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It began as a typical Saturday morning, two weeks before Halloween. Classes had been progressing nicely since the start of term. The students were pleased to find that Professor Smythe-White, the latest in a long line of Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers, actually knew what he was talking about. He did tend to favour defensive magic, as Harry had predicted, but compared to the previous year's professor he was practically a godsend.

A wave of cold weather had swept in the week before, bringing with it leaden skies and a perpetual drizzle that was beginning to wear on the students morale. It looked likely that a harsh winter was imminent as the soft rain had transformed into a biting sleet on several occasions. Bets were already circulating on when the first snow would fall.

Sitting at one end of the Gryffindor table was the aptly named Ministry Crew. Nobody knew where the name had originated, but it had somehow stuck and replaced the previous appellation Harry, Hermione and Ron had borne; Terrible Trio.

Ever since he had first carried Luna to the Gryffindor table, the somewhat eccentric Ravenclaw witch had made a habit of dining there for at least one meal every day. She had been welcomed with more or less open arms, albeit with some slight caution, by the other Gryffindors. This was probably because she had dyed her hair a bright electric blue at the time, but had shortly reverted to her normal dirty blonde.

Harry, sitting between Hermione and Luna, opposite Ron, Ginny and Neville, was wondering if it would be possible to have some coffee served with breakfast. It was cold and he wanted something hot to warm him up before starting classes.

The house-elves did supply the students with warm pumpkin juice, but after so many years of little else, Harry was becoming desperate for some variety. Why wizards seldom seemed to have anything else to drink, at least at the house tables, he could not understand.

"Hey, Harry," asked Ron, around a mouthful of toast with marmalade.

"Yes?"

"You know what's going to happen, right?"

"Not so loud, you twit!" warned Ginny, slapping her brother across the back of his head. The result was that the toast Ron had been chewing promptly went down the wrong pipe and almost caused him to choke to death. Fortunately he was spared by Neville, who pounded on his back until he could breathe clearly again.

"Sorry," Ron winced, wheezing slightly and visibly chagrined at having forgotten to keep quiet about Harry's foreknowledge of the future. He quickly glanced around, checking to see if anyone was close enough to overhear, and then leaned in close to whisper, "You do, don't you?"

"More or less," confirmed Harry, "Things are changing, so I'm less sure about some things than others."

"Okay, so you should be able to answer my question."

"I can try," Harry offered, suspecting that his friend had finally realized that Harry now knew the results of just about everything sporting event for the next two decades. Including any Quidditch matches that Ron's favourite team, the Chudley Cannons, would be playing in.

Ron, however, surprised him by asked, "What's up with Malfoy?"

Harry frowned and asked in return, "What d'you mean?"

"Haven't you noticed?" asked Ron, sounding surprised. He leaned to the side, for a clear view, and gave the Slytherin in question a suspicious glare. "He's been acting funny."

"Funny, how exactly?" asked Hermione.

"He hasn't said a word to any of us since the start of term."

"I do believe Ronald's correct," agreed Luna, who had arranged her bacon and eggs into a smiley face. She was currently devouring the face's left eye, in conjunction to a poppy seed muffin.

"I wonder why," mused Ginny, sparing the Slytherin table a glance.

"He's up to something," Harry decided, not turning to look. He did not want to draw any attention to the fact that he and his friends were aware of Malfoy's aberrant behaviour. That would only put the other wizard on his guard. "He's probably trying to lull us into a false sense of security."

"You mean he's..." Ron trailed off and scowled. "Can't we do something?"

"What can we do?" asked Ginny rhetorically. "As long as he stays away from us, we can't do anything."

"Why not?"

"Lack of evidence, Ronald," Luna explained, "We can't beat the snot out of him without a good reason, after all."

"We could try!"

Hermione glared and waved a fork at him in warning. "Ron! You're a prefect!"

Ron glared back and protested, "So's Malfoy!"

"That's no excuse to--"

The beginning of Hermione's tirade on the responsibilities of being a school prefect was cut short when a loud trumpet call resounded. Hailing from the main doors, leading into the Entrance Hall, they signalled the arrival of two very unexpected guests, who were making their typically flamboyant entrance.

"Oh, what a beautiful, mooooorning!"

"Oh, what a beautiful, daaaaaaaaay!"

"Oh, what a wonderful feeeeeeeling!"

"Everything's going our waaaaaaaay!"

Ginny blinked at the sight of Fred and George, in their lurid green dragon skin jackets, singing their way into the Great Hall. She dropped her head into her hands and groaned, "What the devil are those two here for?"

Hermione winced as the twins hit a high note. "Trouble, no doubt."

"You don't think they might be reapplying to come to Hogwarts, do you?" asked Neville. He was met with incredulous stares from all corners, save Harry and Luna, both of whom were too busy watching the approaching antics.

