were alone together.

Marvelous. Harry’s managed to acquire a roommate and a girlfriend in the same day.

And he’s still technically expelled.

One of these days, I’m going to find whatever part of him attracts this kind of insanity, and I’m going to remove it. I don’t care what part it is, or how important he thinks it is. I am going to get rid of it if it kills me.

The vision-image of the love in Luna’s eyes turned into bleak and bitter pain suddenly slashed at him.

Bad choice of words, perhaps.

He stepped back out of the room, got his back to the wall, and let himself sink to the floor, eyes closed, overwhelmed by conflicting emotions. It’s wonderful Harry and Ginny are together, I’m so happy for them, but I’m going to be dead in less than two years—I’ll probably never even get married, and they’ll have their whole lives together—

Unless Harry gets killed in the war too. Or Ginny does. She’s not going to sit at home and stay safe, no matter what Harry wants. She’s a fighter, and she won’t settle for anything less than a piece of the same action we get.

Though maybe she’ll change her mind after... after me. Maybe that’s what I’ll do, is save her life. And that would be saving Harry’s life, too, if I’m right about them. They don’t look like they’d want to go on without each other now that they’ve finally got it figured out...

A little sound, either sob or snicker, escaped him. I knew this was coming eventually. She’s been on the prowl for him—God, almost since we met. Going on nine years ago now. Even my boneheaded little alpha brother couldn’t keep his head in the sand forever.

Hands on his arms startled him. “A—I mean, who’s there?”

“It’s just me,” said Luna. “If you want me.”

“Always,” Draco said, and only after he said it did he realize he’d started to say something else.

Carefully, he excised the something else from his thoughts and buried it under several layers of inconsequentials. Then, for good measure, he stomped on the mental grave.

And stay there.

The princess of the moon and the stars had come to his arms of her own free will. Nothing else mattered.

xXxXx

“I’m so happy for you both,” Hermione said, hugging Ginny tightly. “And I’m glad you worked it out on your own,” she added over Ginny’s shoulder to Harry. “Danger and I were going to start dropping hints if you didn’t get it by Christmas.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at her.

“I’m sure she’s not kidding, l-love,” said Ginny, half-turning to see Harry’s expression. Though she’d stumbled over the word, there could be no doubting the feeling behind it, not with the brilliant smile currently lighting every corner of the room. “Mums know these things.”

“They do.” Hermione let Ginny go. “But there’s something we have to take care of now.”

“What?” Ginny looked perplexed.

Hermione glanced back over her shoulder. Graham had returned from his time with Maya earlier that evening, and was now in the green bedroom, supposedly asleep. The door was open slightly, though, and she was getting an occasional scent from within that didn’t smell like sleep.

Might as well give him a good show, then.

She drew her dagger from its place at her side and flicked it cleanly into the padded floor between Ginny’s feet. “Challenge,” she said, lifting her head high. “Three rounds, hands, wands, and forms. Best two out of three.”

The Pride started up, dismayed, all speaking at once.

“Hermione, what are you—”

“You don’t have to—”

“This really isn’t—”

Ginny slid her hand down Harry’s side, pulled his dagger free of its sheath, and flung it down to land side by side with Hermione’s. “Done,” she said, meeting Hermione’s eyes.

“Done,” Hermione answered. “You choose first.”

“Excuse me?” Harry stepped between them, looking from his girlfriend to his sister with an expression somewhere between bemused and angry. “Hermione, why are you doing this?”

Hermione opened her mouth to explain, but Ginny beat her to it. “Because I won’t be alpha female just because we’re together,” the younger girl said, drawing the Pride’s eyes to her. “You have your place because you’re the best one for it. I should prove myself just like you did.”

Harry moved closer to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Ginny, you’ve already proved yourself to me—”

“Then let me prove myself to myself,” Ginny interrupted. “Let me know, once and for all, that I really deserve what I’m going to have. That I’m not just coasting on what you’ve done.” She looked up into Harry’s eyes. “I need this,” she said softly. “We both do. If you stop it, we’ll all just wonder for the rest of our lives what would have happened, and if Hermione might not still be a better alpha female for us, even though I’m your mate.”

Harry’s head came up, as though he were Wolf catching a new scent on the wind. “You’re sure?” he asked after a moment.

“Positive.”

Harry turned to Hermione. “Neenie?”

“This has to happen, Harry.” Hermione reached for her brother’s hand, hoping some of her bone-deep certainty could be transmitted through their touch. “You never fought for your place, but that was because there was never any question who our alpha male was. Now we need to be sure we have the right alpha female. For the good of the Pride. We’re going to be fighting in a war, and the only way we’ll make it through is if we have the best leaders we can. Both of them.”

Harry squeezed her hand once and let it go. “You are both insane,” he said in a casual tone, backing up a step. “So insane that I think I’d get hurt if I tried to stop you from doing this. So I’m not even going to try.”

“Good,” Ginny said, her lips peeling back from her teeth. “Because I’d hate having to hurt you not twenty-four hours after we finally got around to admitting we like each other.”

“And I’d hate having to hurt you back while you were hurting me.”

“So now that we all know we don’t want to hurt each other,” said Ron, reaching out a long arm to snag the two daggers, “why don’t you girls get on with it?”

Harry accepted his dagger back and sheathed it. “Challenged party picks the first round,” he said, half-bowing to Ginny.

“Wands,” Ginny said promptly.

“All right.” Harry waved the rest of the Pride back a few steps, then pulled his own wand as Ginny and Hermione walked up to each other and bowed. “Turn away,” he instructed. “Seven paces. Go.”

Hermione measured out her steps, making them small and deliberate, hearing Ginny’s strong paces behind her, but they reached their destinations and spun around at precisely the same moment.

“Bracchimotor Mortis! ” Hermione cried, as Ginny shouted “Stupefy! ”

Hermione managed to twist out of the way of Ginny’s spell. Ginny wasn’t quite fast enough, and the orange light brushed her right shoulder. Immediately, her right arm went stiff. She cursed under her breath and transferred her wand to her left hand.

Have to get her now—if I can pull off some quiet spells, she might not see them coming—

“Incarcerous , ” Hermione whispered. “Stupefy. Impedimenta. ”

The three spells sped almost invisibly towards Ginny, who was working to get her arm unlocked—

But her wand came up in time, and her shouted “Protego ! ” created a visible shield against which Hermione’s spells splashed—

No, they didn’t splash, they bounced, and they bled off enough energy that now they are invisible—

Hermione dropped to the floor, but felt an impact on her left side as she did, and swore as movement suddenly became very difficult. Lucky for me it was just the Impediment Jinx. If it’d been the Stunner or the Binding Spell, this duel would be over now.

The important thing was getting her wand to a place where she could protect herself, surviving the next volley and the one after that. Even a full-strength Impediment Jinx wore off in fairly short order, and she’d been hit with a low-level version, reflected at that. If she could block Ginny’s next two spells, she’d have a moment’s breathing space to free herself and get back into the game—

Ginny snatched her wand back into her right hand. “Mucus Aligerum! ” she shouted.

Hermione’s hissed “Protego ” brought up the invisible magical shield—

And Ginny’s hex blasted straight through it and hit her in the face.

Hermione sneezed. And sneezed again. And then screamed and sneezed at the same time, because something large and slippery and disgusting had just hit her in the face, and she could hear flapping wings all around her, and there seemed to be more of them coming every second, whatever they were, and she couldn’t stand it, get them away, get them AWAY—

“Halt!” Harry’s voice shouted. “Finite! ”

Hermione felt the Impediment Jinx release her, and the things vanished. She drew a long, shaky breath, then opened her eyes and accepted Harry’s hand up. “I think that means you win,” she said to Ginny. “What was that?”

“Bat-Bogey Hex,” Ron volunteered before Ginny, blushing furiously, could say anything. “One of her specialties, though she’s only ever done it at home before this.”

“It was the only thing I could think of that I knew well enough to punch through a shield,” Ginny said without looking at Hermione.

Hermione touched her face gingerly, relieved to find it clean. “And that means you won,” she said. “It doesn’t matter how you win, not in a real fight. And it’s not as if you cheated—you just used a spell I wasn’t expecting. I should have been more ready for anything, more able to adjust. So you won this round.”

“And that means you pick the next bout.” Ginny put her wand away and started stretching. “Hand-to-hand or form combat?”

Hermione slid her own wand into its special pocket in her robes and thought about it. If I really wanted a chance at winning, I’d ask for hand-to-hand next. I’ve been doing that much longer than Ginny has, and I’m older and bigger than she is. I’d have the advantage there. In forms, I’m smaller than she is, and I haven’t had that much more practice. Her weight would give her the advantage there, especially since she’s heard the story of how I tricked Harry over the summer.

But this isn’t about winning, not really. Not for me. Her eyes moved across the spectators, Draco and Luna sitting side by side, Meghan in the bend of Neville’s arm, Ron sprawled on the floor watching intently. It’s about proving to everyone, including Ginny, that she has what it takes. That she really can be the alpha female we’ll need if we’re going to fight in a war. They know me as alpha. They know what I can do, what I’m capable of. They don’t know her that way.

So I’m not about to throw the individual contests—it wouldn’t be fair to either of us if I did—but maybe I’ll pick differently than I would have if this were about winning.

“Forms,” she said.

Ginny paused in her stretching, then gave Hermione a long look. Hermione met her Pridemate’s eyes evenly. Yes, I’m ceding you the advantage. Now I hope you remember your lessons—don’t ever insist on a fair fight as long as it’s unfair in your favor!

“Forms,” Ginny agreed, and bent over to touch her toes.

A few moments later, Neenie the calico cat once again faced a larger, stronger animal in a fight. This time, though, she couldn’t attach herself to a leg, because these legs had weapons of their own on the ends. She could try her rush and leap approach, but Lynx was both canny and flexible, and she’d probably miss and be at the mercy of the larger cat—

Lynx pounced. Neenie shot between the big predator’s feet and, feeling daring, reached up a paw as she passed to bat Lynx’s stumpy tail. Point for me.

Lynx yowled and spun in her own tracks, swiping an oversized paw after Neenie. It caught her on the right flank, knocking her off balance. In a real fight, she knew, there would have been claws involved, and she’d be down and bleeding right this very moment. As it was—

As it is, I can still fight. And maybe make it a decent defeat, if not a victory.

She converted her stumble into a long, looping turn that brought her back towards Lynx outside the bigger cat’s claw-range, then leapt for Lynx’s back, landing (to her considerable surprise) squarely astride the shoulder blades. In a flash, Neenie bared her teeth and clamped them onto Lynx’s spine—

Lynx twisted, hissing, and Neenie flew off to one side. She tried to get her paws under her, but the trajectory was wrong, and she landed on her head with enough force, even on the padded floor, to see stars. An instant later, Lynx was crouched above her, a growl rippling in her throat. Surrender, the big cat demanded, or you are food.

Neenie went instantly limp and closed her eyes. You win, she said in animal-language. I will not fight.

“Halt,” said Harry calmly, and Neenie heard/felt Lynx back away. She opened one eye, then the other, to see a human Ginny blinking at her.

“Something for you?” Hermione asked when she’d sat up and retransformed.

“Did I just beat you?”

“That’s what it looked like to me.”

“And you beat Harry the last time you fought.”

Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing. “I wouldn’t think this necessarily means you could do that,” she cautioned. “But you’d give him a run for his Galleons. Ginny, you’re good. You have a lot of strength, and you’ve been training it for years in school and with us. Why are you so surprised you can win?”

“I don’t know...”

“Then don’t be,” Ron said, breaking a long silence. “You won, Ginny. You’re alpha female now.”

“Yes, you are,” Hermione reaffirmed, shifting her position until she was sitting on her heels. “Come and take your prize.”

She tilted her head back and half-closed her eyes.

Ginny made the tiniest squeak, then got to her feet and came forward, gingerly at first, but gaining confidence with every step. Two fingers rested on Hermione’s throat and moved away, and Hermione bowed her head, smiling as Ginny’s hands parted her hair and found the back of her neck.

As long as there is a Pride, I will fight beside you and with you and for you, she vowed silently. I will listen to you and do as you say, because you have proved yourself worthy of that trust. And I will help you when you are afraid or worried that you can’t do this job. I know what that feels like. But in the end, you are the only one who can.

Alpha female. Leader of the Pride.

My leader.

Ginny’s hand came away. Hermione lifted her head and stood up, and Ron dropped to his knees in her place.

“This is a little silly,” Ginny said under her breath.

“I promise I won’t bite,” said Ron, grinning at her. “Gin, you did great. You deserve this.” His head went back, and Ginny laid her fingers on his Adam’s apple, then her whole hand on the back of his neck when he’d bowed his head before her.

Luna was the next to offer her allegiance, and Draco after her. Neville knelt in his place next, and Meghan came last of all, shoulders hunched as if she were afraid she’d be refused. Ginny placed her whole hand around Meghan’s throat, instead of the two-fingered touch she’d given everyone else. “Your pride will keep for after missions,” she said in a soft, penetrating voice. “Your Pride will not.”

“Yes, Ginny,” Meghan whispered.

Hermione looked sharply at Ginny, impressed. The emphasis laid on the two words had shown clearly which meaning Ginny intended to use each time. Not everyone can do that. I don’t even do it right half the time.

Meghan lowered her head, and Ginny not only laid a hand on the back of the younger girl’s neck, but caressed it. “It’s over,” she said. “All is well.”

And she knows when to stop scolding. I never know that. I always want to keep on being mad at people, even after they’ve apologized and it ought to be over.

Hermione glanced at Harry, and saw much of the same conclusions in his eyes. Good choice, she signed to him as Ginny helped Meghan up.

Choice? Harry signed back. What choice?

Hermione thought of certain conversations long-past and snickered. You have a point.

Harry sagged. Obviously, he’d been hoping Hermione wouldn’t understand what he was talking about.

“Our new alpha female, everyone,” said Ron, catching hold of Ginny’s arms and hoisting her off the ground. “Ginny Weasley!”

The Pride cheered, and Luna began to sing, everyone else joining in by the end of the first line.

“For she’s a jolly good alpha,

“For she’s a jolly good alpha,

“For she’s a jolly good alpha...

“Which nobody can deny!”

Ginny blushed and laughed as Ron carried her around the Den on his shoulders, the rest of the Pride trooping behind them singing.

And so, a new time begins for the Pride, Hermione mused even as she sang as heartily as the others. May it be blessed.

xXxXx

In the green bedroom, Graham sat at the desk, his quill in his hand. The words “Dear Father and Mother” were dry on the top of the scroll before him. He’d written them that morning, then sat motionless and unable to continue for nearly an hour.

Now he knew what he would write.

I have missed you both a great deal, and I would like to come home for a while, if it is safe. But I think I should come back to Hogwarts as soon as I can after that. Not only because I have missed almost two full months’ worth of schooling, but for another reason.

You have always told me, both of you, that the real purity in the wizarding world should not be blood, but traditions. That we should cherish the things that make us different than Muggles, but always be willing to try new things and put away old ones that no longer work. I believe I know of people here at Hogwarts who agree with these ideas, and I would like to learn more about them and the traditions they have. If I am lucky, they may even accept me as a member of their group, or another group like it.

With them, I will be safe. I know this, not only because I know the people involved, but because I know what they did. They risked their own lives to try to help someone who was a friend to only one of them, and they succeeded. If they had not, I would not be writing you this letter.

I hope to see you both very soon.

Your devoted son,

Graham

P.S. I think Maya may be having a disagreement with her parents. Is there any way that she could come and stay with us for the holidays?

xXxXx

The next morning, a series of excited squeals from the Gryffindor table drew the attention of the entire Hall. Meghan Black was jumping up and down, hugging Natalie McDonald, and shrieking not quite at the top of her lungs, but certainly close. “I’m a sister! I’m a sister! I’m going to have a little brother!”

Minerva sighed, set down her spoon, and started to get up—the girl had every right to be excited, but not the right to disturb everyone’s meal—but Ginny Weasley spotted the motion, hissed at Meghan and Natalie, and they stopped what they were doing instantly and took their seats, looking chastened but still excited.

“So a brother for Meghan, then,” Minerva said to Albus as the normal conversations in the Hall resumed.

“Indeed.” Albus took a sip of tea. “Sirius is overjoyed, as are Remus and Danger. Aletha admits it will be nice to experience a pregnancy with magical as opposed to Muggle medical care, but she also understands the social pressures she may come under with this child.”

“Social pressures? With a perfectly legitimate, male, half-blood heir to the House of Black? Oh, heavens, I can hardly imagine why there would be social pressures in that case.” Minerva snorted. “Even if Sirius did make it quite clear he would rather eat dragon scales than return to pureblood society.”

“Pureblood society may come to him,” Albus said quietly. “His family fortunes are in good repair; his conduct, apart from his marital choices and a few episodes of what they may choose to see as youthful high spirits, is impeccable; and his bloodline is unimpeachable. They may have no choice but to come to him.”

“But for what? Why would they? Unless...” Minerva frowned. “Albus, you’re not telling me there’s talk of—”

“Nothing serious, Minerva. No pun intended, of course.” Albus smiled slightly. “But a man of Sirius’ age and vigor, with a male heir to establish his line and proven ties to most of the pureblood lines in Britain, is a very strong contender indeed. And the item in question has a mind of its own, should it be activated.”

“But if his heir is only half-blood—”

“It will be more than many others have. More than most, to be honest. There are fewer pureblood men of Sirius’ age than there should be, since so many fought in the last war. And of those, fewer still have married or produced heirs.”

Minerva sighed deeply. “And Sirius will be back in the thick of a life he’s tried so desperately to leave behind.”

“But in a position to make some of the changes he has chafed at being unable to effect.” Albus’ smile widened. “I believe I may well push for this after all. It will take time, since I can most certainly not make the requests openly, but that time might convince Voldemort that I have forgotten about this possibility, or that I never knew. And the purebloods can trace family trees as well as I, and will not want to activate the item unless there is no other choice.”

“If you need information about the other current prospects, you will want to speak with Corona Gamp,” Minerva reminded her friend, intercepting the toast rack as Filius Summoned it. “She has been in pureblood society far more recently than any of us, and she may well have been researching the lines for different reasons.”

“Investigating possible matches, or those to be avoided.” Albus nodded. “How are she and Brian, by the way? I have missed them the last three times I have been at Headquarters.”

Minerva’s lips twitched. “Molly Weasley is somewhat scandalized by the amount of time they spend together, but even she admits she has no right to interfere. I would guess, by the way they treat one another, that both of them had given up hope of ever being found acceptable as a romantic prospect, much less desirable. And Corona was openly ecstatic to hear Aletha’s news.”

“Wonderful.” Albus refilled his and Minerva’s teacups with a wave of his wand. “I had meant to ask, since Sirius and Aletha know the sex of the baby, have they considered names?”

Minerva laughed. “Danger produced an old piece of parchment and claimed Remus just happened to find it in one of her books, being used as a bookmark, a few days ago.”

Albus chuckled with her. “And what might it have been?”

“A list of possible baby names, from Aletha’s pregnancy with Meghan. It seems that they didn’t know the baby’s sex then, and were covering both possibilities. Sirius looked rather surprised at the front-runner for a boy, but eventually he admitted that it could legitimately have been a name either from the pureblood tradition or from a Muggle family, and I believe it may well stick.” Minerva dropped one lump of sugar into her tea. “They plan to name him Marcus.”

xXxXx

“The potion’s looking good,” Harry said to Ginny, spooning up some so she could see its consistency, then dropping it back into the cauldron with a thick splat. “Another two days, and it ought to be ready to use.”

Ginny sniffed the steam rising from the cauldron. “Funny how it doesn’t stink at all while you’re making it,” she said. “We’ll have to clean up especially well in here after we’ve finished with it.”

“We’d better. This is my kitchen.” Harry waved a hand around at the room. “Draco can brew in here if he wants to, but I’m not letting him stink it up.”

“You know, maybe we should just have asked the Den if it could make us a workroom,” Ginny mused. “It made the music room when Luna wanted one, didn’t it?”

“I don’t know if it made the music room so much as it just opened it up...” Harry stopped, thinking of pirate ships. “Maybe you’re right. We could ask Alex, but he hasn’t been around much since Graham left, and I still haven’t seen that woman Graham said he met in Alex’s painting.”

“So why don’t we just try it?” Ginny stood up. “We need a workroom, please,” she said to the ceiling, which had become the default place to address any requests to the Den. “Some place to brew our potion, so it doesn’t get into the food.”

The wall to the right of the door rippled, and a door materialized from the stone. “Just like the Room of Requirement,” Ginny said, going over to try the door. “Oh, this is perfect—it’s even a little cool, just like Snape keeps the dungeons, so we don’t get too hot with the fires going.”

“Is that why he does it?” Harry put his hands under the cauldron, willed them to generate the same amount of heat the fire was doing, and lifted. “Get the hob, will you, Gin? I always thought Snape kept the dungeons cold just so we wouldn’t fall asleep in class.”

“Well, probably that too.” Ginny scooted around him, grabbed the tripod from which the cauldron had been hanging, and followed Harry into the new section of the Den. “That’s still a little spooky,” she said, coming around to peer into the cauldron, full of merrily boiling potion. “You holding that in your hands, and not even feeling it.”

“Yes, well, so would it be to a Muggle if they saw you wave a stick and make things fly around or change into other things.” Harry tried to balance the cauldron with one hand, to have the other one free to hang its chain back on the hook, but the cauldron wasn’t having any. The potion sloshed warningly—in another few seconds it would be spilling—

“Wingardium Leviosa ,” said Ginny, and the weight of the cauldron vanished from his hands. “What did you ever do without me?”

“Dropped a lot of heavy things on my feet,” Harry said, hooking the chain over the notch on the tripod hob designed for it. “There, that should hold.” He snapped his fingers over his shoulder, and the blue fire in the jar in the kitchen went out. Another snap, and the same fire was burning under the cauldron, though now it was uncontained, merely licking up the cauldron’s sides.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Ginny asked, walking around the cauldron and eyeing the flames warily.

“No, I’ve told it not to burn anything, and only to make the potion and the cauldron hot. You’d still get burned if you touched the cauldron, I can’t change that, but you won’t get hurt by the flames. Here.” On impulse, Harry reached into the fire and extracted a handful. “Try it.”

Ginny reached out and laid her hand in the flames, and her expression went from wary to wondering. “It tickles,” she said. “Like it would if you’d used a Flame-Freezing Charm. I know Hermione did, when she set this up two weeks ago, but you made a new fire here, and all you had to do was—” She snapped her own fingers.

“It’s pretty cool, isn’t it?” Harry smiled at her, enjoying the look in her eyes as she ran her fingers through the fire. “Here, hold on a second—take your hand out—” He concentrated on the fire, willing a very specific set of things for it. “Now try.”

Ginny lowered her hand into the blue flames once more, and frowned. “This is different. It doesn’t hurt, but it feels like something I should know what to do with, something I’ve touched before...”

Idly, her other hand came up, and she squeezed the flames between her palms.

The flames responded, narrowing themselves between her hands, bulging out at her fingertips and wrists.

Ginny gasped and looked up. “What did you tell it?” she demanded.

Harry grinned at her. “To do for you anything it would for me. Go on, give it a try.” He pulled his own hand away, not without a tinge of regret; Ginny’s skin was soft and warm and held a delicate smell of roses that he knew must come from her soap, but seemed somehow to be an inherent part of her.

“Anything?” Ginny squeezed the flames again, and they fountained out between her fingers. “Of course, now I know what this feels like. Clay, my clay when it’s wet, only this isn’t wet, and it doesn’t need to support weight...”

“Chairs, please,” Harry said under his breath to the ceiling, and sidled around behind Ginny so that he could gently press down on her shoulders, seating her in the chair that had appeared between them, as she concentrated on the blue flame in her hands. That done, he pulled over the matching chair that had appeared for him, and settled down to watch.

In quick succession, a hippogriff, a dragon, and a mermaid were crafted from Ginny’s handful of flame, and just as quickly crushed back to anonymity as soon as they were finished. Ginny’s face was radiant, as though she’d found something she’d only dreamed of, and Harry suspected clay didn’t respond nearly as well to her wishes.

Surreptitiously, he called up another set of fireballs, one in each hand. One was red, the other yellow, and he set them floating in midair beside Ginny’s chair so that she could reach them if she wanted.

She did want, it seemed, and with the addition of color, her creations grew more and more impressive. A yellow centaur galloped about the room and fired an arrow at Harry’s head, making him duck and Ginny giggle; a red fire-rose blossomed between them, its stem the green she’d made by mixing a pinch of blue and yellow together; and finally, as she waved her hand in a great arch, a flaming rainbow spread itself across the room, the bands of color blending gently one into the next.

“Harry, thank you,” Ginny said softly, staring up at the rainbow’s arc. “I’ve been so busy with classes and DA and Quidditch that I haven’t had much time to sculpt, and it’s never been like that, not ever. I love clay, I think I always will, but there are things you can’t do with it... but maybe that’s part of the challenge. To make things look that beautiful, even though they’re planted in what’s possible.” She laughed a little, passing her hand through the violet band of the rainbow. “But I suppose it’s nice to play with the impossible sometimes.”

“I like anything you make, possible or impossible,” Harry said, watching the firelight play on Ginny’s face, “because everything you make is beautiful.” He smiled. “But that’s probably because you’re so beautiful.”

“Flatterer,” Ginny said automatically.

“It’s not flattery if it’s true. And tonight’s Halloween. I won’t get to go to the feast, so would you celebrate a little with me right here?”

“Of course.” Ginny stood up. “What did you have in mind?”

Harry’s smile expanded. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

He clapped his hands twice, and the rainbow began to spin. Ginny’s soft “ah” of wonder turned into a wordless squeak as the blue flames suddenly rushed upon her, and the rest of the colors deluged Harry—

And then they were clothed in fire, Ginny in a long robe of blue and a coronet of gold set with green and red stars, Harry in black with red at his collar and cuffs.

Ginny looked down her nose at him. “Show-off,” she accused.

“Every chance I get.” Harry offered her his arm. “My lady.”

She took it. “Are you ever going to get tired of saying that?”

“Probably not.”

Together, they walked through the kitchen and into the main room. “Dance floor, please,” Harry said to the ceiling. “And music. Something slow.”

The floor shimmered itself into hardwood, the lights dimmed around them, and a soft piece featuring woodwinds and strings began to play. Ginny twined her fingers in Harry’s, and he set his hand against her waist, and they danced, around and around the room.

The rest of the Pride would arrive after the feast, full of stories and jokes and eager to hear how the prank planning was coming along. After that would be the den-night, marking fourteen years from the fateful Halloween Voldemort had marked Harry, fourteen years since Harry’s parents had died.

What would they think of me now? Harry wondered, guiding Ginny deftly around the room. I’ve been expelled, but unfairly, and I’m keeping up with my work... sort of. His mind sheared away from the pile of homework stacked up in his bedroom, which he’d have to get to within the next few days.



I’m running an illegal student club, but it’s one we need, and we’re doing so well. Even the more timid or less talented members of the DA, such as the young Slytherin named Elayne or the excitable Tessa Mallory, were beginning to blossom with careful guidance and lots of reassurance.

I have a girlfriend. Possibly the most beautiful girlfriend ever. And she’s even a redhead, Dad—Padfoot’s been teasing me ever since he found out, about ‘carrying on the family tradition’...

He met Ginny’s eyes and felt her smile warm him from within, almost as if he’d swallowed a handful of the fire they both wore.

And I’m doing the right thing, Mum. I’m fighting for the people who can’t fight for themselves.

I think you’d be proud of me. I think you’d think I’m doing well.

He allowed himself one sigh.

I just wish I knew.





Facing Danger

Chapter 18: It's Magic, You Know (Year 5)


Chapter 18: It’s Magic, You Know

Dolores Jane Umbridge usually woke up feeling fresh and ready for the day, but on this November morning, she felt decidedly odd. Sticky, almost. As though some gooey, lumpy substance were covering her from head to toe. But that was absurd...

She opened her eyes and began to scream.

She and her bedroom were both coated in what appeared to be semi-liquefied slugs.

Umbridge floundered out of bed and screamed again as her feet sloshed in a puddle of the foul mess on the floor. Whimpering in horror, she waded to the door and threw it open.

Her office was worse than her bedroom. Gray slime soaked every visible surface, except the piece of parchment in the center of her desk. Which had not been there when she’d gone to bed.

Breathing shallowly through her mouth, Umbridge approached her desk.

The parchment was a letter, and a rather short one at that, though the handwriting was incongruously elaborate.

Dear Minister Fudge,

Your pet toad looked hungry, so I dropped it off some food. Baby food, since it seems to think we’re all babies.

Isn’t it time you left Hogwarts alone?

Sincerely,

A Concerned Student

xXxXx

“So what exactly happened to Umbridge today, Dumbledore?” Arthur Weasley asked over dinner. “I know something must have, because Percy said Fudge was in a towering rage—I’d imagine he’ll try again to hamstring you tomorrow, some new decree or other...”