"Fred and George? Coming back to school?" repeated Ron. He snorted and crossed his arms, shaking his head, "You're off your rocker if you think that'll ever happen."

"I don't know... if it gave them a chance to prank someone..."

Harry glanced at Luna, having heard a somewhat disturbing chuckle from her direction, and saw that she was rubbing her hands together in obvious anticipation.

"Luna?" asked Ginny, who had also noted the girl's actions, "Are you all right?"

"Two and three," Luna responded absently.

"Pardon?"

The twins, who had been making their way directly to the Gryffindor table, spread their arms wide and began to greet their younger siblings with their usual exuberance.

"Our beloved younger brother and sister!"

"So delighted to see you both this fine, fine morning."

"What are you two doing here?" grumbled Ron, arms still folded over his chest.

"That's our Ronniekins," sighed Fred, shaking his head in what seemed like disappointment. "Never gives any time for niceties or common courtesy."

"We did a magnificent job training him," agreed George mournfully, though the broad grin splitting his face betrayed him.

Ron, flushed bright red, and snapped, "Shut up, you twits!"

The sharp clearing of a throat drew everyone's attention to the staff table. The headmaster had not come down to breakfast this morning, leaving Professor McGonagall to deal with the situation that had arisen.

"Fred and George Weasley," the deputy headmistress announced, rising to her feet and giving both visiting wizards a stern look, "what, might I ask, is the meaning of this... intrusion?

"Professor--"

"--McGonagall!"

Harry cut off all further conversation by addressing the twins in a no-nonsense voice. He was likely the only one in the hall that had noticed the wooden crate that had been floating behind Fred and George and trailing after them.

"Is that it?" he asked, pointing it out.

"Yeah, that's it," George confirmed happily. He completely forgot Professor McGonagall as he turned to grab hold of the crate so that he could swing it around and lay it down on the table. "We were done assembling it last Thursday and finished the spell work last night."

"Sorry for not calling in advance--"

"--but we couldn't resist the urge to show it off!" finished George.

Fred thoughtfully scratched his chin, looking around the hall at the sea of expectant faces watching the proceedings, and suggested, "Though maybe we should find someplace less crowded to check it."

"Here's fine," dismissed Harry, more interested in seeing what they had accomplished that keeping it a secret. Not the smartest course of action, he knew, but the twins' giddy anticipation was contagious. "Let's have a look."

"Righto!" exclaimed Fred, proceeding to open the crate.

Professor McGonagall had been silently fuming at being ignored and began, "Mister Potter--"

She was interrupted, however, by Hermione, who exclaimed, "Good Lord!"

The reason for her outburst became apparent when Fred pulled it out of the crate. Silence descended over the Great Hall as all eyes focused on the gleaming steel construction in the redhead's hands.

"That's a Muggle firearm, isn't it?" asked Luna, stretching out to try and touch it.

"Not quite," Fred corrected her, shifting out of her reach.

"It's much, much more dangerous," confirmed George.

"We think," admitted Fred.

"Yes, we haven't had a chance--"

"--to compare it against a normal gun."

Neville, who was scrutinising the weapon with unabashed curiosity (not to mention a fair bit of caution) finally asked the question on everyone's minds. "What is it then?"

The twins turned to Harry and George asked, "Harry?"

Harry settled back in his seat and waved for them to proceed at their leisure. "I'll let you do the honours."

"Thanks!" exclaimed Fred happily. He hopped up onto the table, brandishing the weapon as he did so. Taking a moment to find his footing, making sure not to step on anyone's plate, he announced, "Ladies and gentlemen--"

"--Boys and girls--"

"--Witches and wizards of all ages--"

"--Weasley's Wizards Wheezes are proud to present--"

"--the ultimate in modern weaponry--"

"--the 40-watt phased plasma rifle!" finished George with a flourish.

Fred raised the rifle up for all to see, a grin of smug satisfaction stretching across his face. Unfortunately he was a little too enthusiastic in wanting to show off his and George's latest accomplishment, and accidentally applied just the wrong amount of pressure to the trigger.

"Gak!"

The resulting bursts of blue plasma fire that erupted from the rifle's muzzle, took him quite by surprise. It took everyone else in the Great Hall by surprise as well, but not nearly as much. This was because they had been expecting something to happen - these were the Weasley twins, after all.

The rifle bucked up, the recoil causing Fred's aim to stitch a line of destruction from one end of the staff table, where he had been pointing the rifle to begin with, all the way up to the ceiling.

It was only luck that nobody was hurt, though the plasma rounds had passed uncomfortably close to Professor Snape. Fortunately the potions master emerged unscathed, save for being coated in vaporised pork bangers and some pumpkin juice from a half melted goblet.