“He cannot remove me as Headmaster without usurping the power of the Board of Governors, and I like to think that as long as I remain at Hogwarts, the staff and students will not give up,” Dumbledore said, reaching up to give Fawkes a tidbit of the potatoes au gratin. “Besides, would I have had anything to do with the pranksters so bedeviling Dolores Umbridge? I, the somber old man with no concept of fun or laughter at all?”

Danger choked on a bite of carrot. Remus patted her back and raised an eyebrow at Dumbledore.

“If it wasn’t you, Albus, it was Minerva,” Aletha said, setting aside her fork. “Not even Harry or the Weasley twins would go as far as whoever’s behind these pranks without some sort of official imprimatur.”

“Really, Aletha, I would have thought better of you than to impugn Minerva’s good name in such a way,” Dumbledore reproved lightly. “Can you honestly imagine my Deputy Headmistress allowing her students to play pranks?”

“In these circumstances, yes,” Sirius said bluntly. “Because that’s the only way you’re going to get rid of Umbridge, is by hounding her out. Either that, or prove to Fudge he’s wrong about Voldemort.”

Dumbledore sighed. “I only wish I knew how.”

“Have you thought at all about Barty’s suggestion?” Moody asked, taking a swig from his hip flask. “I’ll admit it sounds foolhardy, but it may be the best chance we’ve got at luring him out in the open. Of course, that’s always assuming he doesn’t know it’s a lure...” His magical eye swung around the room, as though wondering which of those assembled might be reporting to Voldemort on the sly.

“Or that he knows,” Dumbledore completed the sentence, “but believes himself able to defeat whatever we have planned.”

“What am I missing?” Molly Weasley asked, refilling her glass with a flick of her wand. “What sort of lure are we talking about here?” She had no sooner finished speaking than her eyes widened with certainty. “No—you can’t mean—”

“Nothing’s decided, Molly,” Remus said wearily. “And if we do go through with it, we’ll keep Ron and Ginny out of it if I have to sit on them myself.”

“But that you’re even considering it—dear heavens, I knew things were bad, but I can’t believe they’re this bad! There must be some other way!”

“That’s what we keep saying,” said Aletha, indicating herself and Danger. “But I’m starting to believe them, Molly. I don’t want to, but I am. If we don’t get Voldemort in the open, and soon, we’ll be in very deep trouble.” She glanced at Sirius, who nodded. “He’s setting up to take a run at Azkaban.”

“Dear God in heaven,” Molly whispered, her hand seeking Arthur’s automatically.

“They’ll all be mad by now,” growled Moody. “Or most of ‘em. Trouble is, they were mad to start with. Some of ‘em might even have enjoyed being with the dementors. Like calls to like.”

“And Voldemort will have the dementors in the moment he can prove that he will give them more scope than the Ministry,” said Dumbledore heavily. “Without the influence of the dementors, and with outside help, Azkaban is laughably easy to escape.” A sudden smile touched his lips. “As two of our number know from experience.”

“There are days I can’t believe I did that,” Remus said, sharing a look with Sirius across the table. “Not that I ever regret it, but if I’d had any idea of the risks I was running, the danger I was getting myself into—”

Moody and Sirius guffawed, Aletha coughed into her napkin, and Danger slid under the table without even the pretense of a dropped fork as Remus turned a shade of red a Weasley would have envied. Arthur’s lips twitched, but Molly glared at him, and he stopped.

“I must come here for meals more often,” Dumbledore remarked, giving Fawkes another tidbit. “I have obviously been missing fascinating conversations.”

xXxXx

“You want to know about the Silver Sword?” Corona frowned. “I can tell you as much as I remember, but I always thought that was just a legend. A magical sword that chooses the best leader for the wizarding world in a time of crisis... it sounds too good to be true.”

“Do you recall the drawbacks to the use of the Sword?” Dumbledore asked, nodding to Brian, who had agreed to monitor the DictaQuill taking notes on the session in return for being there. The young wizard tapped the Quill twice with his wand, and it sprang upright and awaited a voice.

“I...” Corona frowned. “Perhaps I had best just tell the story from the beginning, the way it was told to me.”

“Perhaps.” Dumbledore nodded calmly, concealing his pleasure that she had volunteered the full story rather than him having to ask for it. By his estimation, someone telling a story because they wanted to, rather than because it had been asked of them, was less likely to forget some crucial detail, accidental or not.

Corona closed her eyes. “This is the story of the Silver Sword,” she began in a sing-songing tone, leaning forward as though trying to captivate an audience. “The Sword of the Great, as it was sometimes called. For this was no ordinary sword, oh, no! This sword had belonged to a great warrior once on a time, a great leader of wizardkind, and the tale went that only a leader as great as he could safely take hold of its hilt, on peril of his life. But since no wise man wished to risk himself in such a cause, the Sword lay gathering dust in the armory of the House of Beaufoi.

“But there came a time when war raged across all of Europe, and the isles of Britain were not immune. And as Muggles and the magical mixed more freely in this time than they do in our own, so the Muggle war had its counterpart in the magical world, for a Dark wizard saw the chaos and thought to use it to seize power over his own kind. And both wars raged fiercely for a time.

“At last, the leaders of wizardkind gathered together in secret. They must have a great general, they decided. One leader to bring them all together, one light to fight the coming darkness. And so it was decided that the Sword of the Great should be brought forth, and that each man in turn should try to take it up.

“But when the sword was unveiled, and the great name written on the blade was exposed, the hearts of the wizards quailed within them, and none would be first to put his hand to the hilt. Finally, an old man, who in better times sweetened lives by the buying and selling of honey, made a suggestion.

“‘My friends,’ he said, ‘we do not use magic for nothing. Why can we not use our magic to ask this sword to bestow itself upon any one of us who is worthy to carry it, and pledge that him we will follow, and so will all those who follow us?’

“The plan was voted a good one, and so it was done. Each leader signed his name to a pledge, giving his word and that of his descendants after him to follow the one who carried the Sword, and then together as one the leaders cast their spell. A long spell it was and difficult, for it had many particulars. The man it sought must be able to lead other men, but he must care for their lives. He must be both a great warrior and a great thinker. And he must have at least one child living, so that his line would not end if he were killed. All this and more the spell required, but at last it was finished, and the Sword awoke.

“The hilt of the Silver Sword shimmered with the gleam of Mars, the light of the ancient god of war. It arose from its place on the table and turned as though regarding those who had called to it. Great was the fear of the wizards there gathered that they had awakened something too powerful for them to control, that the Sword might turn upon them and slay them all for their presumption, and almost to a man they cowered back.

“Almost—but for four men. Those four, the Sword inspected gravely, for each was valiant in his own right. One was the Sword’s own keeper, the young head of the House of Beaufoi, who had proved his manhood by avenging his father’s death; the second came from the great swamps, and was known for his feats of strength and quiet bravery there; the third was a man of the West Lands, who crafted strange devices like a Muggle but had a genius for outwitting his enemy in battle; and the last was a craftsman and sculptor, a fine flyer and very strong in magic.

“Such were the choices of the Sword of the Great, and long did it hover about each man. At last, though, it laid itself in the hand of the man from the West, and he raised it above his head, and all those gathered acclaimed him as their leader. He took the other three who had been unafraid to be his lieutenants, and he brought strength back to the hearts of wizards and witches of good will, and they cast down the Dark One and his minions and laid bare his strongholds.

“And when the war was done, the man from the West touched the blade of his sword and smiled, and went alone into the North. And when he returned, his hands were empty, and so was his scabbard. His lieutenants asked him what he had done with the Sword of Decision—for so it was now called—but he only smiled. ‘I have laid it in a safe place and suitable,’ he said, ‘to come forth if ever again there is need for it. But I shall tell you three of that place, that the Sword may not be lost forever should my spell fail.’ And he gathered them to him secretly and told them of that place.

“But the House of Beaufoi is now no more, and the swamps have taken back what was theirs, and the young craftsman has returned to his beloved earth, and the children of the man from the West know not of their forefather’s great legacy. Much which was known is now forgotten, and the Sword of Decision is lost to us. Alas for our fate should an enemy ever again rise which threatens all of wizardkind...”

Corona trailed off and opened her eyes. “I remembered it,” she said in wonder. “All of it, every word.”

“We often remember our childhood stories in that way,” Dumbledore agreed, glancing at Brian, whose nod confirmed that the DictaQuill had recorded Corona’s tale. “I thank you very much for being willing to recall this one for me.”

“But what good will it do you?” Corona frowned. “Even if the story were true and the Sword of Decision real, that would mean it had been lost for hundreds of years. And how could you ever convince enough wizards to come together to recreate the spell that was cast on it?”

“Oh, there could be ways,” Dumbledore said, accepting the scroll Brian held out to him. “There could very well be ways.”

xXxXx

Upstairs, Tonks laid an awkward hand on Aletha’s gently curving belly. “Does it hurt?” she asked, looking up at the older woman. “I mean, not that I want to try it—not right now, I mean—but I was just wondering—”

Aletha set aside the desire to laugh. “It can hurt,” she said truthfully. “There’s morning sickness, though I seem to have avoided that this time around. Some women have mood swings, or cravings for odd foods. So much extra weight can make your back ache, and of course the actual birth...” She shivered a little in memory. “At least this time, I won’t have to make do with Muggle medicines. Not that they aren’t effective in their own way, but they’re so draconian. With a good potion, I’ll be able to control how much pain I feel. I don’t want to cut it off entirely, because pain can actually be a feedback tool.”

Tonks was nodding. “Exercise gives you the good pain,” she said. “But if you slack even for a day or two, you get the bad kind, because you’re out of condition. And these muscles don’t get a lot of conditioning, so...” She winced.

“As if you’d never lifted anything heavier than a quill,” Aletha supplied, “and suddenly you had to push a loaded cart for miles at a time. You’d make it, probably, but you’d be exhausted and hurting everywhere by the time you were done.”

“Maybe I don’t want to try it after all,” Tonks said, her face thoughtful as she rubbed her wedding ring. “But...”

“But?” Aletha prompted after a moment.

“But I don’t know. I know I don’t want kids until after this is all over—not that you’re wrong to have done it or anything,” Tonks added hastily, “but I couldn’t handle it. Not my first time. And I’m not positive I want them even after it’s over. I mean, what would I do with a baby? I’m an Auror. I didn’t apprentice to learn to change diapers.”

“But part of you does want children,” Aletha finished, nodding. “Most women do. Some don’t, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But that desire runs very deep in most of us.” She chuckled. “And that is a good thing, because the human race would never continue otherwise. Not with all the pain and the work involved, and that’s just the beginning. You spend years of your life on these ungrateful brats, and just when they finally start to get interesting, they leave!”

Tonks laughed too, but shakily, and it died away in a moment. “So it’s all right not to be sure?” she said. “I mean, I know it is, but I want to know—Merlin’s stones, I don’t know what I want to know anymore!”

“It is normal and perfectly fine not to be sure,” Aletha reassured the younger woman, and felt a tiny throb of pain in the back of her heart. Oh, Andy, I wish you were here. You should be doing this for your daughter, not me—

But we do what we can for the ones who went on before. Whether that is to carry out their work or to help those they had to leave behind.

“So,” Aletha said, breaking herself out of her reverie. “If you want to know all the gory details, I’m in a perfect position to tell them to you, having been through the process once and, proving that memory is imperfect, about to do it all again.”

Tonks pulled herself up into a chair and leaned forward, her expression the epitome of hanging-on-every-word.

xXxXx

“I’m so happy about your new brother,” Natalie said to Meghan at the DA meeting that Sunday evening. “Will he be a cub?” Long familiarity with Meghan’s stories about her family made the word sound natural in her mouth. “A part of a Pack and a Pride, like you are?”

“Of course. What else would he be?” Meghan levitated a target shaped like a battered old hat into the air and waved her wand in lazy arcs, making the hat bounce through the air.

“I don’t know.” Natalie’s tongue stuck out the corner of her mouth as she concentrated. “I just thought... maybe...” She fired a stream of sparks at the hat, and it chimed as a few of them hit, scoring her a “soft” hit. “I thought maybe you wouldn’t be a Pack anymore. That you’d just be a family.”

“I don’t know if we can,” said Meghan thoughtfully, spinning the hat in a circle over Natalie’s head. “Mama and Dadfoot grew up in normal families—well, Mama did, Dadfoot’s family was stranger than ours—but they’re Pack now, bone and blood. And I haven’t ever been anything else than Pack. I wouldn’t know how to be ‘just a family’.”

Natalie fired again and missed. “I’ve talked to Graham some,” she said, glancing towards another corner of the room, where Harry was working with Graham one-on-one, coaching him through some of the earlier lessons the DA had learned. “He sees a lot, living there where Harry is. He says he never understood some of your stories before, but now he does.”

Meghan giggled. “Do you ever see the Slytherins trying to figure out where he goes?” she asked, then jumped as the hat chimed loudly, signaling a solid or “hard” hit. “Hey!”

Natalie smiled, less shyly than she would have a month before. “You weren’t paying attention,” she said. “We’re supposed to take advantage of that.”

“Hmph.” Meghan whirled the hat into a slashing three-dimensional pattern. “But do you? They’ve tried following him, but he just changes which way he’s going, and by the time they figure out where he’s going now, he’s gone. He never goes into any of the places that will let him back into the Den when they’re watching him, and by now, all they know is that he can get to wherever he’s going from two or three different places—and they knew that already!”

Natalie shot three times, scoring two soft hits. “Professor Umbridge wants to get him alone, you know,” she said. “She thinks she could get him to say that Professor Dumbledore kidnapped him, to make everyone think You-Know-Who is back.”

“Well, she isn’t going to,” Meghan said staunchly. “The one time she tried taking him out of class—you remember that, the second day he was back?”

Natalie giggled. “First Peeves distracted her,” she said, shooting as she talked, chimes punctuating her speech. “And while she was trying to get him to stop, Professor Dumbledore came by and saw Graham just standing in the hall, and took Graham up to his office, because Graham was out of class during class time.”

“And when Professor Umbridge tried to find out where Graham was, all Professor Dumbledore would say was that he’d sent him back to where he ought to be,” said Meghan in satisfaction, “and she couldn’t find him anywhere, and none of the other teachers would help her at all. And she didn’t know enough to look for Maya, or ask her any questions.” She glanced over at the older girl, whose new watch sparkled on her wrist as she levitated a shoe-shaped target for another student to shoot at.

Natalie nodded. “And then Graham wasn’t in class for three days, but somehow he had all the homework done when he turned up again...”

“And since she can’t prove any of the teachers were doing anything wrong, she can’t do anything about this,” Meghan finished, ending her charm so that the hat-target fell into her hand. “Ten soft hits and three hard,” she read aloud off the back of the target. “That’s pretty good.”

“But I can do better.” Natalie took the target from Meghan, reset it, and levitated it herself. “Next time, I will.”

Meghan rose on her tiptoes, took a deep breath, and let her wand merge with the target as it bobbed and wove elusively. I have to hit that, she told herself. Nothing else matters.

Her first stream of sparks slammed into the target’s upper right corner.

xXxXx

“Oh, I give up!” shouted Selena Moon, flinging her wand away from her as the target above her evaded her sparks yet again. “What good is it, anyway? We’re just kids! We can’t possibly do anything important!”

The entire room had gone silent. Harry straightened up slowly from where he’d been showing Graham the precise twisting movement for the Body-Bind, feeling eyes moving to him. I have to say something. I can’t just let that go.

But what do I say?

“We’re just kids,” he repeated Selena’s words. “You’re right about that. Well, some of us are adults,” he conceded with a nod to Fred and George, “but we’re not experienced, and we’re not fully trained. But I don’t think that means we can’t do anything important.”

He took a few steps into the middle of the room, the attention of the DA trained on him. “Every wizard who ever held a wand started out just where we are,” he said as he walked. “Students. Learners. And some of them were probably fumble-fingered nitwits who couldn’t hold their wands straight if their lives depended on it.” That surprised a laugh out of a few people. “But they practiced. They trained. And they got better slowly.”

Harry drew his wand and brought it to aim at one of the wall-mounted targets in the fast, fluid motion Padfoot had trained into him over the course of two summers and a school year. “I wasn’t born knowing how to do that,” he said, lowering it again. “I didn’t just wake up one morning and know it. I had to learn it. And it took a long time.”

He looked around the room, meeting gaze after gaze, blue, brown, hazel, gray. “We’re trying to learn a lot in a short time here. That means we’re not going to be very good at it at first. But we’re getting better. Think about it.” He turned to Colin Creevey. “Colin, try and disarm me.”

“Expelliarmus ! ” Colin shouted without hesitation, swinging his wand into line with Harry.

Harry brought his other hand up just in time to catch his wand before it went flying, and staggered back a step as the main force of the spell hit him. “Good shot,” he said when he thought he could talk without croaking. “Could you have done that before the DA?”

Colin shook his head hard, his eyes wide as he realized he’d nearly disarmed Harry Potter.

“Elayne.” Harry turned to the younger of the Slytherin girls, who paled as he called her name. “Show me an Orbis Block.”

Elayne squared her shoulders and lifted her wand. “Oppiliorbis , ” she said softly but firmly, and the yellow disk appeared in midair.

“Auris Vellicare! ” Harry announced, concentrating on making it a small spell, not too powerful, just enough to hit her block and bounce—

The beam of fuchsia light disappeared into the disk without a trace.

Huh. Guess she blocks better than I thought. No need to tell her that, though.

Elayne was staring open-mouthed at her own wand, and Harry pointed at her. “That’s what a Death Eater would do,” he said. “He’d stare. He’d be amazed. Because in his mind, we’re just little kids. We can’t fight back. We’re helpless. When really—”

He spun around. “Expelliarmus ! ” he shouted at Selena.

She dodged and shot back at him. “Stupefy! ”

“Oppiliorbis ! ” Harry staggered back two steps with the force of the Stunner hitting his block. “There, you see?” he said, looking straight at Selena. “You can do this. All of us can.”

He turned, once more meeting each pair of eyes as he passed it. “We’re as strong as we let ourselves be. As strong as all of us together. And we’re not just kids. Not anymore. Kids sit around and let adults decide their future. We’re deciding our own future. We’re deciding to fight. And you know what that makes us?”

“Strong!” shouted Lindsey Jordan, murmurs of affirmation answering her.

“Wizards and witches!” called Heidi, the Hufflepuff fourth-year who always paired with Justin Finch-Fletchley. A small cheer greeted her answer.

“An army,” said Luna.

The room went silent.

“An army,” repeated Padma Patil, as though she were trying the words on for size. “Dumbledore’s Army. Isn’t that what we’re called?”

“That is what we’re called,” said Danielle, the tall blonde Ravenclaw, nodding to her Housemate. “And I think it’s time we start acting like it.”

She stepped into the middle of the room, bowed to Harry, and swept her wand up to salute position, her gripping hand just below and in front of her chin, the wand itself upright in front of her face. “I fight with you,” she said.

Harry nodded his head in acknowledgement, and Danielle lowered her wand and stepped back into the crowd.

Ron walked out to where she had been and faced Harry. “I fight with you,” he said, bringing his wand to salute. Harry nodded again, and Ron returned to his place.

One by one, few by few, the members of the DA stepped onto the open floor and saluted Harry. Not all of them, he noticed—Zacharias Smith and Michael Corner were standing in the back of the room together, muttering to each other, and Cho and her friend Marietta were whispering agitatedly together, Cho pointing at Harry, Marietta waving her arms around.

The sight of Cho off to one side, not ready to trust him, stung Harry a little, and he turned away from her blindly, nodding to Colleen Lamb. Colleen bowed her head briefly in return, then stepped aside to make room for the person behind her.

Harry felt his smile return, and he didn’t bother looking back at Cho as Ginny drew herself up proudly and saluted. “I fight with you,” she said.

The index finger of her left hand wiggled back and forth, and Harry nearly choked.

In Pride hand-sign, that meant, Take what I just said two different ways.

xXxXx

“So, today in class, we’re going to be discussing some spells you might use in a fight,” said Professor Alice Longbottom, leaning on the corner of her desk. “In the unlikely verging on impossible event that you might someday be attacked by another wizard.”

Her class of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff fifth years, including the translucent one in the back row, sniggered.

“Who can tell me some of these spells?”

Hands went up like rockets. Alice pointed at the first one she’d seen. “Miss Granger-Lupin—just one, please, to start with.”

“Protego , the Shield Charm,” Hermione recited, looking very eager. “It deflects spells back at the caster, and stronger versions can even protect you against physical objects. But it only lasts a moment, so you have to cast it again and again.”

“Good. It’s always important to know both the strengths and the weaknesses of any spell you cast. Mr. Finch-Fletchley, another one, please.”

They had worked through the basic self-defense spells and had a short discussion about the merits and drawbacks of each approach, and Alice had her mouth open to start talking about offensive spells when Harry Potter’s ghostly form suddenly waved at her frantically from the back.

Alice closed her mouth on the words she’d been about to say. “Quills out, everyone,” she ordered instead, and shook her head sharply at the sounds of disappointment, flicking her eyes towards the door. “Quills out, and I want a foot and a half on the discussion we’ve just finished,” she repeated, pitching her voice to carry. Harry, in the back, wiped his brow dramatically, then thumbed his nose as Dolores Umbridge stepped through the door.

Alice kept talking, and silently crossed her fingers that Umbridge would simply go away. “What side did you choose in the discussion? Why do you like it? What are some of the best arguments of the other side, and why are they good? Write quietly for five minutes and I’ll let you discuss out loud.”

“Oh, you had a discussion, dear?” Umbridge said with a small smile, bustling up the side of the classroom to join Alice—and to Alice’s private horror, Harry Potter followed close behind her, mimicking her every move. “What was it about?”

“Different methods of self-defense,” Alice said shortly, keeping her words clipped so as not to burst out laughing. “Shields, blocks, dodging, tactical withdrawals.”

“Lovely, lovely.” Umbridge peered at the closest student in the front row, Alice’s own Neville, who slid an arm politely around his paper and kept scribbling. Harry, too, leaned over Neville’s desk, ‘accidentally’ overlapping his midsection with Umbridge’s head. “You followed the curriculum, I take it?”

“Of course,” Alice lied without blinking an eye. The “Ministry-approved curriculum” for teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts reposed where it always did, in her second desk drawer, buried under as much other paperwork as she could find.

I can read that thing without cracking a smile—but this, I don’t think I can handle. Harry was now ducking back and forth through Umbridge, sticking an arm, a foot, a head through her before his entire self went through, and Alice had to look away before she lost her composure.

“Well, in that case, I see no reason to stay.” Umbridge made for the door with more speed than dignity, shedding her invisible playmate about halfway out of the room. “Enjoy your lesson, boys and girls!”

Alice fixed Harry with the mother’s eye that served her so well for Neville, and Harry turned slowly to face her, trying an ingratiating grin.

Nice try, boyo, but you haven’t faced down classes of brand-new Auror apprentices so shiny they squeak. Alice flicked a finger in an almost invisible signal for the boy to go sit down, and Harry nodded and obeyed.

One of these days I’ll tell you how close you came to making me lose control in front of Dolores Umbridge.

But I think I’ll wait until I’m not your teacher anymore.

“Quills down,” she said, and smiled at the sighs of relief. “Now, let’s talk about offensive spells, things you can legally use to stop another wizard from hurting you or someone else...”

xXxXx

“Draco, I need your help on this,” Ginny said firmly. “Harry has to know!”

“It’ll only hurt him, Ginny. He can’t do anything about it and he knows that. It would be cruel to talk about Quidditch with him right now.” Draco paced up and down the library a few times, his brow furrowed. “If we’re going to get Ron up to speed as our Keeper, we’ve got to do it ourselves.”

“How? Wave our wands and say poof, there, it’s done?” Ginny snorted. “He has the skills. You know that and I know that. It’s just that he hasn’t played in long enough that he keeps thinking he doesn’t, and when he thinks it...”

“It becomes reality, I know.” Draco picked up a book and flipped through the pages. Then again. Then again.

“What are you doing?” Ginny asked, looking up at him.

“Someone drew pictures on this book. Look at it.” Draco turned the book so Ginny could see and riffled the pages. A little cat jumped into the air, again and again, trying to catch a butterfly.

“None of the pictures move,” Ginny murmured. “Not on their own. But when you put them together fast enough...”

“It’s Muggle magic,” said Draco, flipping the pages the other way to watch the cat jump in reverse. “Not everything comes through a wand. You need to be able to do other things too. Like cooking, or sculpting, or music—”

He froze for an instant. “I think,” he said carefully, “that I’ve solved our problem. Maybe. Possibly.”

“What?” Ginny demanded. “What is it?”

“No.” Draco shook his head at her. “No, no, no. Not yet. I can’t tell anyone. Except—wait, Luna. I’ll need her help. ‘Scuse me—”

And he was gone, out the door into the main room.

Ginny blinked after him. “All right, then,” she said. “I’ll just... stay here.”

xXxXx

Maya Pritchard sat on the end of her bed, brushing her hair. She’d spent several nights recently sitting by a different bed, reassuring her cousin simply by her presence that he was safe and no longer trapped. She didn’t mind it in and of itself, but her vigils made for tired days for her, and she might not have tests this year, but that didn’t make the work any easier.

I think I need to get to bed early tonight. As early as I can and not look too silly...

A sudden, echoing crack made her jump and nearly drop her hairbrush.

“Kady is sorry, miss!” said the high, squeaky voice of a house-elf, and the creature scurried out from between the beds, bobbing a curtsey and holding out a slip of parchment. “Kady has a letter for miss!”

“Thank you,” Maya said automatically, accepting the parchment. It was addressed to her in Graham’s handwriting, and despite herself, she flinched. Please, no—not another night—Graham, I love you dearly, but I doubt I can take another night awake—

She sighed deeply, then opened the letter.

Maya,

I am all right, but you may wish to come downstairs and observe what is about to happen. Meghan has told me about this custom, and I want you to see it too. It is called a den-night. Bring your nightclothes and anything you need to sleep. No one will see you coming down the stairs.

Graham

Maya blinked a few times at the parchment, then slipped it into her pocket and began gathering her things. If Graham said no one would see her, she believed him.

I don’t know how it could be done, but I believe him...

She believed him even more when she nearly ran into Alicia Spinnet on the stairs. She started an apology, but Alicia’s eyes slid right past her as though she weren’t there, and the seventh-year frowned, then shrugged and moved on.

As though I am—not invisible, but un-noticeable, perhaps.

She waved her watch at the spot on the wall she’d been shown, and felt the familiar thrill as the stone wall grated back, exposing the slide beyond. The trip was as swift and exhilarating as always, and she fell onto the bed beneath with a little whoop of pleasure.

Graham was waiting at the bedside, neatly dressed in dark blue pajamas, a match for her own light blue nightdress. “Thank you for coming, Maya,” he said, hugging her. “I would have felt awkward without anyone here... ‘of my own’, I suppose you’d say.”

“What do you mean?” Maya asked, brushing Graham’s hair out of his face. He needs this trimmed. His mother should have done it, but I suppose she was just too busy being thankful he was alive...

“Come and see.” Graham waved to the door.

Maya stepped out into the main room of the place Harry Potter called the Den, and blinked in surprise. Eight people—Harry and his closest friends, she quickly realized—looked up at the opening of the door, and Harry himself got to his feet, hand out and a welcoming smile on his face. “Maya, glad you could make it.”

Maya nodded, shaking Harry’s hand and trying to look around the octagonal room without making it clear that was what she was doing. The other times she’d been in this room, it had been large and bare with a hard wooden floor. It was still large and bare, but now the floor was cushioned, as soft as any mattress, and pillows and bedcovers lay in disorder about the lounging people, all of whom were wearing pajamas...

The word for what she had been invited to crashed into her mind, and she valiantly suppressed a giggle. This was obviously very important to Harry and his friends, and to Graham, and she would not let them see her laughing.

But she couldn’t help but find it funny that she was, apparently, a guest at a co-ed all-ages slumber party.

Draco Black coughed a little, and Maya quickly withdrew a few paces to where Graham was waiting for her by the wall. Her cousin was sitting down, knees to his chest and back to the stone, and Maya slid down the wall into the same position.

“Be welcome, all, to this den-night,” Draco said with the cadence of a traditional proclamation. “We are Pride now. Pride together.”

“Pride forever,” the other seven chorused, low but in perfect unison. Maya felt a tiny shiver go through her.

Ginny Weasley sat up straight, her face suffused with pride. “Who will tell a story?” she said, her voice a triumphant fanfare. “Who will remind us what it means to be Pride?”

“I have one,” said Neville Longbottom, and heads turned to face him. “Do you remember the time...”

“Meghan says they do this at least once a month,” Graham murmured to Maya as Neville told his story. “More often, if there’s a special occasion. They always know that there’s a time and a place where they will all be together, or if they’re not, they can think about the ones who aren’t there.” He shivered a little.

Maya slipped her arm around her cousin and pulled him close. “You just wanted me here so you wouldn’t have to sleep all alone again tonight,” she teased, her fingers finding the ticklish spot just under his arm.

“Ack—no—no—Maya—stoppit!” Graham pushed her hand away and caught his breath, but his eyes still danced. “I know a story, if you don’t!”

“And what story do you know?”

“I know about the time you wanted to pet the turtle,” Graham said smugly.