"Bloody hell!" shouted Ron as he ducked to the floor next to where he had been sitting. His reaction was a little delayed, and Fred had already managed to get the rifle under control and cease fire, but that apparently hadn't registered.

"They have gone nuts!" exclaimed Neville, who had his wand out and a shield charm on his lips, ready to cast in case Fred's aim was lacking a second time.

"Damn, this thing has a kick like an aethonian!" crowed Fred, grinning like a madman.

"You need to work on your aim though," observed George.

"What d'you mean?" Fred asked, absently stroking the rifle as if it were a pet.

"You missed."

"Missed what?"

"WEASLEY, YOU MANIACS!"

All eyes left the rifle-toting Weasley and snapped to a livid Professor Snape. It was a sight that unnerved those of a weaker disposition. Even students who were made of sterner stuff began to back away as the potions master left his seat at the staff table and began to stalk towards where the twins were standing. Nobody, save perhaps Harry, had ever seen the normally sallow faced man looking half as dangerous as he currently did.

"Him."

"Ah. Pity."

"Yeah," agreed George. He glanced up at his twin, who was still standing on the Gryffindor table, and motioned for him to take aim with the rifle. "Well, better luck next time."

Fred nodded in agreement and said, "Practice does make perfect."

"I'M GOING TO KILL THE BOTH OF YOU!!" Snape roared, drawing his wand as he stormed across the Great Hall, black robes billowing behind him. "BY THE TIME I'M DONE WITH YOU, THEY'LL BE SCRAPING THE PIECES OFF THE WALLS WITH TOOTHBRUSHES!!"

"I think we made him angry," said George.

"Can't imagine why," wondered Fred.

George shrugged and suggested, "Maybe you should shoot him before he gets too close."

"Right," Fred agreed, turning to point the rifle in the direction of the approaching professor. He cocked his head to one side, looking thoughtful, and said, "We could always say it was self-defence."

"I'll take this, thank you," said Harry, rising up and deftly plucking the plasma rifle from the redhead's grasp.

"Harry!"

"You're leaving us defenceless!"

"He's going to kill us!" Fred shouted, looking at Snape. He swallowed nervously and stepped down from the table, making sure to place it between him and the enraged professor.

"He said so himself!" concurred George, backing away.

"He's been saying that ever since your first Potions class," noted Ginny, not looking the least bit sympathetic, from her position on the floor next to Ron.

George looked at her and, with a hint of mounting panic, shouted, "But this time he means it!"

Before the imminent double homicide could take place, Harry stepped up and interposed himself between Snape and the now cowering twins.

"OUT OF MY WAY, POTTER!!" bellowed Snape, drawing up just short of where Harry was standing. He scarcely bothered to even look at Harry, his flinty black eyes focused solely on Fred and George.

"I think you should calm down, professor," he said calmly, using a tone of voice that he had modelled after Dumbledore.

"A HUNDRED POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR!! AND DETENTION!!" Snape howled, spit flying from his mouth. He rounded on Harry and, for a moment, he was worried that the professor would try to shove him out of the way. "GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY!!"

"You really ought to rethink this."

With a thought Harry had Father, who had been drifting unobtrusively just above and behind his left shoulder, engage one of its gravity fields and lift Snape a foot off the stone floor. The professor flayed about for a moment or two, his surprise at what was happening momentarily abating his fury.

"What the-- Potter! Put me down!" Snape demanded. "Now!"

Harry shook his head and refused, "Not until you calm down, professor."

Hermione, who had been watching with wide eyes, began to speak, "Harry, you shouldn't--"

Snape interrupted, continuing to snarl, "Put me down you arrogant, little--"

"I suggest you don't finish that sentence," Harry said, still using that almost unnaturally calm voice.

The only indication of his own anger, which bubbled up every time he saw the potions master, was the icy gleam in his dark green eyes. Seeing that Snape was not about to calm down, he casually levelled the plasma rifle at the hovering professor.

"Enough!"

Hobbling over, supported by her walking stick, was Professor McGonagall. She stomped into place next to Snape, who was glaring viciously at Harry, and snapped, "Professor Snape, will you shut up! And will you please, Mister Potter, put the professor back on his feet."

Snape looked at her incredulously and began to protest, "But he--"

"Severus!"

Harry, who had noticed how McGonagall's voice had softened just the smallest amount when she had addressed him, immediately complied to her request. "Of course, professor."

Father slowly disengaged its GM field and lowered Snape to the ground. Harry forced himself not to smile when the Gatekeeper mentioned that it had wanted drop the grumbling wizard on his head. It was only that it did not want Harry to get into any more trouble than his doubtless were already in which stopped it from doing just that.

"Now," McGonagall huffed, clearly intent on assuming control of the situation, "will someone please explain the meaning of this. Mister Potter?"

"Last month I commissioned Fred and George to build something for me," Harry answered as his head of house turned to him for an explanation. "They're simply delivering it."