Maya bristled indignantly. “Just because I was three years old, and I had never seen a picture of a fire crab before—”

xXxXx

Two dens ran simultaneously, one beside the other, and each watched the other with some wariness but more recognition of a kindred thing. By the time Harry spoke the ending words and the lights dimmed in the room, the two had half-merged into one, Meghan moving her pillow and blankets out from the center of the Pride to sleep within arm’s reach of Graham.

Maya’s only, sleepy regret was that she had had no one else to trade stories with, no one connected specially and intimately with her.

Perhaps some other time...

xXxXx

Dolores Jane Umbridge normally invigorated herself by taking a deep breath of the fresh morning air, but on this November morning, her deep breath turned into a wheeze and frantic coughing.

Something in her rooms smelled truly foul, and she had a horrible suspicion it was herself. But when she tried to sit up, her nose came close to the walls, and she shoved herself away in horror. This made her tumble backwards out of bed onto the carpet, and a fresh wave of stink rose up around her.

Coughing and choking, she stumbled out into her office, but even there the stench continued. It seemed to only get worse everywhere she moved—it was as though everything in her quarters had been somehow contaminated!

The piece of parchment sitting innocently on her desk did nothing to improve her mood. Once again, it was a letter, done in the same beautiful handwriting as before.

Dear Professor Umbridge,

Living up to your initials, I see. Good luck finding someone who can stand you long enough to help you counter this.

Don’t you think it’s time you left Hogwarts?

Sincerely,

A Concerned Student

Umbridge crumpled the letter in her hand and ground her teeth. “I know who you are,” she muttered to herself, “and I will have you in the end.”

She sat down at her desk, ignoring the smell, and unlocked the top drawer, taking out the scroll on which she kept all her most important information.

Such as who was related to whom, in what way, in her world, which now included Hogwarts. And who owed her favors, and why.

She would have Harry Potter in her grasp, sooner or later. And then he would pay for every insult and slander she and dear Cornelius had endured.

And this scroll held the key to making that happen sooner, rather than later.

She perused the lines carefully, one stubby finger pointing out her place. Dear Harry was romantically interested in Miss Chang of Ravenclaw, and Miss Chang sets great store by the friendship of Miss Edgecombe—oh, but there may have been a falling out, as Miss Chang reacts badly to the mention of Mr. Potter’s name... and that links neatly back into the stories I’ve been hearing of an illegal student club...

Two possibilities there. Perhaps best to pursue only one, but perhaps both of them would bring better results...

She sighed in the pleasure of anticipation, then put away the scroll and took out another, this one dealing with the proper cleaning of things.

First things first. Make myself presentable once more.

After that... we shall see what we shall see, shall we not?





Facing Danger

Chapter 19: When We Shall See with Clearer Sight (Year 5)


Chapter 19: When We Shall See with Clearer Sight

Ron sat beside the cauldron, watch in his hand, while Hermione stirred carefully clockwise. “Five seconds,” he warned. “Three, two, one, stop.”

Hermione lifted the stirring stick free and laid it down on their desk. “What’s next?” she asked, coming around to look at the instructions in their text.

“Er...” Ron ran his finger down the list, looking for the bit they’d been doing. Cacao leaf, did that, shaved Augurey talon, did that, crushed hedgehog spines, didn’t do that—here we are.

“Here,” he said, pointing at the place, just as Hermione came in from the side to do the same.

Their fingers met on the page.

“Sorry,” said Hermione quickly, snatching her hand away. “Sorry, it was an accident—”

“No, it was my fault—”

“As amusing as I find your flirtations, Weasley, Granger-Lupin,” said Snape icily from above them, “they will not get your potion brewed. Ten points from Gryffindor.”

Ron bit down hard on the inside of his lip as Hermione flushed.

Snape peered into their cauldron, wafted a bit of the steam up to his face, and sniffed. His eyebrows rose. “Passable,” he said flatly. “As was,” he added in a lower tone, leaning over the desk as though castigating them, “the job done by whoever took it upon themselves to discomfort Dolores Umbridge in this latest pass.”

Automatically, Ron glanced left, towards the table where Draco and Neville were working. Snape followed his look and snorted. “I suppose I should not be surprised,” he said louder. “At your usual level of work, Weasley, I doubt you could produce a simple Swelling Solution on your own. Do attempt to recall that O.W.L.s are done individually.” He turned and stalked away to criticize the level at which Parvati Patil had set her fire.

Ron glared at the black-robed back, visualizing the effect of a cauldronful of hot potion suddenly poured on that greasy head.

“Quidditch next week,” Hermione whispered. “Just think about beating Slytherin...”

Ron thought about it, and about the look on Snape’s face afterwards, and suddenly hot potion seemed less appealing. “Are you sure?” he asked, fumbling in the bag for the hedgehog spines. “You haven’t been to practice lately. I keep dropping the Quaffle.”

“Oh, you won’t. Not in a real game.” Hermione squeezed his arm. “I have confidence in you, Ron. You’ll do fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Heartened, Ron bent over to start measuring the hedgehog spines. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione moving, but figured it was none of his business.

He might have been more interested if he’d known she was winking at Draco.

xXxXx

Harry licked his lips, stirring his body cautiously. He’d come very close to his two hours this time, and he could feel it in how stiff his muscles were.

I am going to be so glad to go to class again.

And I never thought I’d say that.

But class was over for the day, there was still an hour until dinner, and Ginny had agreed to meet him in the Forest.

And if we catch something, then we don’t have to go in for dinner. Or maybe I can have her over for it. Umbridge hasn’t started taking roll at meals yet...

Harry rolled over onto his stomach and arched his back, first down, then up. “Better,” he said, coming to hands and knees. “Much better.” One foot under him, then the other, and he was on his feet. After a detour to the bathroom for a drink of water, he loped over to the Quidditch pitch and shut the door firmly behind him.

The goal hoops seemed to beckon, but he shook his head. “Not today,” he said aloud to them. “I’d just be thinking about the team.”

Ron, Ginny, and Draco had tactfully refrained from discussing Quidditch practice in front of Harry for nearly two months. It hadn’t seemed to occur to any of them that he saw Angelina, Alicia, Katie, Fred, and George on a regular basis through the DA, and was therefore perfectly well-supplied with news about the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

“Ginny makes a fair Seeker,” Angelina had said at the meeting the week before. “Not in your class, of course, Harry, but as good as anything Slytherin’s got. Higgs left last year, so they’re fielding someone brand-new. Ginny’s year, as it happens. Kid called Carrow.”

Blaise Zabini, practicing the Reductor Curse a short distance away, had turned sharply at the mention of this name.

“How is he?” Harry had asked casually, glancing towards the small ‘labyrinth’ in the corner where they practiced close-quarters work. Graham was in there at the moment with the rest of the second and third years, playing tag with Combat Club wands.

“As a Seeker, he’s passable. I think Ginny’s got him beat. But as a person...” Angelina had left it hanging.

Harry shook off the memory and stepped into the broomshed. None of them will get close to him, except maybe Ginny, and she can handle him.

“Thank you, Salazar ,” he said aloud in Parseltongue, grimacing as he did. Have to ask Alex if there’s some way to reset these.

The back of the broomshed split open, and Harry stepped forward and let the magic carry him into the tube. This one was significantly larger than the rest, as though it had been designed for something that wasn’t human.

Maybe it was. The password’s in snake, and Sangre was Slytherin’s to begin with. Though why he’d bring her into the Founders’ private place...

Could he already have been planning what he’d do? Built in secret ways to hurt them, attack them, even while they were building the school?

Harry shook off these thoughts and fumbled in his pocket for his Invisibility Cloak. I love how small this thing crumples. You’d think a cloak big enough to cover a person all over would make a bigger lump...

Invisible, he stepped out into the weak sunlight of a November afternoon and peered towards the castle. Small black shapes milled about, but he was only interested in one—the one coming towards him, with long hair shining the same color as the setting sun.

She’s beautiful. How did I never see that before?

Harry shook his head. Never mind. I see it now. And I’m not going to stop seeing it if I can help it!

He turned and started for the Forest, already planning. We can just run for a while, hunt if she wants to, find Sangre and tell her what’s happened, though I bet she knew before I did...

A familiar spot at the Forest’s edge caught his eye, a place where the grass was still green, even this far into November, and he stopped just for a moment to bow his head.

I still miss Siss sometimes. But Letha was right—it doesn’t hurt so much anymore. I can think about the good times we had, and what she’d say about things that have happened since, like me and Ginny...

Harry chuckled, pulling the Cloak off as he got between the trees. Siss’d probably have nipped me for being stupid enough to moon over Cho for two bloody years. She never did have a high tolerance for idiots.

He stowed the Cloak in his pocket again, found a good-sized tree to hide behind, and changed just in time, as Ginny strolled into the verge of the Forest, her hand on her wand and her eyes wicked. “Oh, Wolfie,” she sing-songed as she passed his tree. “I have a surprise for you...”

Wolf huffed and bounded out of concealment, hurling himself at the backs of Ginny’s knees. She squealed and collapsed on top of him, and Harry quickly changed back and twisted to catch her in his arms. “Nobody,” he said firmly, “is allowed to call me Wolfie.”

“Nobody?” Ginny pouted prettily. “Draco calls Hermione Neenie.”

“Well, if you want to be my twin sister instead of my mate...”

Ginny shut him up effectively before he could continue that heretical notion.

Harry was panting like Wolf after a hunt when they finally broke it off. “Keep doing that and you can call me anything you like,” he said breathlessly.

“Anything?” Ginny grinned. “Even my sweet Wolfie-poo?”

“Well...”

Ginny slung an arm around his neck and pulled his head down to hers.

“I’ll think about it,” Harry said when he could speak again.

xXxXx

The weather was cool and crisp, the hunting had been good, and the companionship was excellent, if slightly unnatural to Wolf’s instincts. Harry had booted these instincts to the back of Wolf’s mind, where they were currently curled up, sulking. Nothing was going to ruin his evening with Ginny, nothing...

Lynx turned her head and yowled uneasily. Wolf sneezed as the wind brought him the scent she’d obviously caught. Human, young, male, nearby, and badly frightened. And now that he knew what to listen for, he could hear the quiet whimpers of someone who didn’t have the strength left to pretend he wasn’t crying.

I should stop making pronouncements. God, or Fate, or someone else—much more likely someone else—has a sense of humor. Wolf cocked his head and glared at the sky. You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are, you know that?

The sky did not answer, but Wolf was sure that somewhere, Alexander Slytherin was sniggering at him.

Lynx flirted her small tail at Wolf. Follow? she asked silently. See who and what?

Wolf sniffed the breeze again. The scent was familiar, but only in a desultory way. He didn’t know this person, or at least not well. Still, the unknown was almost certainly a Hogwarts student, and it couldn’t hurt just to look...

He nodded and started forward, Lynx flanking him, her fur on end as the scent got more acrid. The sound of running water reached their ears, and suddenly they were looking out over a small stream, burbling over stones along its way.

A boy lay crumpled by the side of the stream, his shoulders shaking. There was no blood-scent coming from him, so he wasn’t hurt, but the stench of fear rose off him almost palpably. And not just any fear, Harry realized with a start inside Wolf’s mind—no, it was a very particular kind of fear, one he knew himself...

He pulled back through the underbrush and retransformed, pulling his chain out of his robes. Lynx nudged her head through it as soon as he’d made it long enough. What is it? she asked, lying down in the fallen leaves and poking her head back through the brush to peer at the dark-haired boy. Someone you know? I don’t recognize him.

Maybe when I see his face. Harry slid back into Wolf’s form and lay down beside Lynx. But I know what he’s afraid of. Here.

He touched the memory within his mind gently, drawing it out where Lynx could examine it. Feel that. Smell it. Do you think it matches?

Almost exactly. Lynx drew her lips back from her teeth and hissed softly. Someone wants to do to him what they did to Graham. Cage him. Lock him up, until he loses his mind, or his spirit. Graham might have, if you hadn’t found him, you know. He was very close.

I know. Wolf refrained from mentioning the nights he knew Graham spent on the Quidditch pitch, with its ceiling like the Great Hall and the artificial breezes that swept through it. We need to know who this is before we can work out how to help him...

There’s an easy way to find out. Lynx let an image cross her mind.

Wolf recoiled in shock. Are you crazy?

Maybe. But if he’s as tired and scared as his scent says he is, he might well think he’s imagining things. And as long as we don’t leave any evidence on him, he can’t prove otherwise.

Wolf grumbled. I think there’s a Pack law about alphas not being allowed to be insane.

In which case, you’re disqualified, Mister Voluntarily-Faced-Voldemort-At-The-Age-Of-Eleven.

...you fight dirty.

All girls do. Shall we go?

xXxXx

Theodore Nott had never been this far into the Forbidden Forest before. Part of his mind was hysterically listing off every carnivorous beast Professor Hagrid had ever taught them about, but a larger portion was starkly positive that being devoured would be a better fate than going back to the castle and facing the letter lying on his bed.

It would hurt a lot, but then it would be over. And at least animals don’t torture you first. Unless eating you alive counts. But even then, you’d bleed to death so fast...

“Mmrrrr?”

Theo snapped upright so fast he heard his robe tear.

Slit-pupiled brown eyes looked into his from a distance of less than a foot.

“Gaaahhh!” Theo scooted backwards frantically, suddenly far less sure he wanted to be eaten. He could just see the tips of teeth poking out of the big cat’s mouth—what is it? I’ve never seen a cat like that before —and they looked sharp .

And then the cat’s lips curled back, and he could see a lot more of its teeth.

Theo felt down his side for his wand, wondering if he could hit this thing with an Impediment Jinx before it pounced—

The cat snarled, its front claws flexing in and out, its back end slowly wiggling the way Theo had seen his mother’s cat do when it was about to pounce on a mouse—

A sharp growl, and a larger form interposed itself between boy and cat. Theo gulped, staring at this new threat, and a memory from third year Defense class floated back into his mind. “Who can tell me which of these creatures is the werewolf and which the true wolf?”

It doesn’t really matter right now—either one can kill me...

The wolf turned its head to look at him, and Theo blinked at the intelligence in its eyes—its green eyes. He’d seen eyes like that somewhere before...

The cat stalked out from behind the wolf and approached him, its eyes—just as intelligent as the wolf’s, Theo realized suddenly—fixed on his wand hand. Slowly, he uncurled his fingers and brought his hand out empty. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, hating the squeak in his voice. “Just...” He shivered, realizing he should have brought a cloak. But it won’t matter in a minute.

The cat was almost to him now, its gaze wondering and intent. Theo fumbled open the neck of his robes, shivering even harder with the combination of the chill air on his chest and the knowledge of what was about to happen. “Do it fast,” he said, closing his eyes for a second, then quickly opening them again—waiting was bad enough, waiting in the dark would be worse. “Please.”

The cat stopped short, blinking. Then it turned back and made eye contact with the wolf. Theo stifled a hysterical laugh as his gaze picked out a gleam of gold in the air between them. Wonderful, now I’m imagining animals that wear necklaces...

The cat turned back to him, leapt forward—Theo braced himself—

And landed squarely in his lap.

A rumbling purr swept through the outsized feline body, shaking Theo with its force, and the tip of a tooth scraped against his collarbone as the cat rubbed its face against him.

This can’t be happening. Wild animals don’t do this—

So maybe they’re not wild animals. Maybe they’re tame. Or something else entirely.

The wolf padded forward and sat down beside him, then flopped over on its side in the leaves with a sigh. It lifted its head to bump against Theo’s hand, and Theo automatically scratched between the pointed ears.

Whatever they are, they act friendly, and that’s more than I usually get—more than I get from anyone—

A raspy cat tongue washed his chin, and Theo felt himself starting to shake again, more tears coming to his eyes, after he’d thought he’d cried himself out—

“It’s not fair,” he whispered, curling his other arm around the cat, feeling its purr intensify as though in response to his tears. “It’s not fair. He’s my father . He’s supposed to take care of me, not—not use me like a counter in a damned game! I don’t want this! I never wanted it! And I don’t even know what I do want, because I spent too long trying to want what he wanted, and now I don’t even know who I am...”

The wolf whuffled against his hand, the cat—lynx , his mind finally identified with the perversity of thought—purred louder still, and Theo lost the little control he’d had left. “It wasn’t even my fault! ” he screamed aloud into the air. “I didn’t have anything to do with it, not a thing , and he knows that, and he doesn’t care! He just needs someone to blame, because otherwise his precious Dark Lord will blame him , because he was the ranking one there, and I’m handy because he took me there once and showed me what was going on, so now he’s going to claim it was me...”

Another paroxysm of shivering swept over him, and he felt the wolf sitting up, leaning into his side as though to warm him. “I almost wish I had done something,” he said dully. “I wanted to. It was wrong, it was awful, but I couldn’t do anything, not with all of them watching—I wish I knew who did do it, I’d at least shake their hands before it happens to me...” A painful laugh forced its way out of him. “Maybe they’d come back and do it again for me. Doubt it, though. Pritchard’s worth a lot more than I am.”

The lynx yowled sharply as the wolf stiffened under his arm, and Theo blinked and looked at them. “What—did I say something...”

Something on the wolf’s face caught his eye. A thin, jagged line of white fur, above and between the eyes—the green eyes, surrounded by slightly lighter circles on the dark fur—

Dark hair. Green eyes. Glasses. Lightning-bolt—

“Potter!” Theo blurted.

The wolf snarled and lunged at him. The lynx dived out of the way, hissing, as Theo hit the ground hard, paws planted on his upper arms and gleaming teeth an inch from his throat. Oh God I was wrong I don’t want to die—

“Harry, NO!” shouted a girl’s voice.

The wolf’s rippling growl made its sentiments entirely clear.

Theo felt a hand in his wand pocket, and caught just a glimpse of red hair out the corner of his eye—why am I not surprised? —before the hand withdrew, taking his wand with it. “Let him up,” Ginny Weasley ordered. “He knows he can’t hurt us.”

The wolf snorted, then let its lips fall back over its teeth. Its head went forward, and a cold nose nudged Theo’s chin, hard. The message was clear. Stay still or I will deal with you myself.

Theo froze in place, and the wolf leapt off him, shook itself, and rippled in an eye-blurring instant into a person who wasn’t even supposed to be at Hogwarts anymore.

Harry bloody Potter. I just cried my eyes out right in front of him—and now he knows I knew about Pritchard, and Pritchard’s his sister’s friend—

Potter’s wand was in his hand, pointing at Theo. “You can sit up,” the other boy said, his tone brusque but not unfriendly. “Sorry about that. I was... surprised.”

“So was I,” Theo retorted, pushing himself upright. “You’re Animagi? Both of you?”

“You have a problem with that?” Weasley said, moving a few steps away from Potter, covering Theo with her own wand.

Theo’s mind whirled back in time. “Who was the cat?” he asked. “The one Lovegood brought to see Black, when he was staying with us, summer before last. Who was that?”

Potter and Weasley exchanged glances. Potter shrugged. “Hermione,” he said. “She was the first of us to get it. I was second.”

“You’re just going to tell me?” Theo said in disbelief.

“You’re going to get Obliviated anyway,” said Weasley. “So you don’t go running off to Umbridge and tell her Harry’s still at Hogwarts.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” Theo demanded. “I don’t even like Umbridge. I want her gone as much as you do.”

“I doubt that,” Potter said, but his eyes were thoughtful behind the glasses. “What did you know about Graham Pritchard?”

Theo flushed at the painful reminder that he’d been crying like a baby two minutes before. “Just where he was,” he said roughly. “And that I couldn’t do a goddamned thing about it. I wanted to—I would have if I could—”

“You could have told somebody,” Potter said. “You could have told Dumbledore.”

“You think he’d have believed me?” Theo snapped. “Me, a Death Eater’s son? You have it so easy, Potter—you’re the big hero, The Boy Who Lived, everyone listens to you, thinks you’re special—”

“Not now they don’t,” Potter said quietly, but his tone cut Theo off short.

“Dumbledore would have listened to you,” said Weasley into the silence. “No matter whose son you were. He’ll listen to you now, if you want to come back to the castle and ask him for help. There are places you can go, places you can hide where even your father can’t find you—”

“Wait,” Potter interrupted, looking intently at Theo. “What side are you on, Nott? Or don’t you know yet?”

Theo looked away. “I don’t want to be on a side,” he said indistinctly, hating the way his voice tried to break on him. “I didn’t want any of this.”

“None of us did,” said Weasley.

The feeling in her voice jerked Theo’s head back around. “I don’t need your pity!” he shouted at her. “Why don’t you just leave me alone?”

“Because we’re trying to help you, if you hadn’t noticed!” Weasley shouted right back. “But if you don’t want it, that’s fine—we can just leave you here, let you work it out on your own—”

“Stop it,” said Potter.

Theo closed his mouth over his first word. How does he do that?

“So you don’t want to be on a side,” Potter went on, sitting down on the ground, his wand never wavering from its direction towards Theo’s chest. “You managed to piss one of them off, though. Not your fault, but it still happened. Which pretty much puts you on the other side. Our side.”

Theo snorted. “Too bad I’m not a shining warrior of the light like you.”

“No, but you are a Slytherin,” Potter said. “Maybe we can make a deal.”

A deal... a deal. I can do deals. For the first time since he’d opened the letter from his father, Theo felt like he was on firm ground. I must have something they want. Maybe I can get through this after all...

“What’re you offering?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Protection,” said Potter. “Even from your dad.” He looked smug. “He can’t lock up what he can’t find.”

“And what would you want from me?” Theo was surprised to find that he cared very little about the answer to this question—I’ll do anything, anything, just keep me safe...

Potter’s smirk got bigger. “Actually, the same thing. But this would be you protecting somebody else...”

xXxXx

Severus Snape opened the door of Albus Dumbledore’s office. “You wanted to see me, Headmaster?”

“Yes, Severus, please have a seat.” Dumbledore was positively beaming. “I believe there might be a way for young Graham Pritchard to return to his dormitory without undue fear for his safety.”

xXxXx

“So you get the Den to yourself again,” Ron said to Harry a day or two later. “And Nott’s on our side now?”

“Sort of. Mostly he just wants everyone to leave him alone.” Harry’s tone could have been used as a dehydrator for the entire Hogwarts lake. “I don’t have any idea what that’s like...”

“Dumbledore Obliviated him about Harry, and about us being Animagi,” Ginny put in. “He thinks I was out for a walk and ran across him by accident.”

“What were you doing out in the Forest, anyway?” Ron stopped. “Wait, forget I asked, I don’t want to know.”

Ginny giggled. “You don’t want to know we were doing this?” she asked, sitting down in Harry’s lap. “Or this?” An arm went around his neck. “Or—”

“Ginny, be nice,” Hermione said from behind Ron. “You’re setting off all his ‘protective older brother’ instincts, but they’re conflicting with all his ‘that’s my best friend’ instincts, and the ones that say ‘that’s my alpha’...”

Ginny pouted. “You mean I can’t even have one little—”

Ron made a strangled sound and covered his eyes. “Mum’s gonna kill me,” he moaned. “And Dad. And Bill and Charlie and Percy—I was supposed to be watching you!”

“And doing what?” Harry inquired. “Keeping her from ever looking at a boy?”

“Other way around, probably,” said Hermione. “Keeping boys from ever looking at her.”

Harry glanced down at Ginny’s figure, then up at her face. “Wasn’t going to work, mate,” he said.

Ron only moaned.

Ginny climbed off Harry’s lap and crawled over to Ron. “Stop it,” she said briskly, pulling his hands off his face. “Stop. Now. Stop.”

Ron looked at her. “You really don’t understand,” he said. “You don’t get it at all, do you?”

“Not really. Maybe if you found somebody to snog, I would.”

“What’s this?” asked Draco, coming in from the library, Luna behind him. “Ron’s looking for somebody to snog?”

“The Patil twins have been watching you a lot lately at DA meetings,” Luna said to Ron. “And Lavender Brown. She keeps sneaking down to Quidditch practice when she thinks nobody’s looking. So does Amanda Smythe.”

“How do you know that?” Draco asked, turning to look at Luna.

Luna shook her head. “Girls have to have their secrets,” she said.

“Oh, come on, just tell me...”

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind snogging one of them,” Ron said thoughtfully as Luna darted back into the library, giggling, with Draco three steps behind. “They’re cute enough. I probably wouldn’t want a Patil, though—they look too much alike, I’d never be sure which one I had...” Sudden panic flashed across his face. “They’ll be watching the match, won’t they? The Quidditch match?”

“Everybody goes to Quidditch matches, Ronald,” said Hermione tartly from behind her book. “Of course they’ll be watching.”

“But that means they’ll be watching me ...” Ron went a funny shade of puce.

Harry’s nose twitched at the sharp, biting scent of helpless fury wafting to him from—

Hermione?

He glanced at his sister over Ginny’s shoulder and saw a pair of hazel eyes boring holes in Ron’s side, and suddenly several things he hadn’t quite believed all fell into place.

Ginny laid her head on his shoulder. “This,” she murmured into his neck, “could be a problem.”

Harry shrugged, turning so that Hermione couldn’t see his face. “Maybe he needs a trial girl, like I did,” he said quietly. “To show him what he doesn’t want.”

“Maybe. But Hermione’s not as forgiving as I am. And she’s been waiting a long, long time.”

Harry looked back over his shoulder again. Ron was lying on his stomach, a pillow over his head. Hermione seemed to have returned to her book, but her shoulders were occasionally shaking, and the scent wafting from her now was just barely short of despair.

And I’m the alpha, so I’m supposed to deal with this somehow...

Harry shook his head. Life would be so much simpler if I’d just stayed with the Dursleys.

xXxXx

Ron found himself shaking harder than he would have believed possible as he followed his brothers onto the Quidditch pitch.

I’m going to muff it up. The thought was an ice-cold certainty at the pit of his stomach. Slytherin’s going to score so much we’ll never catch them even if Ginny gets the Snitch—I’m hopeless, I shouldn’t even be here—

A finger flicked his ear. “Stop it,” said Ginny sharply. “You’re going to do fine .”

Ron shook his head dumbly. I’m going to look stupid in front of the entire school—I won’t be able to help it—I might as well just quit now, they didn’t really want me anyway, I was only ever a reserve—

He straddled his broom with the rest of the team and kicked off at Madam Hooch’s wave, headed for the goal hoops.

Why should I even bother trying? I know I’m going to fail. I always fail when things get tough.

You didn’t that night when they rescued Graham, a tiny voice whispered inside him, sounding rather like Hermione. Or the day you and Harry saved Fleur’s sister in the lake, during the Tournament. And you know you didn’t fail becoming an Animagus, or you’d be dead...

As from a long distance away, Ron heard Madam Hooch’s whistle, and the Quaffle rose into his field of vision like a bright red harbinger of doom.

Well, it doesn’t matter about that, he answered the voice. I’m dead now anyway.

The voice didn’t deign to reply.

xXxXx

“And it’s Johnson with the Quaffle, Angelina Johnson for Gryffindor, faster than a speeding Bludger, down to the Slytherin end of the pitch and a pass to Bell, Katie Bell for Gryffindor, Montague tried but he couldn’t get a handle on it, and another pass to Spinnet, Alicia Spinnet for Gryffindor—best Chaser team in the school, ladies and gents, if I do say so myself, and certainly the most attractive—”

“JORDAN!”

“Sorry, Professor, just telling the truth—ow—anyway, the other interesting thing about these ladies—Spinnet still with the Quaffle, dodges a Bludger, reverse pass to Bell—is that they’re the only members of the Gryffindor team today—pass back to Spinnet and quick pass to Johnson just in time there—not named Weasley, four Weasleys on the pitch today, I think that’s a school record—and Johnson SHOOTS—”

Boos and cheers mingled over Lee Jordan’s disgusted tones. “No good, it’s no good, Bletchley has saved it and it’s back to Montague, Montague for Slytherin, starting back up the pitch, don’t look now but—OUCH, he didn’t look, that’s a Bludger to the head by Fred Weasley and Montague has dropped the Quaffle, but Warrington has recovered it, Warrington for Slytherin, on his way to challenge Keeper Ron Weasley, seen a few times as a reserve in past years but here on his first outing as a first-stringer—”

Hermione turned to Draco. “It’s time,” she said.

“I think you’re right.” Draco stood up, faced the Gryffindor stands, and waved his hand in a circle. Parchment rustled as most of Gryffindor House pulled out the scrolls Neville and Meghan had been distributing all through the game so far. Luna hummed a note softly, and Draco nodded to her.

Hermione got to her feet, squared her shoulders, and began to sing.

xXxXx

The world had narrowed and slowed down tremendously. The only thing Ron could see was the Quaffle rushing toward him in Warrington’s enormous hands, and he knew he was still going to miss it, he knew —nothing in the world could make his hands and his mind fast enough to block it—

From very far away, he seemed to hear a clear voice singing.

Weasley is our king,

Weasley is our king,

He never lets the Quaffle in,

Weasley is our king.



Was she out of her mind, whoever she was? “Never lets the Quaffle in”? He never did anything else...

Weasley can save anything,

He never leaves a single ring,

That’s why Gryffindors all sing:

Weasley is our king.



There was more than one voice, he could hear vaguely now, but the pure tones of the first one were still the clearest in his ears. They couldn’t possibly mean what they were singing, but it was nice to hear...

Weasley is as tough as sin,

He never lets the Quaffle in...



Warrington’s hands went back, and Ron scowled. He wanted to hear how the song ended! No stupid Slytherin was going to cheat him out of his song!

He sent his broom shooting across the goal hoops and snatched the Quaffle out of the air.

Screams of delight almost obliterated the song, but the last two lines rang clear to his ears, sung by that sweet and joyful voice.

Weasley will make sure we win,

Weasley is our king!



Something snapped inside Ron’s mind, and suddenly he was back in the moment, listening to the cheers and staring at the Quaffle between his hands.

I did it. I saved it. Me, all by myself...

Well, me and whoever that was singing.

He turned to the Gryffindor section of the stands and raised the Quaffle high, and the roar nearly raised the nonexistent roof.

I have to find out who that was.

But later. After the match.

He tossed the Quaffle to Alicia and resumed guarding the hoops, listening with one ear to the singing of the Gryffindors and letting himself grin at the words.

Weasley is our king,

Weasley is our king...



xXxXx

Harry perched on the top of the stands, enjoying his freedom; he’d never have been allowed to do this in his body. He would have preferred to be out there on the pitch, on his Firebolt, looking for the Snitch, but this way he got to watch Ginny do it.

She was a good flyer, but he’d already known that. She had good Seeker’s instincts, too, never letting herself get distracted by the main action of the match. Keeping an eye on it, yes, and dodging a Bludger when Dursley backhanded it towards her, but her attention never lingered too long on any one spot. She was sweeping the pitch, back and forth, around and around—

Harry stiffened. There it was. The Golden Snitch, hovering right behind Ron’s head—

And Ginny didn’t see it.

Harry leaned forward, not taking his eyes from the Snitch as it darted away from Ron, zoomed ten feet straight up, then out in a straight-line path towards the Slytherin goals. “Come on, Ginny,” he hissed. “Come on, see it, see it, see it...”

Ginny’s eyes were still on the other end of the pitch. Carrow was flying lower than she was, and closer to his own end—if he spotted the Snitch now, he’d get to it before she did, and the match would belong to Slytherin, despite Ron holding them to three goals in forty minutes of hard-fought play and the Gryffindors’ seven answering goals—

He clenched his fists and thought, for a moment, of seeing if he could fly without a broom in this form. He was insubstantial, he didn’t weigh anything, he ought to be able to fly if he wanted it enough, and it would be easy just to zoom over to Ginny’s broom, point her in the right direction, and zoom away again—

No. Harry made himself sit back up. No. Ginny’d want to do this herself. She’d want to win the game fair and square. Or lose it that way.

Ginny’s head turned, slowly, so slowly, her eyes darting back and forth across the pitch.

But I think this time she’s going to win.

Legs locked around her Cleansweep, both hands free, Ginny plummeted, causing shrieks from girls all across the stands. Montague screamed abuse at Carrow, who shot towards Ginny’s position, looking frantic—he was gaining on her fast, he had a better broom, but she was a better flyer—

Ginny clasped her hands together and brought them to her chest, as though she were a maiden in an ancient tale sighing over her lover. But no lover could ever have made the sound that rose from the stands as the Gryffindors and their supporters realized what she’d just done.

“GINNY WEASLEY HAS THE SNITCH!” Lee Jordan roared into his megaphone. “IT HAS BEEN THE MATCH OF THE WEASLEYS, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN—FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY WITH SOME ASTOUNDING BEATING, RON WEASLEY WITH AN AMAZING TURN ON GOAL, AND GINNY WEASLEY WINS THE MATCH FOR GRYFFINDOR, 220-30!”

Above the jubilant screaming rose the sound of song.

Weasleys can do all the things,

They Seek, they Beat, they block the rings,

That’s why everybody sings,

Weasleys are our kings.



Harry flowed into Wolf’s shape and let out a long, loud, triumphant howl. Watching Ginny win the match had felt as good as winning it himself. Almost better.

Almost.

xXxXx

The door from the red bedroom into the main room of the Den slammed open. Ginny and Harry, tucked into the opposite corner, both jumped. Luckily, in the same direction.

“Hermione?” Ginny said tentatively.

“What’s wrong?” asked Harry.

Hermione, her face set, ignored them both, storming across the Den and into the green bedroom. As the door slammed behind her, Harry heard a half-muffled sob.

He turned back around. Draco was standing in the door of the red bedroom, looking very uncomfortable.

“Ron,” Ginny said, her tone making it a statement rather than a question.

Draco nodded. “And Lavender,” he said. “It’s disgusting, really.”

“Let me at it.” Ginny slid off Harry’s lap and stood up. “I’ll bring you back pictures, love,” she said over her shoulder, before disappearing past Draco.

The brothers looked at each other for a few moments. “Want me to try?” Harry asked.

“I don’t think you can make it any worse,” said Draco.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You’re a braver man than I am.”

They shared a brief smile. Then Draco stepped back into the red bedroom, and Harry turned to the green.

“—isn’t fair! ” Hermione’s voice half-shouted from beyond the door. “I’ve been waiting years for this, and that tart just comes in and—”

“Deep breaths, sweetheart,” said a low, soothing feminine voice. “You need to get yourself calmed down before you can do anything about this.”

Harry stopped with his hand on the door handle. That sounds like Alex’s girlfriend... maybe I shouldn’t interfere...

“And you might want to ask your big brother for a little help,” the woman went on. “He’s waiting outside right now.”

The door was yanked open under Harry’s hand, and Hermione, red-eyed and disheveled, threw herself into his arms. “Harry I think I’m in love and he doesn’t love me back and I don’t know what to do!” she wailed into his shoulder, all on one note and in one breath.

Harry glanced at the portrait on the wall. The woman lounging in Alex’s chair was definitely red-haired and bespectacled, and just as definitely amused, but in a sympathetic way. Get her calmed down first, her hands suggested in flawless Pride-sign. Then we can talk about it.

Harry nodded and patted Hermione on the back with one hand, freeing the other to make a simple query. Who are you?

“Come in and close the door,” the woman suggested. “It’ll make things more comfortable. And then we can get to know each other a little. Start with names. Mine’s Anne.”

“Just Anne?” Harry asked, guiding a sobbing Hermione to the bed.

“For right now. You two work this out, and then give me a call.” She stood up and walked out of the painting, leaving the chair empty.

“Why can’t he see it?” Hermione demanded of Harry’s robes. “Why does he have to be so stupid? ”

“Because if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be him?” Harry tried. “And you wouldn’t... er, love him?”

Hermione went into a fresh wave of bawling. Harry cursed silently and stroked her hair. “I mean, you wouldn’t care so much about him,” he tried again. “Because you like him the way he is, even if it drives you up the wall too.”

A large, watery sniff. “There’s so much about him I wish I could change,” Hermione said thickly. “But I feel horrible for even wanting it. It’s like saying I can’t l-l-love him the way he is... except I already do! ” The word trailed off into another wail. “And I can’t stop it! I’ve tried!”

“Then it’s probably supposed to happen,” Harry said, recalling a conversation with Padfoot that had sounded a bit like this. “And if it’s supposed to happen, then the rest of it will happen. You just have to give it time.”

“I’ve been giving it time for the last five years, Harry.” Hermione had graduated from weepy to exasperated, which was definitely a step up in Harry’s book. “How much longer do you think he needs?”

“Er, well...” Harry floundered for a second. “I suppose longer than five years. Or maybe something different needs to happen. Something he’s not used to.”

“Something he’s not used to?” Hermione sat up, glaring at him. “Like some little tart drooling all over him and pawing at his robes?”

Harry bit his tongue to stop his first two responses. Unfortunately, the thought of the places it had been recently wasn’t helping—

Or is it?

“What they’re doing is hard to resist, the first time you try it,” he said truthfully. “For a boy, anyway. And probably for a girl, too. It feels really good. And that good feeling sort of washes away everything else, unless something really bad comes along.” The thought of Cho and her vitriol put a sour taste in his mouth. “And depending on how much of it you do, and how much you like it, that good feeling can last a long time. But it is going to run out. And when it does...”

“What?” Hermione demanded. “When it does, what?”

“When it does, Ron’s going to realize he doesn’t really know Lavender,” Harry said, letting experience speak through him. “He’s going to find out she doesn’t understand a lot about him. She hasn’t done a lot of the things he’s done. She wouldn’t understand denning, or Animagus, or how the Pride works—I bet she’d have screamed if she’d seen you and Ginny in your challenge-fight. He’s going to look at her, and he’s going to realize that all they have in common is the snogging. And he’s going to want something more.”

“Are you sure?” Hermione breathed. “Are you positive?”

“Yes. And you would be too, if you thought about it instead of getting mad at him for something he can’t really help.” Harry grinned at her. “We’re blokes, Hermione. Slaves to our—”

He never even saw the pillow coming.

xXxXx

Anne poked her head back into the picture frame and smiled. “Your problem children are enjoying themselves,” she said over her shoulder.

“My problem children? My problem children?” Alex peered around her. “Ah, I see what you mean.” Hermione was prostrate on the bed, shrieking with giggles as Harry tickled her mercilessly.

“I think we’ll get through,” Anne said sedately. “Yes, I think we’ll get through just fine.”

“After this next little bit you’ve got planned, I’m not so sure,” Alex grumbled. “Evil woman.”

“You knew that already.”

Alex shrugged. “Simply restating the obvious.”

xXxXx

Dolores Umbridge paced up and down her office, a bitter taste on her tongue. Everything was against her. The students had stopped bothering to wait until she turned her back to laugh at her, the teachers treated her with barely concealed contempt, and Harry Potter—

If I could only find him. If I could only bring him to heel. Surely, surely, when they saw the example I made of him, they would learn what I can do—they would begin to fear my anger!

A soft, almost hesitant tapping on her door made her start. “Yes, come in,” she called after a moment to even her breathing.

There was no response.

Dolores gripped her wand and moved towards the door. “I said, come in,” she repeated in a sharper tone.

Again, no response.

She flung the door open. “This is not funny, whoever you are—”

The corridor was empty.

Dolores growled under her breath. More tricks, more pranks, more jokes at her expense...

She turned to go back inside and stopped.

A small slip of parchment was stuck to her door.

Dolores peered at it and felt her heart speed up. Quickly, she pulled it free, hurried to her desk, and examined it more closely, to make sure it said what it had seemed to say. Her heart speeded up as a smile crept across her face.

How perfect... how exquisite...

The note was brief, only two lines long, but two lines Dolores knew she would remember her whole life through.

Meet me by the library tomorrow at noon.

I can help you find Harry Potter.





Facing Danger

Chapter 20: Escapades and Escapes (Year 5)


Chapter 20: Escapades and Escapes

“So she’s been here three months,” Hermione said, pulling her cloak tighter around herself as a gust of cold air swept down the corridor. “In that time, she’s expelled Harry, made Defense classes a mockery, put Professor Trelawney on probation—not that she’d be much of a loss, from what you tell me about Divination—”

“But Mr. Moony told Harry we were right about the...” Ron stopped abruptly. “Thing,” he concluded lamely. “You know, the one with Harry and Neville and You-Know-Who in it?”

“That’s right, I’d forgotten.” Hermione made herself smile at Ron, cursing inwardly at the awkwardness of the expression—not that he’d notice, he never does...

“Something in your shoe?” Ron asked.

“No, I’m fine.”

“You were making a face...”

“I said I’m fine!”

“But what does the prophecy have to do with Trelawney teaching at Hogwarts?” Neville asked. “Just because she made a real one once...”

“Dumbledore wants to keep her safe,” said Draco tautly. “In case Voldemort decides he wants the prophecy from its original source.”

Hermione edged up beside her twin and matched his pace, wishing she dared touch his cheek and try to soothe him, but his straight back and folded arms all but shouted ‘leave me alone’.

“But she doesn’t remember it,” said Ron, looking bewildered. “She goes over funny when she makes a prophecy, and then she goes back to the way she usually is and doesn’t remember thing one about making it. I bet she doesn’t even know she made the one about Harry.”

Hermione nearly stumbled as heat seared across her chest. Ron swore, Neville winced, and Draco hissed under his breath, yanking his pendants out. “Whoever this is, I’m going to—” He stopped, eyes fixed on the medallions. “Harry,” he said.

Hermione pulled her own pendants free and flipped through them until she came to the brightly pulsing wolf carving. “Harry,” she agreed. “We should—”

A familiar chill swept over her, and her eyes blurred slightly. She leaned against the nearest wall, concentrating on the message blazing its impatient fire across her mind. “I will be so glad when you can come out of there,” she muttered.

“What?” said Ron and Neville together.

“Harry’s talking to her,” said Draco, slowing a bit. “What is it?”

Hermione stopped dead, blinking. “Harry, that doesn’t make any sense,” she said. “Try it again.”

In response, she got a very clear feeling of frustration and the sound of the Den-door opening, and the sense of being overlain by something else vanished.

“What doesn’t make any sense?” Ron demanded, in the same moment as Neville said, “What’s going on?” and Draco’s, “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t really understand it.” Hermione caught her breath, then moved into a half-jog, the boys behind her. The hospital wing was the closest entrance to where they currently were. “At least I hope I didn’t...”

xXxXx

Dolores Umbridge sat in her office, going over her notes once more. It had taken more time than she liked to bring her informant to the point of giving her anything useful, but they had built trust slowly, doing favors for one another, and she thought she might at last have all she needed.

I know Potter leaves his hiding place on occasion, and I know I can be led to where he is. If she would only have told me where, or why... but no, she fears retribution by means of blood magic. Foolish girl. If only she knew how weak Potter’s stomach truly is, how he runs in fear from even the slightest hint of pain...

Dolores smiled as she thought about how she could use that.

Give him the options. Tell us what Dumbledore is planning, or suffer. As I told Cornelius, I expect him to break immediately, and if he does not, the Cruciatus leaves no physical marks. But once we have the information we need...

Well, we can hardly have him telling the world what went on, can we? And in the hands of determined and desperate people—like Potter’s criminal godfather or his tame werewolf—even the strongest Memory Charm can be broken.

A more permanent solution will be in order.

Dolores giggled, stroking her wand with one finger. I know just the thing, too...

xXxXx

Neville sat on the floor in the yellow bedroom, his eyes closed, knees hugged to his chest. Years of dreary hospital visits swirled around his mind, intermingled with parched deserts, dying jungles, and a nightmare he’d thought was gone forever. A nightmare of screams and shouts and gleeful, cackling laughter, laughter that deserved the name ‘maniacal’.

He hadn’t had that dream since the day he’d left for Hogwarts, the day he’d been dragged down platform nine and three-quarters by the tiny whirlwind which had turned everything in his life upside-down. Even when the dementors had come too close those few times in his third year, and he’d heard the screams and the laughter again, it hadn’t brought the dream back, and so he’d pushed it out of his mind, dismissed it as unimportant, refused to think about it.

Until now.

Now he knew.

“Neville?” whispered a voice close at hand, and Neville opened his eyes dully.

The room was dusky, but he knew the silhouette kneeling beside him. “Meghan,” he said, acknowledging her presence without making it clear if he wanted her there or not. I’m not even really sure myself...

“Please, can I stay with you?”

For once, the little-girl tones in Meghan’s voice were not at all assumed, and Neville felt like a heel. Here I am scared to death, and I’m fifteen years old. She’s twelve. We’re all just expecting her to deal with it like we do, because she always can...

Except when she can’t.

He scooted back until he was sitting against the bottom of the bed, then opened his arms, and Meghan scrambled into his embrace and began to cry.

“I know now why Luna didn’t want to see anymore,” she whispered between sobs. “Because I can feel just a little bit of what everybody is feeling, and it’s awful.”

Another wave of shame rolled over Neville. “I’m sorry, Pearl,” he said in her ear. “I never meant to do that to you.”

“It isn’t your fault. I didn’t know it would happen either.” Meghan rubbed her face against his arm. “I think it may be the Den. It kept Harry’s mind safe from Voldemort back before the blood bond—maybe it holds in all our emotions that same way, and I can feel them because they’re bouncing back and echoing and getting louder. And because we all feel the same way about this.”

“The Ministry isn’t going to like it,” Neville said, thinking aloud. “Twelve prisoners escaping from Azkaban all at once.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing,” said Meghan, though she shivered as she spoke. “Maybe it will mean the Ministry will have to see Voldemort is back...”

“They’ll work out some other way it could have happened,” Neville said, depressingly sure of what he was saying. “Even though all the prisoners who escaped were Death Eaters.”

Meghan gulped and clung tighter to Neville, and he tightened his own arms around her, gritting his teeth against the sound of remembered laughter. You don’t get anywhere near her, he thought fiercely towards the laugher. Not one step, or I’ll kill you.

Not that I wouldn’t anyway.

Bellatrix Lestrange. The name flowed in a way it shouldn’t have, far more beautiful than the person it described. Bellatrix Black Lestrange...

It seemed impossible that the delicate girl he was holding, or her fearless always-laughing father, or her quick-thinking cool-headed brother, could be related to her .

And if we want to talk about relations, there’s someone else who’s going to have a harder time of this than I will.

“How’s Draco?” he asked Meghan’s back.

“Upset.” Meghan lifted her head to rest its side on his shoulder, freeing her mouth for speech. “He’s locked himself in the green bedroom and won’t come out. Luna’s in the bathroom—she was being sick, but now she’s done. Hermione’s with her. Ron and Ginny are in the red bedroom talking to their mum on Harry’s Zippophone.”

“So where’s Harry?”

“He said he was going to go flying...”

xXxXx

Harry leaned forward farther and farther on his Firebolt, making sure to lean in at the same time—if he rammed into a wall at the speed he was going, not even Meghan would be able to help him.

So. What does Voldemort have on his side? The Ministry sticking its fingers in its ears and going “La la la not LISTENING”, Umbridge doing her best to discredit Dumbledore every which way, whatever new Death Eaters they’ve recruited, all the ones who never got caught, and now a whole load of the ones who did...

He pulled out into the middle of the pitch, did two Sloth Grip Rolls in rapid succession, and started circling the other way. I don’t want to sound defeatist or anything, but aren’t we just a little outnumbered? And wasting time and energy fighting people who ought to be on our side?

As big as the pitch was, it still felt stifling, and Harry would have loved nothing more than to zoom down into the shed, hiss the password at the back wall, and shoot his Firebolt up that passage as fast as it would go...

Wait a second. Why don’t I? I’ll be going so fast there’s no way Umbridge would know it’s me, and that’s if she’s even looking out the window—I’ll feel loads better after I do it, I really need some fresh air, it’s only for a few minutes...

The Firebolt plunged towards the grass of the pitch, its head pointed at the broomshed built unobtrusively into one wall.

xXxXx

Draco sprawled face-down on the green bedspread. He’d had a bout of sobbing panic already, and was now moving into the dreary phase of his reaction...

Something wrong when I know exactly how I react to the news that my father’s running around loose.

He opened one eye and squinted at the moss-colored expanse in front of him. I dreamed of being a Slytherin once. Of being the person I would have been, if nothing had ever changed. Draco Malfoy, and proud of it.

I’m Draco still, and proud of who I am...

Half a smile made it onto his face. Two out of three. Not bad.

But if Luna’s vision is right, I’m going to die awfully soon, and after doing something so horrible that she says she never loved me. Something so awful she’d rather go away with my father. What could I do to her like that?

And how much of him is in me? Draco lifted one hand into his field of vision and glared at the too-pale skin and the fine down of blond hair on its back. Is it just looks, or is it something deeper? I’ve felt like him before, when I lose control, when I get really angry—I feel it snap inside me, and I don’t care anymore about who I’m fighting, I just want to hurt them and make them keep hurting for a long time...

Music suddenly blared out beside him, and he yelped, sitting up. What—where is that—what is it?

His eyes roamed the room, while his ears analyzed the sound. Two chords, four beats, two different chords, four beats... it’s hard, driving, it pushes...

A harsh voice began to sing.

Don’t come on so cocksure, boy

You can’t escape your genes

Alex’s girlfriend walked backwards into the frame on the wall, her hair tied back and her arms crossed across her chest. She wore an Egyptian costume, and it was she who was singing.

There’s no point in feeling pure, boy

Your background intervenes

Draco stared at her, unsure quite what to feel at the moment. The woman extended an imperious hand, beckoning.

Now listen good and listen straight

You’re not the master of your fate

Alex stepped into the picture, also in Egyptian garb, his face rebellious. The woman circled him, still singing.

To this you must be reconciled

You’ll always be your father’s child

At times acclaimed, at times reviled

You’ll wind up doing just what I’d have done

Alex moved away from her, watching her distrustfully. She grabbed his shoulder and leaned in, singing straight into his face.

Like father, like son

Alex pushed her away and took over the song.

Don’t assume your vices

Get handed down the line

He stalked across the portrait, glancing back at her angrily every so often.

That a parent’s blood suffices

To condemn the child’s design

On the extreme opposite side of the space, he whirled to face her.

I’ve done wrong, I can’t deny

But at least I know that I

Shouldn’t blame that on my stock

He sneered at her.

This may come as quite a shock

But I’m no chip off any block

A glance out at Draco.

I wouldn’t wish those words on anyone

Like father, like son...

The music trailed away, and Draco applauded. The pair took extravagant bows.

“Just thought you might need some musical encouragement,” the woman said—Anne, that’s her name, Anne, Hermione told me. “Or a reason to laugh your head off.” She squinted at her costume dubiously. “I don’t think I make a very good man.”

“Better than some people,” Draco said, flopping down on the bed again. “Nice song. Do you do that often?”

“What, make fools of ourselves?” Alex asked, sitting down. “All the time. It’s quite the rage this season, you know—aie!” He ducked away from Anne, who had just swatted him on the back of the head. “Stop hitting me!”

“Stop deserving it.” Anne leaned on the back of the chair. “Ridiculous presentation or not, it’s true, Draco Black. You are who you are. No one else. Now get out of here for a little while. You’re just going to wear yourself out worrying.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Draco saluted from flat on his back, then sat up and marched to the door.

“Don’t go through the red bedroom,” Alex called after him. “Ron and Ginny are in there.”

“Right.” Draco stopped at the door. “So where should I go, then?”

“Thou shalt not go through the other common rooms,” said Anne sententiously, “nor shalt thou go through the hospital wing. The Headmaster’s office is right out!”

Draco groaned. “All right. All right. I get it. The kitchens it is.”

“I got first pick for Heirs,” Alex confided to Anne in a loud whisper as Draco shut the door behind himself.

Despite himself, Draco laughed. The way Alex and Anne played reminded him of someone...

Well, a bunch of someones. Moony and Danger, Padfoot and Letha, even me and Luna when she’s not seeing disturbing things.

He snorted, opening the kitchen door. And now I’m back where I didn’t want to be, thank you very much, oh marvelous brain. One of these days I’m taking an eggbeater to you.

Through the passage he slid, then pushed his way through the kitchen door and trotted into the entrance hall, with no particular destination in mind, just to keep moving, to stay away from the feelings, the thoughts, the—

“Oh!”

Draco’s train of thought ended with a jarring thud. He was sitting on his rump near the marble staircase, gasping for air, with Amanda Smythe nearby in like condition. “Sorry,” she panted out after a moment. “Wasn’t looking...where I was going...”

“No, I’m sorry,” Draco said, recovering his breath and pulling himself to his feet. “Let me help you.”

“Thanks.” Amanda took his hand and lifted herself gracefully up. “I heard the news,” she said, looking at him directly, with no evasion in her green eyes. “I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m as safe as the next man. If, of course, the next man is Harry Potter.”

Amanda laughed. “I’m still sorry,” she said after a moment, the words erasing the smile from her face. “I love my parents so much. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have one of them hate me and want to hurt me.”

“I love my parents too,” Draco said, sitting down on the bottom step and scooting over to make room for Amanda. “Lucius is just... an accidental relation, you could say. Blood and nothing more.”

“That’s true. But it still hurts you. I can see that.” Amanda squeezed his shoulder. “So I’m still sorry. And you can’t make me not be.”

“I... wasn’t trying to.”

Amanda raised her nose loftily. “Meh,” she said with great dignity. “Meh, I say!”

“Meh, you say,” Draco agreed. “What does ‘meh’ mean?”

“Anything I want it to!” Amanda’s nose stayed in the air.

“And what do you want it to today?”

“That is none of your business.”

“But you’re saying it to me. That makes it my business.”

Amanda’s eyes narrowed. “Meh,” she repeated.

“An all-purpose monosyllable,” mused Draco. “I think I like it.”

“I’m so glad,” said Amanda, lowering her chin. “There was much thought of pleasing you when it was christened.”

Draco frowned, then grinned as his mind ran the misquote to earth and found a pleasing rejoinder. “As bamboo shall draw the panda, so this ‘meh’ shall draw Amanda.”

“Oh, very good!” Amanda applauded, and Draco felt an odd sensation under his ribs, not unlike the one he felt when he kissed Luna...

Oh, no. No, no, no. Get up, walk away, get out of here right now. You are the next best thing to engaged, Draco—not to mention, less than two years from being dead! You cannot be seriously thinking about this girl!

Draco took a bow from the seated position.

I suppose if our hearts listened to reason, we wouldn’t have literature.

xXxXx

Dolores’ back twinged. With a sigh, she stood up and stretched it, then began to walk back and forth across the office.

The plan would be a far better one if I were sure where Potter spends his time. The girl seems to think he remains in the Room of Requirement, but I doubt that, or why would it not respond to my need to find him and deliver him to me?

A lone flyer over the Quidditch pitch caught her eye, and she stood for a moment, watching the student zoom back and forth, loop fantastically tight, and swoop in and out of the goal hoops.

Perhaps it is time for another new rule. No students are allowed to fly unless during approved Quidditch practice. And I will find whoever that is and give him a week’s detention.

With order thus restored to her world, Dolores returned to her desk.

Now, the girl insinuated the presence of many people. A large organization, this, and obviously spread out over all the Houses. Just as well. The more discontent we can crush at once, the better...

But we need Harry Potter. Without him, everything falls apart. And with him...

Dolores smiled, her mind’s eye already painting her the picture.

With him, we have the world.

xXxXx

Harry stepped out of the Quidditch pitch into the main room and shook his head briskly. “All right?” he asked Luna, who was sitting rather forlornly at a small table in the middle of the room.

“Yes. Or I will be. It was just...” Luna shivered. “When Mr. Moony told us those names, I could see them all, the people they were and the things they did and what they’ve become, after so long in Azkaban.” She swallowed convulsively. “And I saw what some of us might have been, if we were like them.”

“Do you mean evil, or trapped with dementors?” Harry asked, unable to stop himself.

“Yes.”

How helpful. “Where’s Hermione?”

“In the kitchen.” Luna waved towards it vaguely. “She said she would heat me up some applesauce.”

“Oh. Um, I’ll go help her.” Harry was already moving towards the door. Hermione in the kitchen wasn’t quite an unqualified disaster, but under certain circumstances it could come close.

He opened the door hastily, and Hermione jumped and looked around. “What?”

“Just...wanted to see if you needed help.”

Hermione made a face at him. “Wanted to see if I’d destroyed your kitchen, you mean.”

“Well, only a little. You don’t blow things up anymore. Much.”

Hermione sniffed audibly and turned back to the pot she was stirring. “This is for Luna,” she said. “So don’t you touch it.”

Harry edged up to the stove and peered into the pot. “That’s a lot for just Luna.”

“I want some too.”

“Then there should be enough for three.”

Hermione elbowed him out of the way. “Greedy. Get your own.”

“Ow. Fine, I will.” Harry went to the cupboard to get out bowls and spoons. “Ron and Ginny still talking to their mum?” he asked over his shoulder.

“As far as I know. They haven’t come out. Neville and Meghan did, but only to go over to the music room. Have you seen Draco?”

“No. And he’s not in the green bedroom, either, the door’s open.”

Hermione shrugged. “He probably left, then. Maybe he went to talk to someone.”

“Like who?”

“I don’t know. Come up with your own answers once in a while, why don’t you?”

“But asking you is so much easier.” Harry dodged a spoon thickly coated with applesauce. “Are you scared?” he asked quietly, dropping his casual air.

“Some,” Hermione admitted. “Especially after third year.” Her hand went to her cheek. “I love Draco, and I love being twins, but I wish that had never happened.”

“I don’t,” said Harry, setting the bowls on the table.

“What?” Hermione whirled to face him. “You—you—”

“That night made you stronger, Neenie. You did your first Animagus. You saved Draco’s life, twice. And you bit a Death Eater.” Harry grinned, and saw an answering smile, though weaker, on Hermione’s face. “If all we had were good times, how would we ever get strong? I don’t want the bad times. But I’m sure as hell not going to lie down and let them trample on me.”

Hermione nodded. “You didn’t start the fight,” she said. “But you’re going to finish it.”

“That’s the Snitch. Now, how about some applesauce?” Harry picked the top bowl off the stack and held it out. “Philosophy makes me hungry.”

xXxXx

Sirius shut the door behind him, leaned against it with his eyes closed, and tried not to pass out.

“Honey, I’m home,” he said quietly.

“So I see,” said Aletha’s voice from beside him, making him jump. “Cloak.”