"You asked them to build that--" she waved her walking stick at the rifle, which he now had pointed down at the floor, "--that weapon?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed. He had a feeling of what would happen next, so decided to pre-empt the professor. He held the rifle up in front of him and looked at Father's onyx sphere. "Father? If you will."

Father extended a GM field and plucked the gleaming steel weapon from Harry's hands, holding it suspended between him and the watching professors.

"What d'you think?" Harry asked.

The gobstone sized ball darted forward and made several rapid circuits around the rifle - inspecting it with senses beyond that of any living creature. Finally it gave a reply of satisfied approval.

Harry sighed with relief. He had been reasonably sure that the rifle was working as it should. Fred's impromptu test firing had been enough to show him that, but Father's impossibly thorough examination was reassuring. He turned to the twins and nodded to them both.

"Thanks, chaps. I owe you one."

"Deduct it from the three we owe you," dismissed Fred.

"Want to give it another test firing?" suggested George eagerly.

"No!" exclaimed McGonagall, stepping forward and jabbing a finger against Harry's chest. "You are not going to shoot that - that thing off in this school again!"

Naturally the twins immediately protested, starting with George, who was closest, "But Professor McGonagall--"

"--Harry needs to make certain--" continued Fred, stepping over the table and down again to join his twin.

"--the rifle meets his expectations," finished George.

"Not in the Great Hall during breakfast!" McGonagall said with finality.

"Relax, Professor," Harry assured her. "I'll make sure to do all my testing outside, well away from the school and students."

"You won't be doing any 'testing' at all, Potter!" growled Snape, apparently remembering that Fred had come with scarce inches of incinerating him. He advanced towards the floating plasma rifle, hands outstretched to grab it. "I'm confiscating this toy of yours..."

Father immediately used its GM fields to shift the plasma rifle out of phase into a subspace pocket, leaving Snape trying to grab hold of something that wasn't there any longer.

"I'm afraid I cannot let you do that, Professor Snape," Harry informed the somewhat flummoxed professor. He assumed a slightly chiding voice and said, "A phased plasma rifle is hardly a toy. You might hurt yourself."

"Potter..."

"It's really for your own safety."

"This is not a joking matter, Mister Potter," said McGonagall.

"I know that," Harry agreed.

McGonagall sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose with one hand, and asked, "Then why are you been so obtuse about this?"

Snape immediately jumped in to supply and answer, "Because he's an arrogant--"

"Severus! Not now!" McGonagall cut him off, smacking him across the legs with her walking stick.

"Don't bother, Professor McGonagall," Harry waved off the older professor's defence of him. "I'm used to Professor Snape acting like this. I don't expect him to behave in a reasonable manner where I am concerned."

"Potter, you--"

McGonagall turned to face Snape and aimed her wand at his mouth, "Silencio!"

Snape abruptly shut up as the Silencing Charm hit him dead on. He sputtered for several seconds, not fully comprehending what had happened, before glaring furiously at McGonagall.

Not reacting in the slightest to his baleful glare, McGonagall calmly informed him, "I think, Professor Snape, it would be best if you returned to your seat and allowed me to handle this."

It seemed that Snape might protest, but aid arrived in the form of Professor Smythe-White, who had finally risen from his place at the staff table.

"Yes, Severus, I believe Professor McGonagall is correct in this regard," he said, laying what was probably supposed to be a soothing hand on Snape's shoulder. "Your deliberate provocation of Mister Potter is not helping matters."

Shrugging off the hand, Snape snarled silently at both professors, before turning and stalking back to the staff table.

"Professor Snape!" Harry called after him.

"Harry, please don't antagonise him more than you already have," suggested McGonagall as Snape came to a halt. He did not, however, turn to face Harry.

"I haven't antagonised him in the slightest," Harry responded to the slight reprimand. "I've been perfectly calm and respectful during this entire encounter."

Unable to refute this claim, having been present the whole time, McGonagall had to admit, "That's true..."

"I think, Mister Potter, you should tell Professor Snape whatever it is you wanted to say to him," prompted Smythe-White, who was eyeing Snape. "He looks somewhat impatient."

Harry leaned back and picked up an apple from the nearest bowl of fruit on the Gryffindor table. He held it up, so that Snape could see it, and tosses it into the air a few time.

"I just wanted you to know, Professor," he began to say, after making sure that Snape was watching. He threw the apple high into the air, silently informing Father of what he wanted.

Father flexed its GM fields, causing the air around Harry to ripple like water. Only a few people saw this, as most eyes had automatically tracked the apple, as it soared into the air. Their attention was warranted as Father reduced the apple into a fine mist which sprayed over the Hufflepuff table.

Harry smirked and finished, "A phased plasma rifle, even one in the forty watt range, is hardly the most dangerous of my so-called 'toys'."