Sirius got his feet under him again and undid his cloak’s fastener, the green leaf pin Hermione had got him for last Christmas. A certain age group at the Auror Office had been looking at him with more respect since then, he realized dimly...

Rustling as Aletha hung the cloak on its hook, then the sound of her footsteps coming back. “We heard,” she said, her hands starting to trace around his chest. “How bad was it?”

“Mmmm.” Sirius leaned forward into her arms. “Can’t think when you do that.”

“I’ll have to stop then—oh!” She squealed in surprise as he pulled her close.

“No, you don’t,” he mumbled into her hair. “Don’t ever stop.”

“If you don’t want me to stop, we need to find somewhere to sit down. I spent all day on my feet too, and your son is starting to make his presence known, so my back is none too happy with me.”

“My son, is he?” Sirius slid a hand down Aletha’s front, getting only slightly distracted along the way, until he located the slight flare of belly, which he patted. “Attaboy, Marcus. Give your mama some grief.”

Aletha slapped him lightly on the back of the head. “Stop that. He doesn’t need any encouragement.”

“Well, need it or not, he’s getting it.” Sirius kissed Aletha’s ear. “God, I’m glad I have you. I don’t think I could do this job without you.”

“I’m always glad to help,” Aletha murmured. “Now, about that sitting down...”

“Just lead me. It’s dark and I can’t see.”

“That would be because you have your eyes shut.”

“So?”

A long-suffering sigh. “Never mind.”

xXxXx

Meghan strummed a chord on her guitar, changing it rapidly up, down, down, up, up. Beside her, Neville idly picked out a melody. A note and up a fourth, down step-wise twice, back up a third and two steps up then back down...

“I know that song,” Meghan said, stopping what she was doing. “Play it again.”

Neville complied.

Meghan began to hum to herself, tapping out a rhythm with one finger. Slowly, her face grew wicked.

“What are you thinking?” said Neville nervously.

“I’m thinking we need to talk to the rest of the Pride,” Meghan said, standing up and setting her guitar aside. “I have just the start of an idea—it needs other people to make it work...”

xXxXx

“Toilets,” said Luna when Meghan had explained her ‘start of an idea’. “Seven toilets.”

“Why toilets?” Neville asked, then flushed pink. “Oh. Wait. Never mind.”

“But where are we going to find seven toilets no one uses so we can prank them?” Harry asked, setting aside his applesauce bowl. “We don’t want somebody else getting caught by this. It has to be Umbridge. It’s too good not to be.”

“Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom,” Hermione said promptly. “We can even get Myrtle to help. She’d do anything you’d ask her, Harry.”

Harry put his head down on the table. “Don’t remind me.”

Ron and Ginny chose this moment to make their appearance, and were just as enthusiastic about the idea once it had been explained. “We’ll need good timing,” said Ron, doodling on the table with his wand, the basic layout of the halls around Myrtle’s bathroom taking shape. “And a lot of Animation Charms. That’s going to use up most of the stock we have with Fred and George.”

“What is it there for, if not to be used?” Ginny asked. “And we know exactly how to do the timing.” She handed Harry back his Zippophone. “We have four of them. That ought to be enough.”

Luna smiled. “Now all we need is a hex that makes someone have to use the toilet right away...”

xXxXx

Hermione dug happily through the shelves in the Den’s library. “I think the Room of Requirement pulls books from here,” she said over her shoulder. “This copy of Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed has the same little nick on the corner as the one I read upstairs...”

“How far do you reckon the requirement bit goes?” Ron asked, taking books as Hermione handed them to him. “I mean, if we required Umbridge all tied up, d’you think—”

“Ugh, Ron, of course not.” Hermione swatted him on the shoulder. “It takes things that are elsewhere in the castle and brings them to where they’re needed.”

“Umbridge is something that’s elsewhere in the castle,” Ron pointed out.

“In the same condition they’re in when they left the places they started out at,” Hermione said impatiently. “I really don’t think a room is going to be able to get rid of Dolores Umbridge for us.”

“Be nice,” Ron said wistfully.

“Yes, it would.” Hermione piled one last book into his arms and steered him towards the armchairs in the center of the room. “It would also be nice not to have a war, not to have to come down here every time we want to see Harry, and to have—”

She stopped herself short, horrified at where her tongue had almost gone.

“To have what?” Ron asked, dropping the books heavily on the table.

“To have you care a little about anything around you,” Hermione snapped, aware she was being too mean but praying it would cover up her lapse. “Would it kill you to show some consideration?”

“According to you, I wouldn’t know,” Ron shot back. “I never tried.”

He turned and stormed out of the room.

Hermione sank into one of the chairs, picked up the book on the top of the pile, and methodically beat her head against it several times. Then she opened it to the index and began looking for the word she needed.

Toilet... toilet... let’s see, tinder, toads, toffee... torch, whoops, too far... here we are. Toilet.

Flipping to the first of the indicated pages, she started to skim the spells listed.

Her mind tried to escape its task. Firmly, she pulled it back. I am working. I have no time for childish games. Besides, Ron’s already interested in someone else. I don’t chase other girls’ property.

But he isn’t hers! insisted a little voice in her mind. Or anyway, he shouldn’t be!

Hermione ignored the voice and continued working.

She wondered how long it would be before she didn’t hear it at all, even when she wanted to.

xXxXx

Dolores Jane Umbridge awoke the next morning in fine fettle. Her informant had indicated that there would likely be a meeting of the treacherous group this evening. At that time, she would capture Harry Potter and discredit Dumbledore forever. Headship of Hogwarts would be hers, and the future of wizarding Britain assured in order and stability.

She felt so good that she allowed herself a small swagger in her walk as she descended the stairs towards breakfast.

xXxXx

“You’re covered,” Neville whispered as Umbridge strutted into view in the second floor corridor.

Ginny took careful aim. “Balneo ! ”

xXxXx

Dolores stopped, frowning.

How odd. I didn’t have to do that when I left my quarters, and they’re only one floor up from here. Should I go back?

She looked around and smiled. A girls’ toilet was just down the hall from where she stood.

What luck.

Hurrying down the hall, she pushed the door open wide and entered.

xXxXx

Across the hall, under the Invisibility Cloak, Hermione tapped her open Zippo twice against the wall.

Stage One is complete. Stage Two, go.

xXxXx

“Hello,” said a melancholy voice.

“Aaahh!” Dolores leapt back, her heart pounding, as a sad-faced ghost zoomed out of one of the stalls.

“Do you need to use the toilet?” the ghost asked. “Don’t use mine, please, I was just getting ready for a good cry. I’m Moaning Myrtle. At least that’s what they all call me.” She sniffled. “How would you like to be called that?”

“I don’t think I’d like it, dear,” said Dolores, edging along the cubicles. She couldn’t stand ghosts, but this one seemed harmless—she’d just do what she needed to do and get out quickly—

“Aren’t you looking for Harry Potter?” Myrtle asked, wiping away a tear before it could spot her glasses. “He comes in here sometimes, you know.” She giggled, a very hollow sound. “I think he likes me.”

“Does he.” More proof that he’s mad, in case I needed it. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Myrtle, I rather need to—”

“Oh, I understand.” Myrtle sniffed again. “That’s another thing I can’t do anymore. Ever since I died. You’d never think I’d miss it, but I do...”

Dolores tuned this out and ducked into the cubicle, barely repressing a shudder.

When I am Headmistress of Hogwarts, the first thing I will do is banish all the ghosts.

xXxXx

“You set it up, right?” Draco’s voice whispered through the Zippophone.

“Well, if I hadn’t, I couldn’t do anything about it now,” Hermione hissed. “Yes, of course I set it up.”

“Both of you shut it,” Ron’s voice overrode them. “Neenie, get in close. Listen for the flush, then count five, then set it off.”

Hermione bit back an indignant comment about knowing what to do without being told and simply said, “Right.” Tiptoeing across the hall, she put her ear to the door.

xXxXx

Dolores turned a deaf ear to Myrtle’s prattling, until a familiar name caught her attention.

“...Potter was here earlier. He’s so sweet sometimes—he wanted me to help him with something...”

“Harry Potter was here?” Dolores demanded, hastily letting her robes down and shoving open the door of her cubicle. “When?”

“Oh, yesterday.” Myrtle shrugged. “Or the day before. Time doesn’t mean so much when you’re dead.”

“Think very hard,” Dolores said urgently. “When, exactly, was he here?”

“Well, it can’t have been more than two days ago,” said Myrtle, floating lower and lower in the air as she thought, “because two days ago there were a lot of girls in here, and they didn’t notice the labels, so they can’t have been there then, and Harry put them there.”

“Labels, what labels?”

“These labels,” said Myrtle, floating over Dolores’ cubicle and pointing. “Look at the top of the tank.”

Dolores turned and went back into her cubicle to look.

Pasted across the top of the tank was the word “Dopey”.

Dolores ground her teeth. Juvenile, disgusting, and pointless. No surprise that Potter did this.

“You forgot to flush,” Myrtle pointed out, hovering above her.

For a second, Dolores was tempted to leave the toilet unflushed and storm out, but her hand went to the lever automatically. Myrtle has helped me. I now know of another place Harry Potter can sometimes be found. And where he once was, he may return again. There is no reason to make a mess in Myrtle’s home.

She pushed down on the lever. “Now think carefully, please, Myrtle,” she said, looking up at the ghost as the toilet flushed with a loud whoosh. “If you can remember when Harry Potter was here, it could be very helpful to me. And I reward those who help me. What do you say?”

“I say...” Myrtle floated up to the bathroom’s window to look out. “I say...”

xXxXx

Five.

Hermione bent down and touched her wand to a certain stone in the floor. “Eo , ” she whispered.

xXxXx

Dolores jumped as the sound of rocks smashing together reverberated through the bathroom. “Earthquake!” she screamed, running from the cubicle. “An earthquake!”

“But it’s not moving!” Myrtle screamed back, her hands over her ears. “It’s just—”

The noise stopped.

Slowly, Dolores took her own hands away from her ears. “What was it?” she wondered aloud.

The door of the far toilet cubicle burst open, making her shriek.

“Heigh-ho!” bellowed the toilet, which bore the word “Doc” across the top of its tank.

Six other cubicle doors opened simultaneously. “Heigh-ho!” chorused six other toilets, each labeled with a word—Dolores could see “Grumpy,” “Sleepy,” and her own “Dopey” from where she stood—

“Heigh-ho!” sang the three of the toilets closest to the end, marching out of their cubicles and down the row.

“Heigh-ho!” sang the next two, falling into line behind the first ones.

“Heigh-ho!” sang the last two, one of whom was Dopey. Dolores edged out of the way as the toilet left its cubicle.

“Boo!” screeched Myrtle suddenly, shooting directly at Dolores’ face. Dolores screamed and ducked back—

Falling onto the open seat of Dopey, which was waiting behind her.

The toilet seat contracted around her, holding her there.

The door of the room opened as if by magic.

“Heigh-ho,” sang the toilets, marching towards the door, “heigh-ho, it’s off to school we go...”

Dolores fumbled inside her robes for her wand—if she could just get the charms off herself, the toilets would be easy enough to deal with afterwards—

“Need help, Professor?” Myrtle said loudly in her ear, causing her to jump.

Her wand clattered to the bathroom floor.

“Oh, don’t worry about this,” Myrtle said, swooping down to it lovingly. “I’ll take very good care of it.”

Dolores moaned aloud over the whistling of the toilets.

xXxXx

Hermione was using one hand to hold open the door and the other to stifle her giggles. As Professor Umbridge was carried past, she had to switch to using a foot to hold the door, because she couldn’t hold back her laughter with one hand anymore.

This is priceless. I hope she leaves after this, because we’ll never top it.

xXxXx

The toilets paraded down the stairs and around the entrance hall once, then into the Great Hall, all the time singing lustily.

“Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, heigh-ho, heigh-ho...”

Those students who were Muggle-born or half-blood sang along.

“Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, heigh-ho-hum.”

Two or three teachers trotted behind the cavalcade, alternately calling half-stunned reassurances to Umbridge and trying spells ineffectually on the toilets. The rest had taken themselves out of the Hall. Probably, Harry thought from his perch on the Gryffindor table, so they wouldn’t laugh themselves sick in front of the students.

He’d never been so glad that no one could hear him when he was walking, because if he’d been audible, he would have been scaring the owls out of the Owlery with his guffaws.

The toilets changed key. Umbridge’s moaning did not.

“Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it’s off to school we go...”

xXxXx

Finally, Dumbledore appeared on the scene—the final humiliation, to have to be rescued by that doddering old man —and dealt with the trouble quickly and competently. Two waves of his wand and Dolores was free, two more and the toilets were still, a final three and they were gone.

“This incident will be investigated to the best of my ability,” Dumbledore said gravely. “And the perpetrators will be dealt with as fully as their crime deserves. I would ask you all now to have a seat and eat your breakfast. You have a day of classes to attend.”

As the students straggled back to their tables, Dolores caught the eye of her informant and gave her a stern look.

The girl nodded once, slowly.

Excellent. The meeting will be tonight.

Straightening her robes, Dolores walked up the Hall to take her seat at the High Table.

Tonight, everything I had hoped this job would bring me will be mine. I will have the power, I will have the prestige, and most of all—oh, yes, most of all—I will have Harry Potter. He will be mine.

And when I am finished with him, no one else will ever want him again.





Facing Danger

Chapter 21: Share Your Deepest Feelings (Year 5)


Chapter 21: Share Your Deepest Feelings

“All right, everyone,” Harry said, raising his hands for quiet. “Today we’re going to try something special. A full-scale mock battle, like Combat Club was, but with a twist.”

“What sort of twist?” said Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, attending his fourth meeting of the DA. Every few meetings, one or two new attendees trickled in, and Harry’s heart gave a queer double thump as he looked again at the crowded Room of Requirement, then at the list on the wall with its bold heading of “Dumbledore’s Army”. Names nearly filled the parchment, and Hermione had been talking about working out a Lengthening Charm to add space for new members.

If we keep growing like this, by next year we’ll be our own House. The DA House. Wonder what animal we’d have as mascot? Maybe a manticore, it’s as funny-looking as we are...

Harry pulled himself out of his thoughts. “Invaders and defenders,” he answered Roger. “Half of us will be defending the objective. They can only shoot to incapacitate, or to wound, to start out with. The other half, the invaders, will be shooting to kill from the start.”

“No one’s ever taught you the meaning of the word ‘subtle’, have they, Potter?” Blaise Zabini drawled from the back, drawing snickers.

Harry felt a surge of anger. “Takes one to know one, Zabini,” he said a bit more harshly than he’d intended, and the laughter got louder. “You volunteering to lead a team?”

It was the first time he’d ever seen Zabini taken aback. “Er—what?”

“He asked if you want to be captain,” Ginny said, turning to look at Zabini where he sat with one arm around Colleen Lamb. “And I think he’s going to be leading the other team himself. Right, Harry?”

Harry stared at her for one instant, then looked up to see every eye in the room fastened on him. “Of course,” he said, hoping the shock still vibrating his nerves didn’t carry over to his voice. He hadn’t been planning on taking part at all, he’d thought he would sit out and referee—

But maybe it’ll be good for me to get in there and fight again. I’ve been keeping up with my sparring, magic and non, but I haven’t been in any of the running fights in at least a month and a half. I need to stay in practice.

“So if you’ll all take out your Galleons,” he went on, pulling his own from his pocket. “In a second, half of them will go off, a random selection, and that half will be Zabini’s team. Don’t give him any trouble.”

A few mutinous looks greeted him, but nobody grumbled out loud.

“All right, then.” Harry drew his wand and put its tip against his Galleon. “Proteo inusitatus semis! ”

xXxXx

“A good match,” Blaise said some time later, shaking hands with Harry. “Of course, it had a flaw.”

“What kind of flaw?”

“With Harry Potter, the true champion of their beliefs, at their head, how could your defenders lose even their mock Hogwarts against the invaders and their leader?”

“Why don’t you just say Voldemort and be done with it?” said Ron, causing waves of shudders all around the room.

“Perhaps another time,” Blaise said, his eyes not leaving Harry. “If you had not led the defending force, but the attackers...”

“You want to swap sides and play again?” Harry asked.

“If everyone else is amenable.”

“How about it, everyone?” Harry said, turning to catch people’s eyes. “Want to change sides and go again after a breather?”

The DA cheered and clapped, some of them bouncing up and down in place.

“Sounds good. Ten minutes!” Harry glanced at the wall, which immediately sprouted a large hourglass.

“Whoo,” said Anthony Goldstein, sitting down hard. “I thought I was going to learn to fly, that last one hit me so hard. Good shot, Macmillan.”

“Thank you.” Ernie nodded to the Ravenclaw. “I expect we will both do far better on our Defense O.W.L.s than we ever could have without this sort of practice.”

“We’ll do better on N.E.W.T.s as well,” Alicia said. “Just think of Umbridge’s face when we all get our scores back!”

“She’ll be expecting Ps and Ds, and we’ll get Es and Os!”

“She thinks we haven’t learned anything, and we’ve learned more than we would in normal classes!”

“She’ll scream!”

“She’ll flip!”

“She’ll croak!”

“Perfect!” Lee held out his hands as though displaying a newspaper. “Can’t you see the headline in the Prophet? ‘Toady Umbridge Croaks’!”

The DA collapsed into helpless laughter. People lay on the floor howling, drumming their heels and waving their hands, gasping for air.

“Lena, breathe, love,” Roger wheezed after a few minutes, catching a coughing Selena Moon by the shoulders. “You can do it, just breathe...”

“Don’t you usually want her not to breathe?” Parvati said wickedly. “I mean, it breaks the suction.”

This set everyone off again. Despite the large presence of Roger’s Housemates in the DA, Selena was the one who had brought him for his first meeting, as they’d been dating since the Yule Ball the preceding winter. Roger had originally attended the ball as Fleur Delacour’s date, but her charms had apparently worn off at some point during the night. Harry made a mental note to remind Ron and Ginny that this might happen to Bill.

“She’s turning blue, though,” Roger said, chuckling a little at himself. “And House pride only goes so far. Come on, love, breathe... deep and slow, in, out, in, out...”

Selena coughed a few final times, drew one deep and slow breath, then grinned at her boyfriend. “Isn’t it a bit early to be telling me that?” she said.

“Ooooooooo,” the girls chanted together, while all the boys groaned in sympathy. Roger looked petrified for one second, then grinned back at Selena, though the grin was a little shakier than it could have been.

Just then, the hourglass rattled against the wall. Harry looked up to see the sand filling the bottom half. “Let’s go, people!” he called out. “Defenders are now attackers, attackers are now defenders! Same teams, same captains! Defenders, get inside Hogwarts, attackers, follow me!”

xXxXx

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Meghan said in a half-whisper, so as not to be overheard by the excitedly chattering DA. “He wants us to win at Hogwarts! It’s what he’s trying to do, or part of it—prove we can still win, even against the Death Eaters, even when they want to kill us and all we want to do is stop them, even if he’s not there with us!”

“Yeah, but this time his team lost,” said Ron. “Harry hates losing anytime, even when he knows he should’ve.”

“And thus, he goes off and sulks.” Draco glanced at the firmly closed door of the model Hogwarts still occupying one corner of the Room of Requirement. “Does he have any idea how bad this looks?”

“I don’t think he cares,” said Hermione with a sigh. “On a personal level, I don’t blame him, he deserves some time to rest and get over losing—but everyone expects him to be our leader, to be out here taking apart the battle like he always does, and they’re going to start wondering why he’s not pretty soon.”

“Let me deal with it,” said Ginny. “Luna, can you see him?”

“He’s chasing his tail in the little Great Hall,” Luna said. “Growling a lot.”

“Excellent.” Ginny started for the door.

xXxXx

Wolf had just changed tailchasing directions for the seventh time and was working himself up towards number eight when a hissing ball of fur slammed into his back. He yelped, rolled to throw it clear, and came up Harry, facing a panting Ginny. “What was that for?” he demanded.

“For you being silly. So is this.” Ginny stepped in close to him, reached up, and slapped his ear.

“Ow!”

“You can’t always win,” Ginny said tartly. “Isn’t it better to lose here, in training, than it would be out there in real life?”

Harry growled instead of answering.

“Besides, win or lose, you still get the prize.” Ginny reached up again, but this time her hand had a loop of gold around it. “I’ve been wondering something,” she whispered. “When we share pendants, we know each other’s thoughts... can we feel each other’s feelings, too?”

Harry looked down into milk-chocolate eyes and felt his bad mood slide away like ice on a rooftop. “I don’t know,” he said, pulling his own pendant chain from under his robes. “There’s only one way to find out.”

“What a terrible thing for us.” Ginny ducked inside the chain he held out to her, and dropped her own around his neck. “But we all have to make sacrifices sometimes, don’t we?”

xXxXx

THUD.

Ginny pulled away with a little gasp. “What was that?”

“I don’t know. Let’s go find out.” Harry quickly unlooped a pendant chain from around his neck, felt the other one come free as Ginny did the same, and conjured a small ball of fire over their heads. “Fix your hair.”

He emerged from the front door of the model Hogwarts swiftly, left hand tucking the pendants away, wand already in his right. “Accio Map .” The battered parchment soared into his hand. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he recited rapid-fire as another dull THUD shook the walls. “Come on, come on, show me—”

He swore, four other voices echoing his an instant behind.

“What?” demanded Zacharias Smith. “What is it?”

“Umbridge.” Harry pointed at the door. “She’s right out there, with a load of Slytherins—you know the ones I mean,” he added as Blaise glowered and Selena glared. “And she’ll be in here in a second. She’s found us.”

Bitter anger fumed up inside him again. This would be a true defeat, worse than any training game—they’d all be expelled for this, the Prophet would play it for everything it was worth, Dumbledore would lose any credulity he might have had left, Fudge’s hold on government would be cemented—

“What do we do now?” someone asked, a high, worried voice. One of the younger girls, Harry thought, and fought against letting the anger spill out at her. This wasn’t her fault.

No, it’s mine, for being too sure the castle would protect us, too sure we could never be found here. I should have had people watching the Map all the time, or sentries. I won’t make that mistake again.

Assuming, of course, he ever got a chance.

He looked up at the DA, at the worried and frightened faces all around him, all looking to him. Panic swelled up in him—the pendants under his shirt flared hot in response—

No. I can’t. He swallowed, then reached out to one side, and a thread of courage twined around his heart as Ginny’s hand slipped into his. More threads joined it as he saw the Pride ready to one side, Ron flexing his wand hand, Neville standing behind Meghan with his pendants around both their necks, Draco between Hermione and Luna holding both their hands.

“We wait,” Harry said, and his voice was clear and unshaken. “If we had the chance, I’d tell you to run. There’s no shame in retreating if you’re this outmatched. But we can’t get out of here.” He let a little of the anger surface, the portion directed at himself. “You’ll all remember this, I’m sure. Never let yourself get blocked into a corner, no matter how well hidden you think you are.”

Fred and George snorted in unison and came to stand beside the Pride, the blonde Ravenclaw Danielle hand-in-hand with Fred. Lee Jordan and Maya Pritchard joined them, then Lindz Jordan and Dean, Seamus and Lavender—Parvati and Padma and Marietta Edgecombe, Su Li and Terry Boot, Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein and Kevin Entwhistle—

“She can find us,” Harry said, watching his troops, Dumbledore’s Army, assembling in battle order. “And she can try to break us. But that decision lies with us.” Roger and Selena, Blaise and Colleen, Matt and Amanda Smythe, Graham and Natalie, Colin and Dennis Creevey, who squeaked as a rumbling BOOM made the floor vibrate. “No matter what she does to us, as long as we are loyal to each other and to ourselves, she can’t win.”

Angelina and Alicia nodded together. Katie Bell was comforting Hannah Abbott and Eloise Midgen, while her friend Leanne hugged Tessa Malloy and Demelza Robins handed a tissue to little Elayne Kreger. Justin Finch-Fletchley held Heidi’s hands, and Ernie Macmillan seemed to be edging closer to Susan Bones every second. Zacharias Smith stood a little aloof, but his eyes were fixed on Harry, showing only a hard curiosity.

“So I guess what I really want,” Harry said as Ginny squeezed his hand, “is just to thank you all. For being here, for believing in me, for showing we can do this. Thank you, everyone.”

Another echoing BOOM , but as it died away, Harry thought he heard another sound, much more familiar, the grinding of stone on stone—and everyone’s eyes were fixed on the wall behind him, most of them very large and round indeed—

He turned to look.

A fireplace had materialized behind him, and beside it glowered a hole, about waist height on Harry, a bar set into the wall above it.

“Does that go where I think it does?” he said aloud, glancing down at the Map.

The one word Yes gleamed as though it had just been written.

Harry’s chest loosened all at once as a wave of relief/disbelief rolled over him from the Pride.

The DA all seemed to recover their ability to speak at once. “What is it?” “Where’d it come from?” “Where does it go?” “Can we use it?” “Is it safe?” “I’m scared of the dark!” “I’m scared of holes!” “I’m scared of—”

“QUIET!” Harry bellowed, cutting through the noise. “There isn’t much time. That passage will take you somewhere safe, somewhere you can get back to your common rooms—you can claim you never left, no one will be able to prove you did—but we have to move , people. Come on, let’s go! One at a time, make a queue, go as soon as the last person’s clear!”

George was the first to move, scooping Dennis Creevey off his feet and carrying him bodily to the tunnel. Fred followed with Tessa Malloy, Danielle shepherding Natalie and Graham behind them, and then the DA was queuing up, whispering and staring and hanging back a little but moving.

The Pride spread out, Ron and Neville standing one either side of the hole to give the smaller ones a leg up if they needed it, Draco hurrying up and down the line answering questions as best he could, Hermione and Meghan gently chivying people into position. Luna was staring at the door, her eyes unfocused.

“What do you see?” Harry asked, approaching her, Ginny still beside him.

“She’s starting to break through,” Luna reported dreamily. “All our wanting the Room not to let her in is still holding her off. It won’t hold much longer, though. The fewer of us there are, the weaker that gets.”

“So we could have just stayed here, not wanted her enough, and she couldn’t have found us?” Ginny asked, her hand tightening on Harry’s as a third BOOM shook dust from the timbers of the door.

“Can’t be,” Harry said, shaking his head. “We never wanted her to find us, but she did anyway.” He frowned. “How did she, though?”

“Someone is not here,” Luna said, turning a little to get a different vantage point of the inside of the door, though Harry knew she was looking through it at the people on the other side. “Betrayed and not betrayed, tricked and not tricked, the black swan is fallen from the sky...”

“The black swan,” Ginny repeated under her breath. “There’s a ballet, with a sorcerer’s daughter...”

“Talk about it later,” Harry said, glancing back at the line, half the length it had been and shrinking rapidly. “We have to go...” His words were cut short by a fourth BOOM , this one accompanied by a sharp crack . “We really have to go. Reparo ! ”

The wood of the door, which had begun to splinter, popped back into place, but Harry knew it was only a temporary fix. “Go on, Luna,” he said, letting enough snap into his tone to make it an order. “We know all we can right now. You have to get to safety.”

“Yes, sir.” Luna nodded to him, then trotted over to join the end of the line.

“You go too,” Harry told Ginny. “I’m the last one out.”

Ginny’s shoulders squared, her chin came up, and her eyes flashed. “I’m an alpha too, you know, Harry Potter—”

“A war operation can only have one leader,” Harry said softly. “And right now, that’s me. Tomorrow, it could be you, but right now we don’t have time to argue about it. You can be second to last out, but I will be the last.”

“If you’re just trying to protect me—”

“Of course I’m trying to protect you. I—” Harry stalled on the word. “I care about you a lot,” he substituted, backing away from the door, which had just cracked again. “But I have to care about everyone, the whole Pride, the whole DA, and protect them all. And that includes you. So go . I’ll be right behind you. I promise.”

“As long as you promise.” Ginny leaned up and kissed him quickly on the lips. “I’ll be waiting for you,” she whispered, then ran to catch up with the line.

The cracks on the door were visible now, and Harry thought suddenly of the den-night story of Danger discovering she was a werewolf tamer. He couldn’t help but laugh.

She and Moony made it through that, and I think we will too. The DA was almost gone, Amanda was just climbing into the hole, Blaise and Colleen were the only people left in the room who weren’t Pride—

The door splintered, the fragments blowing inwards under the force of the spell.

“Protego ! ” Harry shouted, and his shield blocked the two Stunners shooting in at him. “Stupefy, Stupefy, Expelliarmus! ” One of his attackers went down, two more yelped indignantly as their wands flew from their hands, but more were crowding into the gap—

“HARRY!” shrieked Ginny’s voice behind him. “HA—”

Her second scream cut off in the middle. Harry snapped his head to one side and let out a whisper of breath in relief as he saw Ginny fighting Ron furiously. They didn’t get in some other way, they haven’t got her—

“Get her out!” he shouted, whirling back to the fight just in time to block a Disarmer and a pair of Body-Binds. “Get her out and lock it behind you!”

“What about you?” Ron shouted back. “We can’t leave you!”

“Get the list and go! That’s an order!” Harry went to one knee, shielding himself against a barrage of spells, then diving to one side to avoid new ones and firing back at the forms shrouded by wood dust in the doorway. Faintly, he heard Ginny’s muffled screams dying away, then the grating of stone against stone and the gentle thump as the passage sealed itself.

They’re safe. They’re all safe. Umbridge won’t have anything on them, she can’t prove who they were or that they were helping me, and she’ll have me, so she won’t bother with them—

Maybe, if the Room helps me, I can hold them off long enough to get to the passage myself—

“Absumo animum! ” cried a shrill voice.

But why should I bother? Harry’s wand drooped slightly. Why should I keep trying? I can’t do anything right. I always get everyone in trouble.

He stared at his hands, overcome by doubt and guilt. Why am I even fighting back? I deserve to get caught, I deserve to be punished, for being such a horrible person—

Red washed over him and knocked him backwards, and black swarmed around from behind to claim him.

It was almost a relief.

xXxXx

“Let GO of me!” Ginny shrieked, clawing at Ron’s arms as they skidded down the long slide. “Let go, let go, I have to go back!”

“Why, so you can leave us without an alpha?” Ron caught her wrists in one hand and brought them down to pin them at her sides. “So you can make us decide what to do next, and probably do it wrong?”

“You don’t have to do anything next! Just go back to the common rooms and stay there—”

“So we’re not allowed to help Harry?” Ron split his feet open and braced the bottoms of his trainers against the walls, scudding them to a halt. Ginny writhed in his grasp, but he had a hand in her hair, and she couldn’t squirm too hard without pulling it painfully. “Or don’t you think you’ll need help? There were at least ten of them there, Gin, and it was all Harry could do to hold them off long enough that we could get away—if we’re going to take him out of wherever they’ve got him, we’ll need all of us. We’ve done it before, we can do it again, but that’s us, all of us! Not you alone!”

She snarled at him for one second, then suddenly crumpled and started to cry, and Ron pulled her close and took his feet off the walls, letting them start to slide again.

“We’ll get him back,” he whispered into her ear. “You watch. This is our home ground, and nobody steals our alpha from us here.”

Ginny hiccupped. “I know,” she said shakily. “It’s just... it happened so fast...”

“I know. But that means we can unhappen it fast too. You watch.” They were starting to slow down, getting close to their destination, and Ron scooted down so that his feet would hit the floor first when they landed. “We’ll get him back,” he repeated. “You’ll see.”

Behind his back, he crossed his fingers and prayed he hadn’t just turned himself into a liar.

xXxXx

“They don’t see us,” Elayne whispered in awe, staring out at her common room and the students sitting in front of the fire, reading or talking or eating sweets. “We’re right here, and they don’t see us at all...”

“That’s right,” Draco said, helping her climb out of the hole. “And they won’t see you for a little while yet. Can you get to your dorm quickly? Or do you see your friends anywhere here?”

“My friends are the DA,” Elayne said softly. “But I sometimes sit with those girls.” She jerked her head towards a small knot of students near one of the water-swirled windows. “I don’t think they’d notice if I came over and sat down...”

“If they’re not your friends, then never mind.” Draco gave her a little push into the room. “Just go to your dorm and get your homework or something...”

“We’ve been together,” said Matt Smythe, sliding past Draco and out into the common room. “Working on that one tricky bit from Charms today. I’ll get my book and we’ll start going over it together.”

Elayne flashed him a smile, and he returned it, then hurried off towards the boys’ dorms.

“Thank you,” said Selena to Draco as she left the tunnel. “You’re very kind to them.”

“If things had gone differently for me, I could have been them. Stuck in a House with a bad reputation, and just trying to do my best.”

“Or not sure how to do that, and settling for less,” added Blaise from behind them. “Though one of my yearmates, at least, seems to be learning.”

“Yeah, well, keep an eye on him, will you?”

“Always.” Blaise stepped out into the common room, drawing a piece of paper from one pocket and his wand from another.

Selena nodded to Draco, who climbed quickly back into the tunnel. “Stealth mode, thank you, Salazar,” he murmured, and the hole in the Slytherin common room wall sealed itself once more.

They should be safe now. There won’t be any evidence they ever left their common room—well, not unless they have a portrait like we do, but Umbridge won’t listen to a portrait, especially not if it’s telling her they left and never came back when she can see clearly where they are!

Neville had undertaken to guide the Hufflepuffs back to their dorm, and Luna was handling the Ravenclaws. Meghan was instructing the Gryffindors how to open their passage, and Hermione was using her experience as alpha to keep the crowd of nervous students under control.

And Ron and Ginny will be here when they’ll be here. And once they are...

Draco bared his teeth and looked down at his pendants. They were warm with the overall worry of the Pride, but no more than that, and the wolf cub’s carving held no light. He hoped that meant that Harry had gotten away, not that he’d been rendered unable to feel fear or anger.

But whichever it means, we’ll find him.

This time, Umbridge has gone too far.

xXxXx

Minerva McGonagall knocked briskly on the door of Dolores Umbridge’s office, her face stony. In any other circumstances, she would have discounted a wild tale brought to her by a student of an attack by a staff member on another student. But in Minerva’s opinion, Dolores Umbridge was capable of almost anything, especially where Harry Potter was concerned, and Hermione Granger-Lupin would never have lied about something so important.

I sent a Patronus to Albus, but of course he is away, on one of his endless trips... where does he go that is so important? What can he be doing? It will take time for the Patronus to find him, time for him to understand the message, time for him to return here...

And it was taking time for Dolores to answer her door. Far too much time, in fact.

Minerva knocked again. “Dolores!” she called. “Dolores, let me in!” She paused, listening. “I know you’re in there,” she said sharply. “I know you’re not alone.” Another pause. “Dolores, I am taking out my wand—”

The door flew open. Minerva froze.

“So nice of you to tell me, dear,” said Dolores, smiling fixedly, her own stubby wand pointed straight at Minerva’s chest. “Do come in.”

Minerva stepped stiffly into the tiny office, incongruously grateful that Dolores had not obtained the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. It would have been more humiliating, somehow, to be ushered at wandpoint into the office where she had once laughed with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. Their memories, and that of Alastor Moody, would certainly have been quite offended by Dolores’ decorating.

And why am I bothering about that now, when Dolores herself and several of her tame students are holding their wands on me? Minerva’s eyes narrowed as she took in the crests embroidered on robes. Slytherins, all Slytherins, except for the girl in the corner—a Ravenclaw. She must have played on their dislike for Albus and Harry Potter, offered to give them extra powers...

“I assume you’re looking for Harry Potter, Minerva?” Dolores laughed brittly. “Here he is. Over here. Bring her over, Warrington, and be polite—she is a teacher, after all...”

Minerva came around the corner of the desk and felt her heart shudder. Harry Potter lay on the floor behind the desk, his eyes half-open, his breathing labored and heavy. He twitched as though in the throes of a bad dream, but he looked as if he were not asleep but delirious, or perhaps in the drowsy state produced by certain illegal potions...

“What have you done to him?” she demanded, whirling on Dolores. “What is this?”

“Oh, just a little spell I found all on my own.” Dolores giggled, the high-pitched sound seeming precisely calculated to irritate Minerva beyond all bearing. “It’s not illegal—it might be, if anyone who made laws knew about it, but you see, I am the law here at Hogwarts. And young Mr. Potter is a lawbreaker of the highest degree.” She regarded Harry’s restless form with a nauseating look of affection, and bent to pat his cheek. “Such a naughty boy...”

As her hand touched Harry’s face, his eyes snapped open, and he screamed.

Minerva took a half-step forward, but the burly Slytherin beside her dropped a hand on her shoulder in warning. She barely controlled a hiss of fury at him, and told her body sternly that changing into her Animagus form would not help, satisfying though it might be to sink her claws into her prey. Her job at the moment was to observe Harry.

Dolores took her hand away, and Harry’s cry subsided. He was still shaking, though, and suddenly he flung out an arm. “Get away!” he shouted, his voice slurred. “Leave me alone!”

“Perfect,” Dolores cooed. “Absolutely perfect...”

Minerva shuddered, trying to keep her mind away from a little green-eyed boy and his delighted laughter as she batted with her paws at his messy black hair. “What have you done to him?” she repeated, using the voice that worked so well to compel truth from her students.

“It’s a very simple spell, as I said.” Dolores picked up a quill from her desk and began to brush her fingers along the feather. “Here, let me show you...”

She bent down and drew the soft end of the quill across Harry’s throat.

xXxXx

Pearl galloped along the corridor, conscious of weight on her back but not letting it slow her—the king stag was in trouble, they had to save him from the hunters, even the eaters were with her in this—two humans and two smaller eaters ran beside her, and a large eater bounded ahead, her fur on end and her scream a sound of pure fury as she launched herself at the door—

Meghan changed back, yanked her wand free of her robes, and slammed herself against the wall, letting Hermione, Draco, Ron, and Luna flood past her and inside. Neville paused in the hall only long enough to make sure no one would see Umbridge’s door open, then charged into the office, and Meghan flung herself around the doorjamb and into the room after him.

She had only time to see a confused mass of robed bodies before a hissing, spitting shape struck her on the shoulders, and she fell, hearing the whistle of a spell above her. “Thanks, Neenie,” she panted, rolling over—

To see grey -striped fur, and a spectacle-marked face.

“Professor!”

Professor McGonagall waved an imperious paw behind herself, then began the change back into her human form. Meghan ducked behind her as it finished. Automatically, she shifted into what she thought of as her healing-looking way, sliding a hand through the rips in McGonagall’s robe to touch skin and get a better view. Her eyes widened.

Oh no, oh no, her heart isn’t working right—she saw something that made her so angry or so upset that it hurt her there—

Meghan leaned into the power around Hogwarts, drew what she needed, and strengthened the faltering beats of the Professor’s heart. Then she added a tiny surge of extra power, and sent a similar pulse out to the Pride through their pendants.

I’m not a good fighter yet, maybe I never will be, but I can do this.

The battle was over very rapidly after that.

xXxXx

Umbridge bent down and drew the soft end of the quill across Harry’s throat.

Harry’s back arched, his teeth clenched, his hands closed into fists. “Moony, no,” he moaned aloud. “No, please, what’d I do, I didn’t mean it, don’t, don’t...” The words trailed off into a sound that was half a child’s pain-filled cry, half a wolf cub’s forsaken howl.

“It takes the input from his senses and magnifies it by a factor of a hundred,” Umbridge said, stroking the quill across her own fingers again. “Every little draft is a freezing wind, every seam of his clothing a dull knife. So when I touched him with the feather’s barbs...” She giggled once more. “And it adds the occasional random input as well. I assume he thought he saw someone or something called Moony a moment ago—I can’t imagine who it could have been...”

McGonagall stood rigid, her own hands clenched. “How dare you,” she forced through her lips while keeping her teeth clenched together. “How dare you. What has he done to you?”

“Besides defy my authority, then make vile game of me in front of the entire school?” Umbridge asked, dropping her girlish manner in an instant. “Besides attempt to drive me away from the place I have sacrificed and fought to help? Oh, no, Minerva, don’t try to make him the innocent martyr here. He knew what he was doing, and he will pay for it. He is already paying, but he must pay in full. And that cannot happen here.”

She checked her watch. “My contact will not be ready for another hour, but better early than late. Warrington, I’m leaving you in charge, with Dursley as your second. I’ll modify her memory myself, just before I leave, but you’ll have to move quickly once that’s happened. Stun her, as many of you as can manage the spell, and then one of you discover her in the corridor. It will look as though her heart simply failed, not uncommon in a witch of her age, and by the time the Healers get through with her, the Memory Charm will have taken full hold.”

“Where are you taking him?” McGonagall asked sharply.

“Somewhere safe, and that is all you need to know,” Umbridge said with authority. “Even the best Memory Charm can be broken, and Dumbledore will doubtless put his best effort forth on you. If he is able to put forth effort on anything by the time you’re found.” She smiled widely. “Personally, I hope the Healers patch you up just enough so that you can join him in Azkaban. I understand those with weak hearts never last long around dementors.”

Harry whimpered, and Umbridge looked down at him, her smile becoming fond. “It hurts, does it?” she said softly. “That’s good. That means you’re learning.” Her wand, still in her hand, came up to touch the quill. “Now then, as for our leaving—no one in the Ministry would dare question me, so I may as well use the simplest method. Portus ! ”

The quill trembled in her hand and glowed blue for an instant, then was still, and Umbridge laid it on Harry’s chest. “And now,” she said, looking up at McGonagall with undisguised glee, “now to take care of you—”

The scream of a hunting cat tore the air, and the door of Umbridge’s office slammed open. A shrieking red-haired devil charged in, wand out, eyes wild, with Hermione and Draco on her heels, and Ron and Luna a step behind them.

“Get them!” Umbridge shrieked, dropping to her knees beside Harry. A flash of blue light, and they were gone. McGonagall twisted away from Warrington, shrank into her cat form, and raced around the room just in time to fall on Meghan’s shoulders, knocking her flat before Dursley’s spell could fell her—

“I think we have seen enough,” said Dumbledore. “Come with me, Miss Weasley?”

Ginny nodded wordlessly and put her hand in Dumbledore’s. A moment later, they were soaring upwards through darkness, and then they were standing in Dumbledore’s office again, having just raised their faces from the rune-carved stone Pensieve. McGonagall sat to one side, speaking quietly into Draco’s Zippophone. The Pride sat or stood behind Ginny, Hermione’s burning hot chain around everyone’s necks (Ginny had found herself unable to control her magic even enough to stretch her own chain). Their faces, as she turned to look at them, held the same vicious anger she could feel on her own.

“Can you find him, Professor?” Ron asked the question for them all.

“I believe I can.” Dumbledore turned to a shelf behind his desk and took down a golden quill and a scroll of parchment. “During the summer, while he stayed with his relatives, I gave Harry a Portkey for use in case of emergency.”

“I’ve seen it,” Ginny said. “It’s shaped like a little gold phoenix. He wears it on his pendant chain, with the locket he and Mr. Moony exchanged when they did the blood-bond.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Indeed. That talisman, besides being a Portkey, holds a charm resonant to the one in this quill. When activated, the quill will describe the location where the talisman can be found, and by derivation, the location where Harry currently is.”

He tapped the quill twice with his wand, and it rose up, hovering over the parchment, then began to write rapidly.

“Albus!” Mr. Padfoot crashed through the door of the Headmaster’s office, followed closely by Mrs. Letha, Mr. Moony, and Mrs. Danger. “What the hell is going on?”

“Exactly what I told you is going on,” McGonagall snapped, standing up. “Dolores Umbridge has overstepped her bounds beyond all belief—kidnapping a student from school grounds, placing him under a spell that amounts to torture—”

“Torture?” Mrs. Danger’s face paled.

“What is it?” Mrs. Letha demanded.

“Can we find him?” Mr. Moony asked calmly, cutting through the rest of the sounds in the room.

“I believe so,” said Dumbledore, looking down at the quill, which had stopped writing. His eyes widened. “Or perhaps not, or at least not in the way I had thought.”

“What’s wrong?” Mr. Padfoot asked, coming to the desk. “What is that thing?”

“It should have located Harry, through the Portkey talisman he wears with the pendants you created. Instead...” Dumbledore turned the parchment around so that everyone could read it.

The talisman is currently located in the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, one foot from the front right corner of the Headmaster’s desk.

Everyone’s eyes turned to Ginny, who would not have been surprised if she’d gone up in flames like a phoenix. “Me?” she said weakly. “I’m not Harry.”

“No, but...” Dumbledore looked past her. “Hermione. Why did you expand your chain to share Miss Weasley’s experience in the Pensieve, rather than letting Miss Weasley do it?”

“Ginny’s chain isn’t working for her, Professor. She can’t make it grow or pass through her neck or...” Hermione stopped, her face suddenly fearful. “Oh no.”

Ginny scrabbled at the neck of her robes, found the chain, and yanked it free.

Four pendants, a gold locket, and a tiny gold phoenix swung before thirteen appalled sets of eyes.





Facing Danger

Chapter 22: Secrets and Spells (Year 5)


Chapter 22: Secrets and Spells

Nothing made sense.

His arms and legs throbbed as though he’d been beaten, while his head pounded to a different rhythm entirely. He’d opened his eyes once, but the intensity of the light had driven them shut again, and the sounds in the room thundered meaninglessly, rumbling into his ears in overlapping cacophony. He lay on a hard, unyielding surface, or perhaps he stood with his back against it, or perhaps he was suspended against it and any second he would start to fall.

But nothing mattered anyway, so why should he care?

“Here,” a voice boomed nearby, startling him into half-coherency, “let me show you.”

Agony blossomed across his neck, and his body tightened in response. His mind tried to shudder away from understanding, but the pain drove it home mercilessly. He’d done something wrong, something so wrong that he was being punished for it, and he couldn’t even remember what it was. He knew who must be punishing him, though, for only one person held such authority over him.

“Moony, no,” he begged, half-sobbing at the fresh pain that speaking brought to his throat. “No, please, what’d I do, I didn’t mean it, don’t, don’t...”

There was no answer, only more meaningless noise, and terror and anguish broke the last of his control and tore a child’s cry from him. Only the worst crimes could merit being first punished and then abandoned. The Pack no longer wanted him, could no longer stand having him among them, and he had no idea what he had done to deserve it.

But you did, didn’t you? whispered the voice deep inside. You did something, you have to have done something, you always do something, make a mistake or act like a fool, and now you’ve finally got what you should have had all along. Nothing. Nothing at all.

He whimpered, and the sound threw him backward in time to a night long ago. He had fought a great enemy then, fought and won, but he hadn’t known it, for the fight had left him so exhausted that he had only been able to come halfway to consciousness, and his dazed mind had constructed a strange reality around him. He had thought himself a wolf cub, trapped and caged in darkness, and he had been terrified of the madness that struck a caged wolf.

But his Pack had come to him then, their scents and voices cutting through the darkness to tell him he was safe. He had slept in peace, awakened to his true self, human and healing, and all had been well.

It won’t happen this time. Why should it? the voice mocked at him. You’re worthless. They won’t come for you. They don’t want you. They’ve never wanted you.

He started to take a breath to snarl at the voice, started to turn to find it and tear it apart—

And his world shattered in a swirl of color and light and endless motion. His chest and belly were being dragged out of him. He screamed and couldn’t hear it for the echoing din all around.

“Let me go!” he thought he shouted. “Let me go! ”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a different voice began to laugh, soft cold laughter. Poor little Harry Potter, it whispered, poor little hero, all alone at last, betrayed by the ones he thought he could trust...

xXxXx

“Panic will help nothing and no one,” Dumbledore said firmly, coming around his desk to take Ginny’s pendants—no, they’re Harry’s pendants, I’m just wearing them, and a fat lot of good they’ll do him here —in his hand. “I do not know how this happened, and I do not need to know.” He gave Ginny a small smile, then let the pendants drop back to her chest, where they thumped more heavily than they should have. “We will proceed by some other route.”

“We can start by using what we know of Dolores,” McGonagall put in. “This was unbelievably audacious, even for her. She would have needed a safe escape route, somewhere she could go where she would not be questioned, no matter what or whom she brought with her, or in what condition...”

“The Ministry!” Four or five voices shouted it at once.

“Unfortunately, that narrows our search but does not ease it,” said Dumbledore, frowning. “For any of us to enter the Ministry at this time will be difficult, given my standing with the current administration—although some of us might be more able to enter it than others.” He nodded to Mr. Padfoot, who had been just about to speak. “But our access will necessarily be limited.”

“Barty Crouch was just coming in as we were leaving,” Mr. Moony said. “He could probably get to most of the areas we can’t. It would raise some questions, but if he can find Harry...”

“Let me call Headquarters now, then,” said Mrs. Letha, pulling her Zippophone from her pocket. “And I’ll ask Molly to firecall Arthur. He’s already there, he knows everyone, and if he moves quickly he might just be able to intercept Umbridge. Maybe not on her way to leave Harry wherever she’s going to put him, but on her way out again, and that would tell us where she’s been.”

Ginny felt Ron’s arms around her, then Hermione’s, and after a moment Ron’s hug widened to include them both. “They’ll find him,” Hermione whispered in Ginny’s ear. “Your dad, and our parents, and everyone else. They’ll find him.”

“And if they don’t?” Ginny asked, barely recognizing her own voice, it was so harsh with tension.

“Then we will,” said Ron, tightening his arms around them once.

Ginny shut her eyes and willed herself to believe it.

xXxXx

Winky was just coming down the basement stairs when she heard the voice in the kitchen and froze. It was her Master—

No, she corrected herself firmly, it wasn’t. Not anymore. She had a new Master and Mistress now, and a lot of little Masters and one little Mistress, and the littlest Master had ordered her not to punish herself anymore for getting clothes from her old Master. She would obey, even though her whole being cried out for her to hurt herself for being such a bad elf, because the little Master was right. Hurting herself was doing what she wanted, so not hurting herself was the worst punishment of all, and Winky was a good house-elf and always punished herself the best way she could—

“Of course, I’ll go right now,” said her Master’s voice. “I’ll find her if she’s there to be found. And Potter, of course. I’ll send a Patronus when I have something.”

The door at the bottom of the stairs swung open.

Winky froze into immobility, staring at the man who mounted the steps two at a time. She had served the Crouches too many years not to be sure of what she was seeing.

He is the Master—but not—

The man passed her by with never a second look and vanished into the hallway at the top of the stairs, and Winky drew a sobbing breath and shut her eyes.

Keep the secrets, hissed a deep part of her, old and strong and known. Keep the Master’s secrets. Always, always, always.

Mistress must know! shrilled a newer, sharper voice. You have a new family now, and they must know, you must tell them—

Keep the Master’s secrets...

He is not your Master now!

Keep the Master’s secrets...

He will put your new Masters in harm’s way if he can—

Winky opened her eyes, summoned up her courage, and popped into the kitchen.

Her Mistress had her head in the fire, but pulled it out only a moment after Winky’s arrival. “Winky, there you are, I was just about to call you. We’re going to have people through here in a few minutes, we need the documents from the green shelf in the War Room, and—” She stopped, looking at Winky’s face. “Good heavens, what’s the matter?”

Winky shuddered all over once, then lurched forward to hold onto the Mistress’ robes. “The man who was being here,” she squeaked. “The one who is being my old Master—”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t tell you he was going to be here. It’s all right, dear, he’s gone now.” The Mistress bent down to stroke Winky’s head between her ears. “You mustn’t fret, he can’t hurt you any longer—”

“No, Mistress, you is not listening!” Winky cried, her fear of what might happen to her new family overcoming her temerity. “Mistress, he is being my old Master—but he is not being the one he is looking like! ”

xXxXx

Harry stood in a dark room, staring into a bowl of water in which a man’s form could be seen, hurrying along a city street. “They think he’s likely at the Ministry,” the man said, his voice echoing out of the bowl faint but clear, “and they’ve asked me to find him if I can. I doubt it will be terribly troublesome.” A snort of amusement. “Poor Dolores. She has no idea who she’s been talking with all this time, no idea who’s going to meet her there... in any case, it should take no longer than an hour or two, my Lord. I will inform you the moment I have the boy.”

“Thank you, Christopher,” Harry said, nodding to the man on the other side of the bowl. “You may end it.”

“My Lord.” The man waved his wand once over the water, and the picture vanished.

Harry looked around at the room, at the masked faces all pointed towards him. “We should assume that there will be some resistance,” he said. “It would be best to deal with it silently, of course, but fighting may well become necessary, especially if Dumbledore has some means of locating the boy and attempting to retrieve him. However, our involvement must not be provable. Ministry employees must remain alive and unharmed at all costs.” This was directed at a certain section of the room, sternly. “They must not remember you, but any injuries must be traceable to Dumbledore’s Order. Do you all understand me?”

“Yes, my Lord,” rumbled through the room. Some of the figures in their long robes bent their heads or dipped shallow bows in his direction.

“Good.” Harry turned his head to regard the mirror on the wall, which showed his face—his paper-white, red-eyed, flat-nosed face—

He had no time to do more than stiffen in shock before he was running down a hallway, a familiar hallway—he’d been here before, or seen it, or perhaps only dreamed of it—

Dreamed, yes, that’s it, this is like the dreams I was having over the summer—

The door at the hall opened, and he was in a dark circular room—everything was spinning around him, doors blurring past, as he concentrated on his objective—

I don’t even know where I’m going, this makes no sense—

The room stopped, and he hurried through the door directly in front of him, into a room filled with ticking sounds and shining lights, to the very end and through a second door into darkness again—

If this is a dream, maybe I can get out of it somehow—

His eyes adjusted with animal quickness to show him a tall room stacked with shelves from which orbs glowed dully in the blue flames of the candles all around—he was moving again, purposeful and swift, down the shelves which he could now see were numbered—

Come on, Harry, wake up. Wake up, wake up, you’re dreaming, wake up—

He turned down the aisle between shelves ninety-six and ninety-seven, hurrying towards the end, his heart quickening in anticipation—it was here, soon he would know, know whatever he had not known fourteen years before, whatever had caused his ignominious defeat—

Fourteen years? But I was just a baby then—and I didn’t lose—

He stopped dead, his eyes narrowing, head turning as he searched the darkness around him. “Potter,” he hissed, a smile stretching his lips. “Come out, come out, wherever you are...”

Harry’s eyes flew open and shut again just as quickly. He was in his own body again, but still nothing made sense, everything hurt and the light was too bright and the noise was too loud and he couldn’t move without feeling as though he was on a ship in the middle of a storm—

So things made sense while I was dreaming, but not now. He swallowed, trying to counteract the pain in his throat, but the movement only made it worse.

I wish I could shape dreams like Draco or Hermione or Danger can. Then I could get into a dream and things would make sense again. But then Voldemort might be there—how did I get in his head again, anyway? The blood-bond should have stopped it.

Fear shuddered through him. Maybe Moony ended it, because he thinks I ought to be able to block Voldemort out myself by now. Or because he doesn’t think I’m worth it anymore. Maybe I’m not. Maybe I should just give up and let whatever’s happening happen...

He started to let go, forcing himself to release his grip on rational thought, but then two simultaneous feelings flooded him—outrage, from the Wolf-part of his brain, and smug satisfaction, from—

Merlin’s boots—

Harry dived into the outrage, hiding himself under its surface, and felt the satisfaction fade away into the distance.

He was still here. Voldemort. Spying on me. He knows something’s wrong with me, he knows I wanted to give up—I don’t know if he knows I didn’t actually do it, but he might—

He almost growled, but stopped at the last second. I don’t know what’s going on, and I won’t as long as I can’t think straight!

Wolf’s outrage began to fade, but the clarity of thought it had brought to Harry’s mind lingered for a moment. There’s something I could do, I think, to get away from this. Something that’s like dreaming, but different. It might help me if I can just think of what it is, or at least how to do it...

Words came to him, and he shaped them with his lips, afraid to speak aloud for fear he’d deafen himself.

“Ride a winged horse to Banbury Cross, to see a fine lady upon a white horse...”

xXxXx

Ginny sat huddled in the middle of the Pride, unable to think of anything except the one person who wasn’t there, the one person who should have been.

You won’t be able to help him, her doubts whispered. You’re no alpha, you’re just a silly little girl who thinks she can be—you have to be able to keep up with him if you want to be the alpha, and you’re not and you never will be—this is even really your fault, if you’d bothered to see whose pendants you were taking, this never would have happened—

“Shut up,” Ginny muttered, her hand clutched around Harry’s pendants. “Leave me alone.”

Trying to distract herself, she looked around the room. Dumbledore and McGonagall and the four adults of the Pack were off to one side talking quietly and urgently; the portraits on the walls were murmuring to one another, those who weren’t trying to eavesdrop on the conversation; Fawkes sat on his perch, fixing Ginny with a beady eye—

The Chamber of Secrets exploded into Ginny’s mind. “Professor!” she cried, jumping up. “Could Fawkes find Harry?”

“Perhaps,” Dumbledore said, turning to face her. “He has done so before. But Harry would have to call for him, or for some form of help. And even if he did, Fawkes cannot protect him from the spells placed on him. Nor from Voldemort’s intrusions into his mind.”

“But Fawkes could take him these.” Ginny lifted the pendants, jingling them together. “We’d know where he is, then, and he’d be safe from Voldemort—and we could help him with Pride magic, with one of the jewels—” She stopped. “Why don’t we just find him with a red one, like we did back when Malfoy kidnapped him and Hermione and Draco? Wouldn’t that work?”

“It might,” Mr. Moony said, meeting her eyes. “But the Ministry’s been under higher security lately, including a limited Unplottable Charm. We’re afraid that might throw off any attempt to find Harry with the jewels, unless we were at the Ministry itself...”

“And we can’t go there,” Ginny finished, slumping. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Mrs. Danger moved through the crowd quickly to catch Ginny’s shoulders. “Don’t you dare be sorry for thinking! Or for trying to help, either, young lady!” She shook Ginny gently, then pulled her into a hug. “I think you have one of the better ideas we’ve heard so far. Especially in light of what else we’ve just found out...” She glanced at Dumbledore. “It’s not likely to be a secret much longer, is it?” she asked. “Not if everything works out the way we think it will.”