Snape stared at where the apple had been when Father's GM fields had struck it. He blinked several times, before focusing on Harry. Without a word, had he been capable speaking around the Silencing Charm, he turned on a heel and stomped back to his place at the staff table.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"What d'you need a plasma rifle for?" asked Fred.

"Especially if you can do that without one?" asked George.

Harry was not about to explain the reason for his having the twins build the plasma rifle. Not when there were so many eyes watching and ears listening. Instead, he gave a noncommittal shrug and answered, "Because I've found that it's not always practical to hit my opponents with opposing twenty Gee gravity fields."

"Well," declared Fred, eyeing the dumbstruck and apple covered Hufflepuffs, "if nothing else, at least you'll never have to worry about making apple sauce the hard way."

-oOo-

The main dining room at number twelve Grimmauld Place had seen better days. Of course, thanks to the diligent work of several Order members, as well as Hermione, Ginny and Ron, over the summer, it was currently seeing better days than it had in several years. In fact, it almost looked welcoming enough for Fred and George to wait inside without any uncomfortable shivers tracing their way up and down the twins spines.

"Think we're in trouble, Gred?" asked George of his brother, idly running a finger along the top of one side-cabinet, as if checking for dust.

"I think we're beyond trouble, this time, Forge," replied Fred, reclining languidly in the overly ornate oak chair at the head of the extremely long dining table.

They were discussing, somewhat obliquely, the fact that Dumbledore had called an impromptu meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, no doubt to discuss this morning's events. It had taken some shuffling of schedules and such, since most of the Order were either busy at work or on assignment, but it had been arranged for those that could attend to meet at headquarters during lunch.

George, finished with his faux inspection, dropped into the chair immediately to Fred's left and sighed wistfully, "We knew it would come to this when we signed on."

"Signed on to the Order, or signed on to Harry?" asked Fred.

"Both, really, once you think about it."

"Yeah," Fred agreed, "especially after last year."

"I never would have believed it when we first met him."

"He looked so lost, trying to get on the Express all by himself."

"Quiet as a mouse too," added George.

Fred nodded, his eyes lacking focus as he thought back over the years. "Didn't make much eye contact, either."

George readily agreed, also thinking back to that fateful day when Fred and he had helped a much younger Harry carry his trunk onto the Hogwarts Express. "If it hadn't been for the scar, I wouldn't have believed he was the oh-so-famous Boy-Who-Lived."

"He certainly wasn't what we expected, was he?" Fred mused.

"He never is," George answered.

"Quite true."

"So..."

"So..."

Silence descended for a minute or so as the two Weasleys contemplated what was about to happen. They had no doubt that the Order would not be pleased with their clandestine activities on Harry's behalf. The fact that they had not mentioned their work on the plasma rifle, would also be counted against them.

Fred, who was balancing precariously on only the back legs of his chair, finally broke the silence. He had decided to voice the question that both twins were wondering.

"How are we going to break the news to Dumbledore?"

"I vote for laying it out straight up front," stated George firmly. "Harry would appreciate that."

"Yeah, he hates it when people beat around the bush," agreed Fred.

"So do we," admitted George, lacing his fingers together and propping his elbows on the table top.

"At least on serious matters," agreed Fred, knowing that both he and George had a tendency to talk too much when involved in one of their pranks. They did this because they knew it annoyed people, mostly their mother. Turn his thoughts back to the forthcoming meeting, he asked, "So, what do we tell them?"

"That working for Harry's more enjoyable," George immediately rejoined.

Fred grinned and said, "I can imagine their faces when we explain why."

George, getting into the spirit of things, raised a hand and began ticking off fingers. "Lots of leeway to do what we want, when we want."

"Unlike the Order," confirmed Fred.

"Interesting and stimulating tasks to complete."

"Unlike the Order."

"Opportunity to cause great amounts of mayhem and chaos."

"Definitely unlike the Order."

Both redheads began to laugh at this, their irrepressible humour once again overtaking them. Fred, who had neglected to right his chair, topple to the floor with a thump, provoking even more laughter between them. This was how the Order found them, several minutes later, when they filed into the room.

"And what are you two lunatics laughing at?" asked Snape brusquely.

This did not have the desired effect, as it only caused the two 'lunatics' in question to laugh even harder.

Dumbledore, Snape, Molly and Mad-Eye Moody clustered into the dining room and stared impatiently at the twins. These four were the only members that available for the meeting, which had been called on very short notice. Those who could not attend were either busy at work, such as Tonks and Kingsley, or had remained at Hogwarts, like Professor McGonagall.

Finally Molly, who's patience with regards the twins had never been the greatest, stomped her foot and scowled down at them. Hands on her hips, she demanded, "Fred! George! Stop that, right this instance!"