“And they should know,” Mrs. Letha added. “If they know the prophecy, they can know about this.”

“Indeed.” Dumbledore motioned for the Pride to stand up from the floor where they’d been sitting together, then waved his wand in a circle, conjuring chairs for everyone. “And when Harry is returned to us, there will be more to tell, but for now let us remain with the puissant facts of the situation.” He beckoned Ginny to him. “If you will give me Harry’s pendants, I will give them to Fawkes. It is entirely possible that Harry will think to call him, or do so inadvertently, and we must be ready.”

Ginny nodded and pulled off Harry’s pendants, brushing them past her lips as she did.

I love you, Harry Potter, she thought fiercely as she watched the phoenix take the gold chain in his beak. And I refuse to lose you to something this stupid.

“Now,” Dumbledore said gravely when Ginny had taken her seat, “to the matter of Lord Voldemort’s spy in the Order of the Phoenix...”

A loud crack startled everyone. Ginny whirled to see what was happening—you couldn’t Apparate at Hogwarts, but it had certainly sounded like an Apparition—

“Mum?” Ron said in surprise. “Winky ? ”

xXxXx

Harry pulled his shimmering silver leg free of his body and sighed in utter relief as the last of the bizarre pain vanished. “Much better,” he said aloud, standing up. “Wonder what hit me?” He looked around. “Or where I am, for that matter.”

But why should I care? I can’t do anything about it, and even if I could, it wouldn’t work, I can’t do anything right—

Harry stopped, frowning. “That’s not true,” he said aloud. “Look what I just did.”

Stupid, kid stuff, anybody could have done it. Why even bother? I’ll only get caught again, and Umbridge’ll be even madder at me for fighting back—I should have given up when I had the chance—

Quick as thought, Harry shifted, his intangible body completing his Animagus transformation even faster than his human form could do it. Help me, he said silently to Wolf, and threw himself into the mindset of the form.

Wolf pawed the ground, his nose twitching. Giving up was an alien idea to him, as was lack of confidence in skills long since proven. He was a hunter, a fighter, strong and courageous, and he had fallen only against far superior numbers and strength. There was nothing wrong with that.

Yes, there is, yammered what he could now clearly perceive was a different voice, a completely separate entity from himself. You’re never supposed to fail, not ever, if you fail even once, that makes you a failure—you’ll never recover, you might as well be dead, why don’t you just lie down and play dead like a good little doggy—

Wolf snarled, whipped his head around, and sank his teeth into—something . It glowed a nasty green, it had four sucker-covered legs and four arms tipped with sharp stingers, and it had been clinging to his back and pumping poison into him without his even realizing it—

No more!

With a fierce crunch of teeth, Wolf broke the thing ’s back, then shook it until it stopped moving. He flung it away, watched it hit the far wall and slide down to lie broken on the floor, and howled in triumph. My kill! My kill, fair and true!

Harry slid back into control, Wolf’s triumph still suffusing him. He howled once more for the sheer joy of it, then trotted over to examine what he’d killed more closely. A small sniff sent him recoiling in disgust. Umbridge !

But wait—this isn’t her, and she couldn’t make a creature to follow me when I go walking when she doesn’t even know I do it—so what is this thing?

He looked back at his human body and stared. Thousands of blood-red worms covered it, swarming over every inch of skin and clothing.

What—are—those?

He approached his body cautiously, sniffed, and sneezed, backing up a few steps. Umbridge again. Worse than the other one, even. Probably because it’s still live—

Live. Not alive, but live. Why did I say that?

Slowly, he stood up on two feet, looking back and forth between the sprawled creature and the red worms. “They’re not anything alive at all,” he said, thinking aloud. “They’re made of magic. So am I, when I’m walking, so I can see them and affect them then. But if I was still in my body, I wouldn’t be able to see them—”

No, but I’d feel them. I’d feel what they’re doing to me. And if they’re made of magic, and they’re doing things to me, that makes them—

“Spells.” Harry reached down and picked one of the worms off his body. It squeaked and tried to escape, but he dropped it to the floor and stepped on it hard. “She had me under spells—has me,” he corrected, looking at the worms still coating him. “I should get them off...”

But I have to find out what’s going on. Every minute counts. Once I know where I am and how to get out, I can come back, get rid of the spell, and get out.

He turned away, shook himself once all over like Wolf shedding water, and went to work.

The room around him was easily summed up—white and featureless, with a light in the ceiling and a door shut and probably locked. That was no bar to Harry when he was out ‘walking’, though. If it was intended to be gone through, he could go through it, and promptly did.

“So Umbridge had me under a couple of nasty spells,” he mused as he walked down the hall, noting its lack of windows and the low ceiling. “I suppose that’s her idea of fun.”

A stray wisp of memory teased his mind. Something someone had said after the Tournament, something about what Fudge could or couldn’t do...

Harry shook his head and kept walking. It would come in its own time.

The first three rooms he peered into had nothing in them, only the same blank walls and floor as his own, with a light on the ceiling. The fourth, though, had a bored-looking young witch sitting in it, a bowl of water on the table in front of her.

“...what she thinks is going to happen,” she was muttering as Harry poked his head through the door. “He’s just lying there, has been for a while, he’s not even talking anymore, not that I could hear him when he was... and ‘be ready to fight’, she says. Fight what? He doesn’t have a wand, I should know, I have it right there...” A jerk of her head indicated a side table, where, sure enough, Harry’s wand lay. “He can’t get out of that room, and it’s not like anyone knows he’s here...”

The witch shook her head irritably. “What do I care, though, she’s willing to pay overtime.” She Summoned her bag with an idle flip of her wand and started digging inside it, eventually pulling out a copy of Witch Weekly . “I hope they’ve got a new Valentina Jett, it’s been ages...”

Harry snickered and pulled his head back out. “He’s just lying there”? I bet that’s me. Or my body, anyway. The rest of me is most definitely not... and you’re going to find that out the hard way pretty soon, aren’t you?

“‘What she thinks is going to happen,’” he repeated aloud as he kept walking. “That’s got to be Umbridge. Wherever this is, it’s all about her, she’s the one in charge—”

He stopped. Then he started running, flat out.

There was one place besides Hogwarts where Umbridge was very definitely in charge of things.

xXxXx

“This,” said Dumbledore slowly, “makes sense of a great deal.” He laid a hand on Winky’s shoulder. “Winky, I thank you for telling us this. It may save lives.”

The house-elf nodded, trembling.

Dumbledore looked up at Mrs. Weasley. “Molly, does Arthur know about this?”

“I sent him a Patronus, but I don’t know how soon it will reach him,” Mrs. Weasley said, pale but unshaken. “I had to be careful what I said, as well. What if it got to him while he was talking to the man? I finally just told him not to trust anyone, and to go back to Headquarters as soon as he got the message—I know that’s left us without anyone we can trust looking for Harry, but I couldn’t—”

“Of course not,” Sirius said, cutting her off. “It’s not worth risking Arthur’s life to find Harry a few minutes sooner.”

“But that still leaves us with the question of how we are going to find him,” Danger said. “What if he’s not at the Ministry at all?”

Dumbledore smiled faintly. “That, I can assist with. Observe.” He drew a second quill from his desk, almost identical to the one that had written down Ginny’s location, and set it on a fresh piece of parchment. “I am a firm believer in keeping one’s friends close and one’s enemies closer. To that end, I presented a certain friend of mine with a small pin in the shape of a phoenix, and he, to needle Cornelius, has worn it constantly for the past five months.”

A tap of his wand, and the quill began to write.

The talisman is currently located at the Ministry of Magic, in one of the research areas of the Department of Mysteries.

xXxXx

Harry slowed down as he heard voices coming from a room near the end of the hall he was running in. That’s Umbridge... and I know I’ve heard the man before, but I can’t place the voice...

“...fact remains that he is under my jurisdiction,” Umbridge was saying as Harry came to a halt outside the door. “He is neither coherent nor safe to allow around others, therefore he is clearly the responsibility of the Ministry.”

Harry froze, the wisp of memory from earlier coming into full clarity. That’s right, Moony told me last year—if I were mad, dangerous to other people, the Ministry could take me away—of course, that’s what Umbridge was trying to do, she wanted it to look as if I’d lost my mind, so she could justify locking me up forever!

“What if he were to have a sudden episode of uncontrolled magic in front of Muggles?” Umbridge went on. “Or even his fellow students at Hogwarts, who are not fully trained in magic and would be unable to defend themselves?”

Unable to defend themselves... now whose fault is that, I wonder? Harry snorted.

“Under the law,” Umbridge wound up, “it is very clearly the duty of the Ministry of Magic to keep him under control until such time as his malady can be successfully treated.”

“I’m not arguing that,” said the man’s voice, sounding rather weary. “I’m only saying that since I arranged for this area to be cleared for you tonight, so that Dumbledore’s people wouldn’t notice how much you were getting up to, perhaps I’m due a bit of consideration. All I want is to see him—is that really too much to ask?”

“You have no conception of the abilities this seemingly innocent boy is hiding,” Umbridge said shrilly. “He bit me while I was attempting to subdue him, and his teeth are far sharper than can be explained by nature alone! Look, just look at it!”

Harry winced. I must have partially transformed... damn it, if she figures out I’m an Animagus...

“Yes, that does look nasty,” the man agreed dryly. “You can Stun him or put him in the Body-Bind, whatever you like, Dolores. But I will see him.” A pause. “Whether you want me to or not.”

Why am I standing out here? They can’t see me. Harry snorted at his own forgetfulness and walked through the half-open door into the room.

“Are you threatening me, Bartemius?” Umbridge demanded, drawing herself up to her full height. “Do not forget who I am!”

“I haven’t forgotten who you are,” Mr. Crouch said wearily, looking down at her with a clear expression of disgust. “You’re a fool who’s attached herself to another fool, and I don’t know how he can stand your toadying, unless he actually believes everything you say about him, which would make him a bigger fool even than I thought he was.”

Umbridge sputtered in indignation. “I—you—how—”

“But I do owe you a debt of gratitude,” Crouch went on, ignoring the sounds Umbridge was making. “You’ve made a great deal possible for me, and I just wanted to say—”

A door at the other side of the room opened. “Barty?” Mr. Weasley poked his head inside. “Yes, I thought I heard you in here. And—” He eyed Umbridge with distaste, then nodded a jerky greeting to her.

“Here to help with the business, Arthur?” Crouch asked, waving Mr. Weasley into the room. “You know what I mean.” His right hand rose to his hair, smoothing it back, then quickly traced a jagged line down his forehead before dropping idly to his left sleeve.

Harry grinned, one hand going to his own forehead to touch his scar. I knew they’d find me. Dumbledore doesn’t leave his own behind...

xXxXx

Fawkes suddenly sat up and warbled a brief series of notes.

“Excellent.” Dumbledore smiled widely, his eyes acquiring their famous twinkle. “Do us that favor, old friend, if you would...”

In a flash of fire, the phoenix was gone.

“Harry called for him,” said Meghan. “Didn’t he?”

“Or something which had the same effect,” Dumbledore said with a nod. “Whatever it was, it will bring Fawkes to him, and with Fawkes will go the pendants...”

“And with the pendants, goes the locator,” Aletha finished. “And then we’ll know exactly where to go to get our little Wolf.”

“Not so little anymore,” Danger said softly.

“No. He’s not.” Aletha sighed. “As much as we might like him to be.” One hand rested on her belly. “That’s why I’m looking forward to this one so much. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to have a child who stays where you put him...”

“Doesn’t last,” Sirius said. “Not for long, anyway.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Are you sure you should be here, Letha?” Remus asked.

Aletha rolled her eyes. “Remus, I’m pregnant, not ill. Besides, do you really think we’ll be fighting anyone tonight?”

xXxXx

Harry gasped as his scar lanced with pain—

Wait, why do I feel it? I don’t feel anything Umbridge’s spell is doing to me, why do I feel this?

A rush of excitement, anticipation, gloating—

Is this some other spell? She can’t have put anything on me, she doesn’t know I’m here—

He twisted, looking around, but he could see nothing different about his soul-self.

Maybe it’s my body, something’s wrong, I have to get back—

He took off running, leaving Crouch and Mr. Weasley to deal with Umbridge.

Come to think of it, all I need to do is break the spell on my body, then get out of the room and down to where they are, they ought to have taken care of her by the time I get there, it’s two to one and she thinks Crouch is on her side for some reason—

Harry darted through the fifth door on the right and stopped dead.

“Fawkes,” he breathed, staring at the phoenix, which was perched above his body’s head, crooning. Thick tears dripped from beady black eyes, falling onto Harry’s face, and the red worms all over him were fading into nothingness—

The spell, it’s gone, I can go back in!

Harry laughed out loud and leapt into his body, closing his eyes to savor the feeling of sinking into comforting warmth. Fingers were here , hands were here , arms were here —toes and feet and legs were there —other things were all where they should be, and although everything was sore, nothing hurt —

He opened his eyes and smiled up at Fawkes. “Thanks,” he said a bit hoarsely. “Thanks a lot.”

The phoenix warbled for a moment, then bent his head and plucked something out of his feathers. A chain, Harry realized, a gold chain like the Pack and Pride wore—and on it there were—

“Pendants?” He blinked as a tiny locket came into view. “Wait a second—those are mine! Then whose—”

He pulled free the set he was wearing and looked at them. Battery and muffin tin—that’s Mr. and Mrs. Weasley—

His palm struck his forehead with an audible thump. Of course. Ginny. We were sharing, and then we took them off, but we never bothered to make sure we had the right ones...

Quickly, he removed the chain he was wearing, then tugged on the one around Fawkes’ neck. The phoenix made a chuckling sound as the metal slid through his feathers and flesh without harming him, and Harry chuckled with him. “Somehow I didn’t think that would bother you too much.”

His pendants went over his head and settled into place against his breastbone, and Harry drew a long breath and let it out slowly. “Better,” he said. “Much better.”

Exactly one second later, the metal went hot against his skin.

Of course. They’re all scared to death for me. I wish I had a way to tell them I was all right—

Wait, I do!

“Can you take these back to Ginny for me?” he asked Fawkes, holding out the other set of pendants. “And let them all know you’ve seen me, and I’m OK?”

Fawkes took the pendants delicately in his beak, bobbed his head, and spread his wings. Harry dodged the wingspread. He’s bigger than he looks—of course, he’d have to be, to handle all the magic he’s got...

The phoenix took off, circled the room once, and vanished in a spurt of flames.

There. Message sent. Now to get out of here...

Harry went to the door, put his hands on it, and focused his will on the lock. Melt.

A few seconds later, he pushed it open easily and stepped into the corridor, avoiding the puddle of hot metal on the floor. Maybe it won’t hurt me, but if it dries on my shoe, it’ll make a lot of noise. Now, to get my wand back...

xXxXx

Valerie Marks turned a page in her Witch Weekly , yawning. This whole thing’s gone downhill since Valentina Jett stopped writing for them. Maybe I should try sending her a letter, asking if she’ll ever do another serial story...

Suddenly, there was a hand over her mouth, and another one at her throat, something very sharp pricking her skin. “You didn’t search me very well, did you?” whispered a voice in her ear. “Or did you just not think I was going to be able to use it?”

Valerie whimpered, the magazine falling from her nerveless hands. Oh God I wasn’t watching he got out and now he’s going to kill me I don’t want to die I don’t want to die—

“Stand up,” the voice went on, deathly quiet. “Slowly.”

She complied, though her knees were shaking so badly she could barely support her own weight.

“Good.” Her captor pulled her against him with the hand still over her mouth and the elbow of the one holding the knife at her throat. “Now walk over here with me.”

Step by step, in awkward unison, they moved, until Valerie found herself in a corner facing the wall.

“Don’t make a sound.” The hand covering her mouth moved away. Valerie gulped but didn’t scream.

“Very good.” The voice sounded amused. “Tell me where we are.”

“Th-th-the Ministry of Magic,” Valerie stammered. “The D-department of Mysteries. Please don’t kill me, I was just doing what she said, I didn’t know—”

“Shut up.” The voice had turned deadly cold. “Put your hands over your ears and leave them there until I tell you to take them away.”

Valerie slowly lifted her hands and pressed them against the sides of her head. The knife at her throat slid away, and she was alone. A few seconds in which all she could hear was the frantic beating of her own heart, and then an instant’s flash of red light behind her—

And then nothing at all.

xXxXx

“That was easy,” Harry said aloud, stowing his wand inside his robes. “Now I just need a lift home...”

His easy jog took him out of the room where the witch lay unconscious, quickly down the hallway, and almost to the room where he’d seen Umbridge, Crouch, and Mr. Weasley before he realized he could hear voices from within. Cautiously, he peered around the door.

“...can understand why you did it,” Mr. Weasley was saying, looking from Umbridge’s crumpled form on the floor to Crouch, who had his wand out, “but now she can’t tell us where Harry is, and this department is confusing enough when you know what you’re after. He could be anywhere—”

A silver bird, small and plump, shot through the wall and landed in front of Mr. Weasley. “Arthur, ” it said urgently in Mrs. Weasley’s voice. “Trust no one, no one at all—come home immediately— ”

“What in—” Mr. Weasley stared at the bird as it vanished. “That was Molly’s Patronus—what does she mean, ‘trust no one’?”

“She means that her message got here just a moment too late,” said Crouch, and suddenly his wand was pointing at Mr. Weasley. “I’m sorry about this, Arthur, but you’ve brought it on yourself, really. Avada — ”

Harry slammed the door open. “Expelliarmus ! ” he shouted, his wand aimed at Crouch.

Crouch twisted aside, avoiding Harry’s spell but sending his bolt of green harmlessly into the wall, then shot again at Mr. Weasley. “Dissupo ! ”

Mr. Weasley tried to dodge, but the spell caught him across the chest in a flash of purple, and he collapsed to the floor bonelessly. Harry yelled angrily and fired a Stunner at Crouch, who threw up a Shield Charm and dashed from the room. “You’ll never leave here alive, Potter!” his voice trailed behind him. “The Dark Lord is on his way, and all his servants with him...”

Harry snarled once, then dropped down beside Mr. Weasley and put his fingers to the older wizard’s neck. A pulse beat there, faint but present, and Harry sighed in relief.

Then he got to his feet, gripping his wand more tightly.

He might be alone, he might have been under Umbridge’s spells until just a few moments ago, but if Voldemort wanted him, Voldemort was going to have to fight for him.

And I won’t be alone for long.

One hand on his pendants, the other holding his wand rock-steady, Harry Potter moved out into the Department of Mysteries.





Facing Danger

Chapter 23: A Guess and A Gateway (Year 5)


Whoops and cheers rang out through Dumbledore’s office as Fawkes reappeared, gold shining in his beak. Ginny held up her hands joyously. “Here, Fawkes!” she called out. “Right here!”

Fawkes dropped Ginny’s pendants into her hands, circled the office once, and landed on his perch, where he began to preen a wing smugly. Ginny looped the pendants’ chain around her neck and slid them under her robes, a silent sigh of relief escaping her.

Ron frowned, looking up at Fawkes. “Why didn’t he just bring Harry back with him?” he asked. “If he can travel through fire instantly and all?”

Mrs. Danger, on the other side of the room, paled slightly.

“Fawkes did not offer,” Dumbledore said gravely, tapping the magical quill with his wand to start it seeking Harry’s talisman. “For good reason. The place through which phoenixes travel instantaneously is... unfriendly to the human mind. I can handle it, since Fawkes allows me a close connection with his mind as a shield, but Harry could not.”

“Understood,” said Mr. Padfoot. “But it still leaves out what I’ve been wondering.” He turned to look at Mrs. Danger. “Why haven’t you done something? Gone off in a dream and made a deal?”

“I asked,” Mrs. Danger said, so quietly that Ginny could barely hear her. “I could have done it. But we would have paid a price. Too high a price.”

“Too high a price? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I wasn’t willing to trade one life for another!” Mrs. Danger shouted. “That I couldn’t save Harry and let Arthur die!”

Ginny’s pendants flared hot for half an instant with Ron’s astonished fear. She was sure her own shock had set off everyone else’s. Dad? He would have died?

“He might still die if we don’t get there soon, I don’t know, but that was the price I was told for saving Harry. At least, saving him this way. There were others... other prices, other deaths...” Mrs. Danger shook her head, clasping Mr. Moony’s hand tightly. “I did what I thought was right.”

“Then you did the only thing you could have done,” said Dumbledore. “And we have our answer.” He held out the scroll on which the quill had written to Mrs. Letha, who snatched it quickly and read it.

“The Department of Mysteries,” she said. “He is at the Ministry, and so is Crouch, which means Voldemort—we have to get to him—”

“I will rouse the Order and follow you,” Dumbledore said as the four Pack-adults hurried to the door, Professor McGonagall behind them. “After attending to one other piece of business. Do try to leave a bit of the fight for me...”

The Pride buried snickers in their sleeves or other people’s shoulders.

Dumbledore closed the door of his office and turned to face them. “I must ask you now the hardest thing any teacher can ask of his students,” he said. “Or any commander of his soldiers. Obedience, for a little while, without question or protest.”

As if by magic, the Pride drew back, leaving Ginny at the fore. Her stomach quailed, but she forced herself to stand straight, feeling Ron at one shoulder and Hermione at the other. “Yes, sir,” she said simply.

“The command is this. Stay here, and do not attempt to become involved in this battle in any way. Even to the point of sending Harry strength, as you did last year.”

Ginny almost opened her mouth to shout indignantly, but she had given her word and the Pride’s, and her lips closed over the words unspoken.

“May we ask why, sir?” Hermione said beside her. “Or is there no time?”

“There is time enough for this.” Dumbledore looked weary, weary and old, but his words were firm. “I believe that Harry will face Lord Voldemort directly tonight, and he must know that he can do so on his own and survive. You will be with him as you always are, through your passive connection—I am no such fool as to try to deny you that—but you must not be active within his mind, or you may undermine his confidence and betray yourselves to Voldemort.”

“V-Voldemort knows about me,” Ron said, getting the name out with only a slight tremor. “He knows I was with Harry last time. I don’t think he knows about anyone else. I was trying to block him.”

“He may think that it was a freak accident, caused by the stress of the moment, then, not something you can invoke at will.” Dumbledore smiled, and his eyes showed a faint flicker of their usual twinkle. “I would prefer to keep you as a secret weapon until you are truly needed, you understand. And tonight I do not think you will be needed. But in times to come, you will be, more than you can imagine.”

“I don’t know,” Draco murmured. “I can imagine a lot.”

The Headmaster’s eyes twinkled brighter. “To your haven, then,” he said, waving a hand towards the fireplace. “Harry will join you there as soon as he may. And I believe I can say with some certainty that this is the last time you will be left behind.”

Indrawn breaths behind Ginny echoed her own mingled joy and fear. I don’t want to be the damsel in distress who faints if a spell comes at her—but I don’t know if I’m ready to fight yet, either...

But that’s why I don’t have to fight tonight. I’ll fight when it’s time. And then I will be ready.

“Go,” Dumbledore urged, holding up his arm. “The sooner you are safe, the sooner I can take word to Harry that it is the case.”

Ginny flapped a hand behind her, but she knew it wasn’t needed. Neville was already opening the panel, and she could hear the Pride lining up, getting ready to slide down into the Den. She just had one more question.

“Professor?”

“Yes?” Dumbledore looked away from Fawkes, who had alighted gently on a blue-clad wrist, to meet Ginny’s eyes.

“Can we tell the rest of the... some people we know about this?” Ginny forced her flush down and prayed Dumbledore wouldn’t notice her lapse. Of course, he would, but she could hope he wouldn’t say anything, at least not out loud...

“Rumors will already have spread,” Dumbledore mused, to himself more than to Ginny. “Yes, Miss Weasley, tell them what you know. Bear in mind, though, that if they have accepted your command, they have also accepted mine. And my orders stand. No student leaves this castle tonight.”

“Yes, sir.” Ginny gave a quick nod of her head, then spun and headed for the Den entrance, her mind buzzing. Harry had the Galleon that was the key for the DA’s Protean-Charmed talismans, but Hermione had set that charm in the first place, and Ginny had watched her do it. It wouldn’t be hard for either of them to substitute another of the Galleons for the original key.

Not hard at all.

And if this is our last night on noncombatant status... we should spend it planning.

By the time her head broke the surface of the water in the Den’s bathtub, Ginny was already planning some of what she would say to the DA when they arrived in the Room of Requirement.

Especially if Dumbledore meant what I think he did when he said what Harry’s going to have to do tonight...

xXxXx

Harry found a dark spot in the corner of a room full of planets to get his back to the wall and think. Crouch obviously isn’t on our side anymore—maybe he never was. He said Voldemort and the Death Eaters were on their way here. That fits with what I saw in that vision. But there was a second vision that went with the first one, a vision about looking for something, something Voldemort wants...

He drew his wand, pushed himself away from the wall, and drifted across to the door. The apparent lack of gravity in here had startled him at first, as well as unsettling his stomach, but it was no worse than being in a steep dive on a broom. Besides, if anyone came in here after him, he’d know about it.

Probably from the sound of them losing their lunch.

Harry stepped through the door and staggered a bit as his weight fell on him again, but he recovered quickly and closed the door behind him. Then he looked around.

This is getting scary.

The room around him was the exact twin of the one in the vision he’d shared with Voldemort. Twelve knobless doors, one of which he’d just entered by, lined the round black walls; branches of black candles burning with a blue flame stuck out between each door. The floor was black marble, polished to such a sheen that Harry could see his own reflection, as though he stood on top of a vast black lake stretching eternally below him.

In the dream, I just opened a door, and it was the right one...

He lifted a foot to step forward, then stopped, a voice from a story rising to the surface of his mind. “Aren’t we going to mark this pool?”

Thank you, C.S. Lewis...

Harry pointed a finger at the door he’d come in through and drew an X in the air. A fiery mark appeared on the door in response, its orange light rippling strangely in the blue of the room. “That should do it,” he said aloud. “Now to try the others...”

He strode across the room, intending to try the door directly across from him, but got only a few steps before a rumbling noise made him stop.

The wall was spinning.

Harry dropped his gaze immediately to his feet, half-closing his eyes. If he watched the flames go by, they’d burn into his vision and he’d be blind for precious moments he couldn’t afford. Not if there were Death Eaters coming after him, to secure whatever it was Voldemort wanted from this place.

The wall grated to a stop, and Harry looked up. His cross still burned on the door he’d entered the room by, but now it was to his right rather than behind him. He reoriented himself, hurried across to the door he’d meant to try, put his left hand on the place where a knob would have been, and pushed. The door swung open easily, and he brought his wand to bear—

Against an empty room. There was nothing here, Harry saw as his eyes adjusted to the brighter light within, but clocks and cabinets. Ticking clocks, cabinets filled with shining objects—

Wait—I think this is it!

He was inside the room and three paces back before he caught himself with a mental hand on the scruff of his neck. Steady on, Harry. Should you really be trying to get whatever this is that Voldemort wants so badly? You know he wants you—why give him extra incentive?

His Wolf-side bared teeth in a grin. Because if I get there first, he doesn’t get it. Or rather, he only gets it over my dead body.

Which is also something he wants...

Harry shrugged and kept moving. I know he can’t get into my mind now that I have my own pendants again. And I haven’t seen or smelled anyone else around here yet. If I get to this thing fast enough, as long as I don’t make a mess getting it, they’ll have no way of knowing I took it and it isn’t just out for cleaning or some such.

A cabinet filled with hourglasses, a bell jar with a sparkling wind inside—he paused to watch the hummingbird within the jar hatch at the bottom, rise to the top on the current of the wind, then sink on the other side as the shell closed around it again—and he was through the second door, into a room once more dark. He shut his eyes, counted a slow ten, and opened them.

It’s huge.

The thought came unbidden to Harry’s mind as he stared around at the vast, shelf-filled stone room. He had never felt so small or so insignificant, and wished with all his heart that he weren’t alone.

In one way, at least, I’m not. His hand went to the pendants, and they seemed to grow a bit hotter as he touched them, a subtle reassurance that his Pride was thinking of him.

Or I’m imagining things. Whichever.

Harry brought his wand to half-ready, sharpened his eyes and ears and nose, and stepped out into the aisle between the sets of shelves, glancing around to get his bearings.

If this is number fifty-three, I need to go up to get to ninety-seven. And up is to the right. Off we go...

xXxXx

Maybe we should have gone straight from Dumbledore’s office, Danger said as she spun through the Floo connection. He’s hooked up to the Floo, isn’t he?

Yes—but it’s being monitored, remember? The only way we could be sure we’d get out of the school without being seen was to go through Umbridge’s office. Be fair, love, it didn’t add more than two minutes to our travel time. Not even with the side trip to tell Alice what’s going on.

Danger sighed. You’re right. As usual. I just wish...

Wish what?

I wish I knew what we were going to find.

As for that...

Remus broke off, and a moment later Danger felt her own spinning begin to abate. She lunged forward with one foot, threw out her hands to either side, and skidded out of a fireplace into the Ministry Atrium, looking for all the world like a soot-covered statue.

“Hachooo ! ”

“Bless you,” said Sirius, making a slightly more graceful exit from the fireplace opposite hers, then turning quickly to the one beside him to catch Aletha.