"Molly, please," appeased Dumbledore, using his wand to right the chair Fred had toppled over. Assuming his position at the head of the table, motioning for the others to join him, he directed a stern, but just slightly amused gaze at the twins. "If you would calm both yourselves, we have serious business to discuss."

"Sorry, but it was just too funny not to laugh," apologised George as he and Fred pulled themselves up.

"You won't be having much to laugh at later," stated Moody as the twins crossed to the opposite end of the table from the headmaster and took their seats.

"Why not?" asked Fred.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble the two of you are in?" asked Molly with an angry huff.

"We have--"

"--some idea."

Molly slammed both hands on the table top and glared furiously at them. It was a look they both knew all to well, having been on the receiving end of it far too often over the years. "Stop that! This is no joking matter!"

Fred met his mother's glare with a level stare and noted, "In case it's escaped your attention, we're not laughing right now."

Sitting next to him, George nodded in agreement and added, "In fact, you're unlikely to ever find us more serious than we are."

Dumbledore cleared his throat before Molly could retaliate. Fred and George immediately shifted their attention to him, both deciding to ignore their mother unless she addressed them directly.

"I was not present at breakfast in the Great Hall this morning," the headmaster began, "so I have had to rely on what Minerva, Severus and the other staff members have told me."

"Sure you don't want to hear our side of the story?" asked Fred, unable to prevent the slightly snide tone that entered his voice. He doubted that the deputy headmistress and potions master had given flattering report.

"That is what this meeting is for."

"Jolly good of you to give us this opportunity," said George, dryly.

"Fred!" exclaimed Molly, half rising from her seat.

"George, actually," corrected the twin in question. He looked at Molly and gave an unhappy scowl that matched her own. "After eighteen bloody years, I'd think you'd be able to tell us apart, mother."

"Don't take that tone with me, young man!" Molly demanded, raising a finger at him.

"Molly, this is not the time," Dumbledore interrupted before a fully fledged Weasley-clan argument could explode into being. He waited until Molly settled down into her seat and then turned back to the twins. "Now, would you be so kind as to explain what happened this morning?"

"We delivered something to a client of ours," began Fred, adopting the businesslike tone of voice that only Harry never seemed surprised to hear.

George provided some explanation, "This client came to us--"

"You mean Potter," grumbled Snape, speaking Harry's name as if it were a curse.

"--shortly after term started," finished George, ignoring the interruption.

"After the start of term, you say?" repeated Dumbledore, emphasising the time.

"Yeah," George confirmed, "scared the dickens out of us both."

Moody shifted in his seat, his wooden leg scraping on the floor as he turned to face them, and asked in his normal grumbling rasp, "Why didn't you mention that Potter had been away from Hogwarts?"

Fred shrugged and answered lightly, "Nobody asked."

There was a pause in the conversation, as those listening to the twins stared at them with expressions ranging from dumbstruck (Molly), disgust (Snape), irritation (Moody) and resigned acceptance (Dumbledore).

"Please, Fred, continue," Dumbledore finally prompted as the silence began to stretch.

"Harry needed our help," Fred explained simply. "We provided it."

"You helped him by building a monstrosity that almost killed me this morning!" barked Snape, the venom in his voice matched only by the murderous glare he directed at them.

"Calm yourself, Severus," soothed Dumbledore. He leaned back in his chair, thoughtfully stroking his long, silvery beard. His tired blue eyes focused on the twins, who were sitting expectantly. "What exactly was it that Harry asked you to build? The descriptions I was given are somewhat vague."

"He gave us the design schematics for a gun," revealed George.

"A phased plasma rifle, if you want to get technical," Fred elaborated.

"I don't understand," admitted Molly, shaking her head in confusion. She looked to Dumbledore and then down the table to the twins and asked, "Why would Harry come to you to build a Muggle weapon?"

"Because it isn't a Muggle weapon."

"Don't try to lie your way out of this, Weasley," hissed Snape. He pointed an accusing finger at them, his voice low and certain. "I've never seen a magical weapon like that. It had to be of Muggle origin - just looking at it was enough to tell me that."

George met the potions master's glare and shrugged. "Then you're an idiot."

Snape exploded from his seat, surging upward and drawing his wand. "HOW DARE YOU!!"

Fred and George, reacting to the threat, jumped clear of the table. Their wands were in their hands, curses ready to fly, before Dumbledore quickly rose to his feet and bellowed, "ALL OF YOU, SIT DOWN!!"

The three would-be combatants froze in place. Snape turned to Dumbledore and began to protest, "Headmaster--"

"Not now, Severus!" Dumbledore barked. He locked eyes on the potions master and did not shift his gaze until the man had returned to his seat. He then turned to face the twins, who had already righted their overturned chairs and seated themselves. "If this weapon you built was not designed by Muggles, and was not a product of magic, then what exactly is it?"

"A combination of the two," supplied Fred.

"It's a form of magic combined with Muggle technology," George explained. The twins had been corresponding with Harry on a regular basis since he had first come to them for help. The ideas represented in the plans for the plasma rifle were not like anything they had ever seen, so they would frequently check with Harry for elaboration on whatever point was stymieing their progress. "Harry calls it Technomancy."

"This is all Arthur's fault," decided Molly, throwing her hands up into the air. "Since the day he brought back that car and charmed it..."

"This is different," George interrupted.

"That was taking a Muggle contraption and modifying it. Using magic on an already existing device," explained Fred, "Probably why it didn't work that well."

George nodded his agreement at that statement, thinking about the somewhat bumpy ride they had experienced from the Burrow to Surrey and back shortly before Harry's second year. "Technomancy involves magic from the very beginning of the process, right until the end."

Fred smirked at Snape and folded his arms. "Every single part of that plasma rifle was individually charmed and, in one or two cases, enchanted."

"You boys know how to enchant objects?" asked Moody, leaning forward with interest.

"Nothing large, but enough to get the job done," Fred revealed with somewhat more modesty than anyone present would have expected from him.

"I see. Very interesting," said Dumbledore quietly. He scrutinised the twins with a curious eye, before asking, "Now, why did you fail to inform the Order about this?"

"Harry asked us not to," they chimed.

"And you listened to him? Are you that stupid?" asked Snape bitingly.

"Hardly," sniffed George, wondering what Dumbledore was thinking by bringing Snape into this meeting. Everyone knew there was no love lost between the potions master and Harry, and by association anyone that was friends with Harry.

"You should have told us immediately," Snape insisted, his lips curling into the same disdainful sneer he always wore when criticizing someone. "It was a mistake allowing two undisciplined brats such as yourselves--"

"Undisciplined?" interrupted Fred, visibly outraged at the suggestion. He rose to his feet, slamming his fists down on the table top, and glared defiantly at Snape. "Frankly, professor, you couldn't even begin to comprehend the discipline needed to build that plasma rifle."

"You call us undisciplined?" asked George, also rising from his chair. "At least we don't spend every opportunity trying to torment and belittle the wizarding world's only chance of killing the bloody dark lord!"

Snape's sneer deepened and he sniffed, "You think Potter can kill the dark lord?"

George raised his chin and declared, "We know he can."

Dumbledore, no doubt sensing that the twins were only moments away from hexing his Potions professor, headed off the inevitable fight by asking, "Why do you believe that?"

"Not to sound insulting, headmaster," said Fred, "but if anyone's going to stop him, it'll be Harry."

"Every time, since he came to Hogwarts, it's been Harry that's headed him off," agreed George, "Not you; Harry."

"The Philosopher's Stone. The Chamber of Secrets. The Tri-wizard tournament," Fred counted off examples on his fingers. "It's always been Harry that's gone toe-to-toe, head-to-head, with You-Know-Who. All you and the rest of the Order ever seem to do is sit on your arses and twiddle your thumbs!"

"Fred Weasley, how dare you speak to Professor Dumbledore like that!" protested Molly, jumping up and glaring indignantly at the twins.

"At least she got your name right," muttered George to his brother.

"George!"

"I fear they are correct, Molly, so do not bother trying to berate them," Dumbledore intervened, once again acting the part of peacekeeper. He sighed, looking much older than he normally did, and admitted, "They have said nothing but the truth. And you should never punish someone for that."

"Tell that to Snape here," scoffed Fred, jerking a thumb at the professor. "If Harry said the sky was blue, he'd find a way to take house points away for it."

"Now listen here, you--"

"Severus," cautioned Dumbledore.

"You know what's really interest?" asked George suddenly. "It's the fact that Harry came to us for help. Not the Order of the Phoenix. Us."

"Says something about his trust in you, doesn't it?" asked Fred.

Dumbledore nodded his head in resignation. "I'm afraid so."

George inclined his head in agreement and smiled thinly. "Glad we agree on something."

"Now, if you'll excuse us," announced Fred, sketching the four older wizards a short bow. "We need to get back to our shop."

"Lunch hour's nearly over," explained George, also giving a short, almost mocking, bow and leading the way to the door exiting the dining hall.

"We're not finished here," growled Moody.

Fred turned to face the grizzled old auror and replied curtly, "Yes, we are."

George paused with one hand on the door handle. He agreed with his brother and predicted, "If we stayed, all you lot would do is talk some more."

"Well, we're tired of talking," said Fred.

"And so's Harry."

"Consider this--"

"--our resignation," finished George.

"What?" gasped Molly, dumbstruck. "You're resigning from the Order?"

"Why not?" asked George.

"Despite what you might say, it's obvious you still consider us as little more than kids," said Fred, leaning back against the wall next to the door, arms folded across his chest.