“Thanks.” Danger pulled out a handkerchief, wiped her face with one side, then blew her nose on the other. “What were you saying, love?” she asked Remus, who had arrived a second or two before she had.

“That I think I know what we’ll find here.” Remus set off towards the guard’s desk, deserted now after working hours.

“Do tell,” said Aletha, shaking soot out of her hair as she followed.

“In order of probability, least to greatest: Death Eaters, Ministry officials, and Harry. On his way out.” Remus hit the button to summon the lift.

“Why’re Death Eaters at the bottom of the list?” asked Sirius.

“Wishful thinking.”

Sirius brushed a streak of ash off his robes. “I had to ask.”

xXxXx

Ninety-six, ninety-seven. Here we are.

Harry turned down the aisle and walked slowly along, peering at the orbs that lined the shelves. Some of them glowed from within while others were dull, reflecting the blue light of the candles all around. All had yellowed labels underneath them, with names or initials and dates written on them.

There’s a pattern. The date is first, then a name or initials, then “to”, then another name or initials. And under that... it’s not constant, but it’s usually a name or a couple of names. Sometimes it’s a place, or another date, and sometimes just a question mark...

A tiny sound from behind him froze him in place. A brushing, whisking sound, like the hem of a robe sliding past a wooden door...

There isn’t supposed to be anyone else here...

Harry continued walking. His eyes were still tracing absently along the labels, but all his attention was on what his nose and ears could tell him. Human scents, human movements, in the room with him, and getting closer...

Suddenly he stopped and backed up two paces.

What did that label just say?

He hadn’t been making it up. It was his own name, inscribed dully on a slip of parchment stuck to the edge of a shelf. The date at the top of the label was that of the year before he’d been born, and the writing underneath corresponded to the form he’d already seen:

S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D.

Dark Lord

and (?) Harry Potter

Harry stretched out his hand and laid it gently on the orb above the label. It glowed as brightly, and felt as warm, as if he had filled it with fire, but the light inside was distinctly silver.

Silver like a Patronus. Or a memory.

Something to do with Voldemort and me, the year before I was born. Only they weren’t sure it was me. And it came from someone whose last name starts with T, and went to someone with three middle names...

His mind, clearer than usual thanks to the healing tears with which Fawkes had banished Umbridge’s spell, slid the pieces together for him, and Harry knew what he had in his hand.

I can’t leave it here. Voldemort obviously knows where it is. If he gets hold of it...

Fast as thought, the orb was down from its shelf and tucked inside his robes, dust and all. Harry pinched his nose against the urge to sneeze and listened with all his might. As long as the Death Eaters didn’t yet have him boxed in, he could sneak out of here, get back to the Ministry proper, and from there into Muggle London—they wouldn’t have a prayer of finding him there, especially not if he hid as Wolf, and he could get to Diagon Alley, or even to Grimmauld Place...

Yes. Perfect. The slow and shuffling footsteps, which would have been inaudible to anyone without Harry’s advantage, were coming only from one side of him as yet. There were a few trying to work their way around to the other side, but if he moved fast—

Action suited to thought, and Harry darted lightfoot out one end of the aisle. Past two rows of shelves, three, four, five, and duck back in—

Don’t think they saw me... wish I had the Cloak, but speed and black robes will have to do for now... wish I could blacken my face, they’re most likely to see that...

A whimsical thought struck him, and he reached inside his robes and scraped some of the dust off the orb. Holding the pile of gray in the palm of his left hand, he pointed his wand at it.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,

Turn into ashes, I say you must! ”

The pile of dust turned black.

Huh. I didn’t actually think that would work...

Not arguing with good luck. Harry put his wand between his teeth and hastily smeared the ashes on his face. It probably looked horrific, but it would keep his skin from showing up quite so clearly in the strange blue light of the Department of Mysteries.

And then, from five rows away, voices began to speak.

“I don’t understand. Where is he?”

“The Dark Lord said he would be here.”

“The Dark Lord is never wrong.”

“The Dark Lord said he might be here,” a voice corrected. “If the boy could somehow escape his captivity.”

Harry bit his tongue. He knew that voice, though he’d only heard it a few times and it now held a permanent hoarse rasp to it. Glad Draco isn’t here... we’d have to hold him back, and the noise would have blown our position...

Loud footsteps slapped the ground, and Harry froze in place. The man running past the end of the aisle never glanced his way at all. “Yes,” a second familiar voice panted out. “Escaped—yes...”

“You don’t look quite yourself, Bartemius,” said a woman’s rough voice mockingly. “I didn’t realize a soft life as a spy was so harrowing...”

“Shut up, Bellatrix,” snapped Crouch. “Potter has escaped, he stopped me killing Arthur Weasley. I’ve been trying to find him, but this place is a labyrinth, there’s no telling where he is—”

“Is there not?” said Lucius Malfoy. “Look at the shelf, Bartemius.”

Harry took a deep breath, held it, and began to move towards the aisle, allowing fifteen seconds for each step.

“It’s gone!” Crouch gasped.

“Which means Potter must have been here. Only he or the Dark Lord himself could have taken the prophecy from the shelf. And he is not long gone. In fact...” Malfoy paused. “I believe he is still here. In this room.”

“Using your newfound skills, Lucius?” sneered one of the other men. “Your little gift from Potter’s foster father?”

“Hold your tongue, Rabastan, if you wish to keep it,” Malfoy shot back. “And let me know when you have abilities the Dark Lord finds as useful as he obviously finds mine. Spread out and search the room. Potter is here, and he has the prophecy.”

Harry bit back a truly vicious curse, instead using the moment to crouch down. Stealth isn’t going to do it anymore—have to be fast—

He shifted, and in the instant he felt the final hair drop into place, leapt forward.

“There he goes!”

“Get him!”

“Wait, that’s not Potter—”

“It’s an animal—”

“That is Potter!” Malfoy’s voice rose above the clamor. “He is an Animagus! Stun him, trip him, do what you must, but retrieve that prophecy unbroken!”

Wolf dodged two spells, flung himself at the door, and tumbled through it ahead of three more. His paws found purchase on the opposite wall, and he bounded back towards the door, using his weight to slam it shut in the face of three more spells—a breath and he was Harry again, his wand leaping into his hand—

“Colloportus ! ”

The door squelched shut, but Harry knew it wouldn’t hold long. I have to get out of here, slow them down somehow so I can get away—

Then he looked at the contents of the room around him.

Hourglasses. Clocks. Time magic. What if—

xXxXx

The first Death Eater through the door stepped on a tiny hourglass and smashed it to pieces. He barely even noticed, bellowing in triumph at the sight of Harry, halfway down the room and apparently caught unawares. His wand began to come down, his mouth opened for a spell—

Then he backed up, his mouth closing, his wand lifting, his foot coming off the hourglass, which reconstituted itself, every piece coming together perfectly—

Just in time for the Death Eater to smash it again as he lunged forward and yelled gleefully, his wand coming down to aim at Harry—

Perfect.

Harry hurled another hourglass, this one on a chain, over the head of the time-trapped Death Eater, aiming for the man behind him, who was pointing his wand around his repeating friend. The chain wrapped around the man’s hand and wand—the hourglass flipped over once—

And the Death Eater was gone.

“Find another exit!” Malfoy shouted from within the prophecy room. “Get to the entrance hall, the circular room, do not let Potter escape!”

Good luck. I’m closer than you are. Harry took off running, wishing he dared carry more of the little hourglasses with him—but what if he dropped one, and trapped himself in a repeating loop of time? The Death Eaters could walk up to him and wait for it to wear off, and he would be completely helpless to protect himself, because he’d be living the same moment over and over, never realizing that they were there...

Use what you find. Weapons of opportunity. It had been part of the Pride’s war games, part of Combat Club, and he had included it in the DA’s lessons as well. Throw things at them, distract them, hide from them, do whatever you have to. Get away. Get your friends away. Get your objective away. That’s all that matters.

And speaking of an objective...

Harry burst into the circular room, marked the door behind him, and dashed to the center of the room. The spinning started, but he didn’t notice. He was too busy pulling the orb from his pocket to look at it.

The date fits, the initials fit, they said it was a prophecy... this has to be the one Professor Trelawney made to Professor Dumbledore, the one that could have meant either Neville or me, the one that’s the reason Voldemort came after me in the first place. And he only knows the first part of it, and he wants to know the rest, so he’s trying to get this.

But I already know the prophecy. And he doesn’t know that, because my blood-bond with Moony seals off my mind. If I’d known when we were sharing that vision that it was the prophecy he was after, I might not have been able to stop myself thinking of it...

But I didn’t. So he still doesn’t know that I know it.

Harry grinned a Wolf-like grin as the doors slowed to a stop, two of them marked with fiery Xs.

I think it’s time for a little Marauding.

xXxXx

Sirius was the first one out of the lift at the Department of Mysteries, Remus and Danger a step behind him. “Go back up to the Atrium, Letha,” he said over his shoulder. “The others will need someone to tell them where to go when they get here.”

“Good try, Sirius, but no.” Aletha’s wand shook back and forth in time with her head. “They know where we are already. And if Harry’s been taken by Death Eaters, it’ll take all four of us to get him free.”

“All three,” Danger corrected. “I have something else I have to do.”

“Something else like what?” asked Remus.

“Something personal.” Danger looked ahead into the darkness. “I learned about it when I went to ask if I could bring Harry home safely. It’s important.”

Remus sighed. “Remind me,” he said to Sirius. “The next time I get married, I need to pick a girl without any otherworldly powers.”

“You had your chance to get rid of them,” Aletha pointed out.

“I did my best to get rid of them. How was I supposed to know they’d give the whole lot back to her?” Remus shook his head. “Enough, now. Let’s move.”

The Pack-adults gathered behind the door at the end of the hall. Four wands were aimed. Sirius pushed the door open—

“It’s Potter!”

“Get him!”

“Stupefy! ”

“Petrificus Totalus! ”

Danger closed her eyes and clasped Remus’ free hand, opening her magic to him, and a Shield Charm sprang up around the four and held, spells bouncing off it every which way. Sirius and Aletha fired rapidly, Sirius without saying a word, Aletha in furious mutters, and the eight or nine Death Eaters in the room yelled in dismay and dived through various doors, all except the two who lay on the floor unconscious.

“Good enough for starters,” Sirius said, shooting different-colored balls of ink from his wand at the doors the Death Eaters had left through. “And I see Harry’s been through here already...”

Aletha chuckled, following her husband inside. “Not many people around who’d automatically use fire to mark things.”

“We shouldn’t split up too far,” said Remus, peering around the room at the twelve doors. “Danger, do you have to be alone for whatever you’re doing?”

“It would be best if you weren’t there.”

Aletha looked sharply at her friend, but said nothing.

“I’ll go by myself, then,” Remus said, starting for a yellow-marked door. “I have a slight sensory advantage—hel-lo.” The room had just begun to spin. “That’s right, I remember now...”

“Remember?” Aletha asked.

“He wanted to be an Unspeakable,” Sirius said. “Back in school. He read everything he could get his hands on about the Department of Mysteries.”

“This is a security measure,” said Remus distractedly, watching the wall slow its spin. “To stop us from knowing which door we came in by, or which one we need. Unspeakables are under a certain spell that lets them tell the doors apart.”

“Why not just mark them like we did?” Danger asked as the room stopped turning.

“Ordinary markings don’t last past the departure of the person who made them.” Remus crossed to the yellow-blotched door and tapped a finger against the ink. “Once we’re gone, this will fade.”

“Harry’s fire didn’t,” Aletha pointed out. “Why don’t you two use some of yours to make it permanent?”

“You read my mind, sister dear,” Remus said with a smile. Yellow fire blossomed in his palm, and he smeared it across the door as he might a handful of mud before turning to the red-stained door on his left to do the same. Danger dealt with the blue and the green, then transformed into her wolf form and sniffed.

“What’re you looking for?” Sirius asked.

Danger retransformed. “A familiar smell,” she said shortly. “And I found it. Stay here. Don’t leave this room until I call and tell you to.”

“What?” Remus started forward. “Danger, wait—”

Danger slipped through the door, closed it behind herself, and with a mental flick erased the green fire that had been highlighting this door as something special. A moment later, her husband’s voice was lost in the rumble of the room spinning up again.

Unless one of them thought to count doors, they won’t find me in time.

Perfect.

She changed back to wolf and sniffed. Once was all she needed.

I would know my children’s scents out of all the world.

And in a very twisted, wrong, unclean way, that man is my child.

Despite the fact that he is my sister’s father.

And so, I suppose, my father as well, except that we share absolutely no blood...

A slim, brown-furred head shook violently. Enough of this. Corner prey first. Think later.

She loped forward, taking care to make no sound on the tiled floor below her paws.

xXxXx

Lucius Malfoy grinned at Bellatrix Lestrange. He knew the expression looked wolfish, but he had learned, in the month or so he had been free, that he need not care. His greatest fear—that his Lord would disregard him when he learned what Lucius had become—had been unfounded. Indeed, as contradictory as it seemed, his Master looked with favor on the change, or at least on portions of it.

He does not let me touch him, but he allows that to almost no one in any case. And the precautions around the full moon are stringent—so should they be, to keep me from harming anyone, myself included. I doubt any werewolf in these Isles is better cared for than I. Even Fenrir Greyback.

The thought of the half-feral pack leader sent a strange thrill through him. Perhaps, one day, he would defeat Greyback, defeat him and take the other’s position, for was not Greyback superfluous now that he, Lucius Malfoy, had arrived? The Dark Lord required his services as a lieutenant, true enough, but why could he not combine that with leading the werewolves his Master would certainly want under his command?

And, of course, with my personal revenge. My Lord does not mind that I have my own special enemies among those who oppose him. I am sure he will delight, in fact, when I succeed in my little quests, for they will bring him his favorite type of entertainment.

It was a shame, really, that they couldn’t afford to wait for the Dark Lord’s arrival before they killed Arthur Weasley. But the Order of the Phoenix had already arrived. The blood-traitor must die now, before the Order could find them and stop them. Bella’s wand was already aimed at the unconscious Muggle-lover’s chest, her lips were opening to speak the words—

“Stop, ” said a woman’s quiet voice.

Lucius froze where he was. Some deep part of his unconscious mind demanded that he submit, lie down and show his throat—

No! I will not be commanded by brute instinct!

Wrestling free of his compulsion, he leapt across the room and pinioned the woman, and only as she fell without resistance under his hands did he recognize her—

“You, ” he hissed into her face. “I know you. I know what you did to me. I had plenty of time to recall. It was not the male, not the werewolf, which attacked me. It was the true wolf, the female. The Animagus. You .”

“I don’t deny it.” Brown eyes met his without a trace of mockery. “We gave the story the other way to keep me from becoming a medical curiosity. If I’d known I would infect you, though, I never would have bitten you.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Lucius snorted. “I doubt that.”

“So this is Lupin’s woman, then?” Bellatrix asked, coming up behind them. “I’d wondered what kind of fool would sleep with a werewolf. But of course I knew. A Muggle fool.” She laughed aloud, and Lucius spared a smile.

“And you’re Sirius’ cousin,” Granger-Lupin said. “We have a great deal in common, you know.”

“A great deal in common? You and I?” Bella drew back her foot and kicked Granger-Lupin in the side. The woman gasped.

“Easy, Bella,” Lucius cautioned. “If we have her alive, we have Lupin. And possibly your cousin and his Muggle as well. More important, though, we have Potter.”

“Yes, of course...” Bella’s smile widened. “Our little Potter-baby will come out right away when he sees his dear mummy in trouble...”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Granger-Lupin whispered, her face still twisted in pain. “You see, I’ve come here to stop you...”

An explosion at his chest, and Lucius felt himself soaring backwards until he hit the wall on the other side of the room. Half-stunned, he slid down to lie crumpled on the floor. His muscles would not respond to him, but he could still see and hear as Granger-Lupin rose to her feet, fire wreathing her figure. Bellatrix was backing away warily, her wand wavering from one side of the woman to the other.

“As you and I are both warrior women, I charge you, Bellatrix Black Lestrange,” Granger-Lupin intoned, then turned to look at Lucius. “And as you and I both bear the sign of the wolf, I charge you, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy...”

Lucius wanted to grind his teeth—the use of his full name made whatever she was doing here magically binding on him, as was obviously her intent...

“And as all those here bear the mark of the serpent as do you both, I charge them through you...” Granger-Lupin lifted her hands. “...that you shall not kill nor permanently harm any here who fight or who have fought for us, whether they are part of the Order of the Phoenix or no. Though you mean to speak death, your spell shall not deliver it; though you mean to strike deep, your weapon shall glance off. So I speak, so I intend, and so...” A deep breath. “...so let it be done!”

The fire covering her body exploded outward, and Lucius knew no more.

xXxXx

Sirius knew the exact moment when Danger spoke in Remus’ mind. That frozen pose, the half-listening cock of the head, all were signs he’d learned over their years together. “Can we go?” he asked eagerly.

“Yes. Go.” Remus was already running to a door, unmarked, but Danger must have told him which one. “She’s made it so they can’t kill,” he called back, “but be careful anyway...”

“They can’t kill?” Aletha repeated. “I like that. Bringing everyone home from a battle. I wonder if she can do it again next time?”

“Probably not.” Sirius peered around at the doors. “Pick one, let’s go. I’m not a crazy werewolf, so I want my backup right here beside me.”

“Don’t call your brother names when he’s not here to listen. It’s a waste of effort.”

Sirius snorted and shoved open the door marked with red fire.

The chamber beyond was vast and cavernous, shaped like a natural amphitheater. Rough-hewn stone benches led down to a dais in the center. There, like the only piece of scenery for some strange and tragic play, stood a crumbling stone arch with a sheer black veil hanging within, as though to block the view of the area beyond. Its appearance seemed somehow familiar, as though he’d heard of it somewhere a long time ago.

“No cover I can see,” Aletha murmured at his back. “I don’t think they’re in here.”

“We’d better check behind that thing just in case.” Sirius stepped down carefully along the benches, staring at the archway as he went. The veil was fluttering—had someone just passed through the arch, to hide on its other side? And if they had, was it a Death Eater, or was it Sirius’ godson?

“Sirius, let’s go,” Aletha said more loudly. “There’s no one here.”

“I just want to have a look.” Sirius leapt off the last bench and approached the arch slowly, wand at the ready. There was a strange, dull scent in here, it was masking any other odors that he might have caught, but he had a feeling that someone was lurking just behind this arch—

He stopped, listening. Were there voices back there, whispering together? Might it be two people hiding? There didn’t seem to be enough cover for two, but perhaps if they were very good friends... and he thought he’d just seen a flutter of black cloth behind the arch, as though a piece of the veil had drifted out and around...

“Gaahh!” He jumped a foot as a hand touched his elbow.

“What is wrong with you?” Aletha demanded. “There is no one here. What are you doing?”

“Listening.” Sirius pointed at the arch. “Can’t you hear the voices?”

Aletha turned, and her face went dreamy. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I just...wasn’t listening properly, before...” She began to walk towards the archway, one slow step at a time.

“Wait.” Sirius caught at her arm this time, drawing her back. “Something’s not right here. I don’t think we should stay.”

Aletha shook her head and blinked a few times. “I agree. Check behind there, make sure there’s no one, and we’ll move on.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sirius let go of her arm, watched to see her clear of the dais, then started walking back towards the archway—

“Impello ! ”

There was no time to dodge, but Sirius tried anyway. The spell, obviously intended for the middle of his back, hit him on the left shoulder blade and spun him completely around. He was falling backward—

Straight into the archway.

He grabbed hold of both sides of it and clung, off-balance and held up only by the grip of his hands, trying desperately not to think of how ridiculous he looked.

“Don’t try anything, Freeman-Black,” shouted the voice which had cast the spell, the voice of Bartemius Crouch. “One word from me and he’s through that veil. Gone forever. He should have been dead already, but you must have some protection I don’t know about...”

“You murdering bastard,” Aletha hissed. “I trusted you.”

“Yes, I know.” Crouch sauntered down the benches with an ease that put the lie to his age. “That’s the job of a spy. To make people trust him. And thanks to this little toy of Dumbledore’s...” He tapped the pin in his lapel. “I can find others like it. Which is how I know exactly where Potter is, and the prophecy with him. When I deliver that to the Dark Lord, what do you think my reward will be?”

“You’re mad,” Sirius gasped out, trying to keep his hold. The stones were old and slick, and his fingers were sweating. One slip, and not even Danger’s wild magic could keep him safe. Sheer panic had jogged his memory—he had heard of this thing, but only in the stories of Beedle the Bard, as another mythical object like the Sword of Decision or the Deathly Hallows.

It was called the Gateway to Hades.

“Mad I may be, but dead I do not intend to be. Unlike you.” Crouch stepped onto the dais and smirked. “Say goodnight, Sirius Black.”

Aletha’s wand snapped into line with Crouch’s back just as Crouch’s found its bead on Sirius’ chest. Together, they shouted the same words.

“Avada Kedavra! ”

“NO! ” screamed a third voice.

Everything went green, and Sirius felt himself fall—

And then there was nothing.





Facing Danger

Chapter 24: Reciprocity (Year 5)


Somewhere nearby, a baby was crying.

Harry groaned aloud, rolling onto his side and curling up. Merlin’s wand, I hurt everywhere, it feels like I was practicing Wronski Feints and didn’t pull up in time... what happened? Last thing I remember was looking at that stone archway, and being just about to touch that veil hanging in it...

From what he could see, he was still in the archway room, but there hadn’t been a baby here before, much less a screaming baby. Gritting his teeth, Harry dragged himself to his knees, then to his feet, shivering slightly as his pendants touched his chest. Where there was a baby, there had to be an adult to take care of it. He’d find them, he’d find out what was going on, and then maybe he’d get out of here...

He stepped around the corner of the archway and backed up involuntarily.

Streamers of silver light rushed past him into the archway, a gale-force wind made visible, dragging at him even where he stood out of its direct path. In the exact center of that gale lay a tiny, brown, naked baby, shrieking with indignation as the wind yanked at him. He’d fetched up against a slight projection in the stone dais, which was the only reason he hadn’t yet been pulled through the archway, but Harry could see the small body starting to rise from the sheer force of the wind—any second now, the power of the wind would overcome the obstacle in its way, and the baby would be gone—

No! Harry leapt forward before he could think, throwing himself between the baby and the arch, sheltering the child with his own body.

Then the wind caught hold of him, and he realized what a bad move he’d just made.

How can I—

The wind tore even the thought from him, as it did all thoughts except holding on. Harry kicked out of his shoes and dug his toes into the rock, struggling to breathe against the rush of the wind, and carefully detached one arm to scoop up the baby, now wide-eyed and silent.

“Got you,” he breathed, cradling the infant to his chest. “Now we just have to—get out—”

“Animagus!” cried a woman’s voice, almost inaudible over the furious scream of the cheated wind. “Use Wolf, Harry—use Wolf!”

Wolf. Good idea. But—

“Your robes,” a man called, a little louder than the woman, as though he were moving closer. “Use them like a cradle!”

Right. Harry undid the front clasp of his outer Hogwarts robes, then slid his top arm out of them, bracing harder with his toes to make up for the lost grip of his fingers. The next part would be the hardest—getting the robes out from under him without being dragged away in the process—

“Roll on your back,” the woman counseled, her voice now stronger as well. “Get your other arm out. Then pull the robes forward, slow and steady. Don’t rush.”

It seemed to take an hour, including one heart-stopping moment when Harry nearly lost his grip, but finally a crumpled pile of fabric lay before him. Harry lifted the baby again and laid him on top of the robes, then pulled as much cloth as possible to the top from both sides. I’ll only get one shot at this...which way do I go?

“Go to the side,” said the man’s voice, which was coming from behind him. “Small steps, keep your paws on the ground.” It sounded almost like Padfoot, but Harry didn’t have time to think about the ways he knew it wasn’t. The wind was getting stronger, if he didn’t start moving now he never would—

Planting hands and feet on the ground, he transformed. The effort pulled him up onto his paws, and the baby shrieked again as the wind caught at him—

No you don’t! Wolf snapped his jaws shut on the robes swathing the human cub, then began to shuffle forward in a strange parody of his usual movements. It wasn’t enough, he could feel the wind still dragging at him, he’d lose his balance in a moment—

Have to get low. He dropped to his belly, as though he were abasing himself before a wronged alpha. Low. Low like worm. Or snake.

Paws worked against the stone, and in a moment they were moving. The cub was wailing inside his improvised cradle, but Wolf didn’t have time to listen. He was focused on two things and two things only. Stay low. Keep moving. The world narrowed to those two things, it had never been anything else, he would be crawling out of this impossible wind forever—

And then his nose poked out of the edge of the wind, and his ears followed. A few seconds of frantic struggle later, Wolf lay panting beside the archway, the cub tucked between his paws, whimpering but settling down quickly. He would have to find the little one’s mother before much longer, but for now he was grateful they had survived the tempest.

We wouldn’t have, if it wasn’t for whoever told me what to do. Harry slipped back to the top of the mind without bothering to retransform. I wish I knew who they were. I’d like to thank them.

“No need to wish,” said the woman’s voice, coming from beside and all around him. “We’ll come to you.”

“You stay put,” the man added. “After what you just did, I don’t want to take any chances!”

Harry nodded, then concentrated on his human form. Whoever had helped him, he wanted to meet them with his best face on. Besides, there was no point in giving too much away, even if they could read his mind.

He was about to pick up the baby when a noise made him look up—no, it wasn’t a noise, it was the absence of one. The wind was gone.

That’s odd. Where did it go?

Lifting the baby carefully in the crook of an arm, his hand under a fuzzy head—he remembered vaguely, from long ago, Letha telling him that he’d have to support Meghan’s head because her neck wasn’t strong enough yet to do it herself—Harry got to his feet and backed away from the arch, waiting for his benefactors to appear.

The black veil hanging in the arch fluttered once. Twice. Then it drew itself aside, and Harry yelped and hid his face with his free hand as a bright light from beyond it hit him square in the eyes.

“Sorry!” said the man’s voice, sounding amused but also genuinely apologetic. “Sorry, hold on—here, love, you go first—”

“What a good idea,” said the woman acerbically. “Harry, don’t look yet, we’ll be there as soon as we can.”

Harry lowered his head, shielding his eyes, but his heart had started beating faster. A man and a woman who knew his name, who knew all about him, but whose voices he didn’t recognize...

Footsteps in front of him, two sets of them, and then a hand on his shoulder. “You can look now,” the woman said gently. “It’s all right.”

Harry looked up. The woman standing in front of him had dark red hair spilling down her back; her green eyes, fixed on his face, were filled with a joy so deep it was almost sorrow. A tall, thin man stood beside her, his black hair untidy in a way Harry knew well and wire-rimmed glasses shading hazel eyes which held the same emotion as the woman’s. It was his hand on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry knew now why he had thought the voice sounded like Padfoot.

“Mum?” he whispered. “Dad?”

xXxXx

Remus shoved through the final door, ignoring the freezing cold against his chest, his wand already leveled. “Stupefy! ” he shouted.

“Protego ! ” Bellatrix Lestrange screamed, leaping back from the unconscious bodies of Danger and Arthur Weasley. “Come for your bitch, have you, werewolf?”

Remus dodged the reflected spell easily. “You never did understand, Bella,” he said, moving forward to stand over his wife and his friend. “Perhaps it hurts Lucius—” He nodded to the slumped figure in one corner. “—but calling me what I am has never hurt me.”

“Because you’ve accepted your perversion!”

“Because I’ve accepted what’s happened to me, yes.” Remus kept his wand trained on Bella, waiting for the opening he knew would come. “It helps to have my family and my friends who accept it as well. And sufficient precautions taken on the full moon to be sure I don’t hurt anyone.”

“Hah!” Bellatrix laughed explosively. “Why waste the time? You’ll get out eventually. Bite someone. Oh, wait, I forgot.” Her death’s-head grin spread across her face. “You already did.” Anger flashed down to replace the smile. “But of course Dumbledore’s good little wolfy got away with a slap on the wrist.”

Remus chuckled. The sound seemed to take Bella by surprise.

“I am many things to Albus Dumbledore,” Remus said when he’d caught his breath. “A student, a supporter, and, I hope, a friend. But one thing I am not and have never been is his ‘good little wolfy.’” He glanced down at Danger and let a smile appear on his face. “You see...”

“Arrgh!” Bellatrix clutched her free hand in her hair, then spun and sent a spell at him. “Incarcerous ! ”

“Oppilorbis ! ” Remus countered, his block materializing in front of him and absorbing the spell. “So you mean you don’t want to hear details of my private life, Bella? What a shame... and I was in a sharing mood, too... Stupefy! ”

“Petrificus ! ” Bellatrix shouted, nullifying his spell with another spell. “Keep talking, werewolf, every second brings the Dark Lord closer! You won’t play silly word games with him!”

“You’re quite right.” Remus lowered his wand slightly. “I have no intention of playing silly games with Voldemort.”

Bellatrix blanched. “You—you dare speak his name...”

“All the games I play with him will be entirely serious,” Remus finished. “Expelliarmus ! ”

“Oppiltholus ! ” Bella cried, her block appearing in a dome shape