"At least with Harry, we know he considers us worthwhile," said George.

"Never doubt; we were perfectly loyal to the Order," Fred told them.

"But we were also loyal to Harry," George admitted, "and more than that; we have a health dose of respect for him."

That said, George swung the door open and quickly exited the room. Fred followed behind him after pushing off the wall, leaving behind the four members of the Order and ignoring their slightly dumbfounded expressions.

Quickly making their way down the narrow hall leading to the front door, the twins grabbed their green dragon skin jackets and hurried outside. Leaving the bounds of the Order headquarters, they shared a look and nodded before Disapparating away from Grimmauld Place.

"That went well," said Fred after they Apparated into their shop.

"Yeah, we didn't have to hex anyone," agreed George, moving to the front of the shop and flipping over the "Closed for Lunch" sign, indicating that Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was "Open for Business".

"Though Snape was definitely asking for it," grumbled Fred as he settled behind the counter.

"We'll have to send Ron some treats to use on the greasy bastard," decided George.

"Why not send them to Harry?" suggested Fred, perking up at the idea and rubbing his hands together as he considered the many possibly ways they could make Snape's life less than pleasant.

George, however, shook his head. "Harry's too busy to worry about Snape."

Fred thought about it and had to agree. "Good point."

Leaning against the counter, propping himself up on his elbows, George asked an important question, "So... think Mum will let us in the house tonight?"

"Don't know," Fred admitted, "but I think we'd better check the papers for a place to stay."

-oOo-

Saturday passed, for the most part, uneventfully. Professor Snape was conspicuously absent, rumours flying about that he had been rushed to St. Mungo's to recover from his near brush with death at the hands of the twins. General consensus amongst the students, barring the Slytherins, was disappointment that Fred's aim hand not been a little more accurate.

After dinner, which was rather boring compared to breakfast, the Defence Association assembled in the Room of Requirements for their last meeting of the week. In contrast to how things had been arranged the previous year, this year Harry held a meeting every evening after dinner - whether anyone attended or not was up to them.

Only the Saturday meeting was compulsory, something Hermione had insisted upon, and was used mostly for assessments and review of the week's previous lessons.

Tonight, after recapping and briefly touching on several other topics, Harry gave a convincing lecture on how to use a Summoning Charm as a weapon in a fight. He silenced any sceptics by demonstrating the technique, summoning a tennis ball (provided by the Room), which promptly sped towards him and smacked into anyone in its way.

"Hey, Harry," asked Ron after the meeting was over and the other members of the DA were filing out.

"Yeah?"

"Where did you get the idea for that?" he asked, after checking that everyone else had left and only the Ministry Crew were still present. "Using a Summoning Charm as a weapon in a fight, I mean."

"You taught it to me about five years from now," Harry revealed with a slight smirk.

"Me?" Ron repeated in disbelief.

"I would've thought it was an Auror technique," commented Ginny, who was helping Luna put away the unused targets that the Room had provided for the students to practice on. They did not really need to do this, but Hermione insisted on it.

Harry nodded and confirmed, "It is."

Ron looked at him in surprise and asked, "You mean I also became an Auror? Like Neville and Luna?"

"Yeah, the three of you were in the same Auror class."

"What about you, Harry?" asked Neville.

"I was... working on my own at the time," Harry replied judiciously. He was not about to go into any details about what he had really been doing. He smiled wryly and added, "Not much of a team player, I'm afraid."

"What were you working on?" asked Ginny.

"Stuff."

"Stuff?" repeated Ron, looking at Harry incredulously. He shook his head, crossed his arms over his chest and demanded, "Come on, mate, you know that's not going to work. What was it?"

"He was hunting and killing Death Eaters."

Everyone turned to look at Hermione, who was the one that had spoken. She was busy picking up the debris left over from those targets the students had managed to hit during their practice. She ignored their looks and continued collecting the wooden splinters scattered around.

After several moments Ron, Ginny and Neville turned their gazes away from Hermione and fixed them on Harry instead. Luna merely continued stacking the unused targets back in place.

Harry glanced at his friends, who were staring at him with wide eyes and expressions that were a mixture of surprise and worry. He looked askance at Hermione and observed, "I think you could have been a tad more tactful, Nee."

Hermione did not answer immediately. She crossed over to the large bin that had been supplied to dump any leftovers and deposited what she had gathered. Blowing an errant strand of hair out of her eyes, she turned away and stomped up to where Harry was standing.

"What the hell happened this morning, Harry?" she demanded.

"What d'you mean, 'what happened'?" he asked in the same calm and collected voice he had used that morning at breakfast when confronting Snape. "You saw what happened."

"Yes, I did," Hermione agreed, his quiet tone not placating her in the least. "Perhaps you'd be kind enough to explain why you had the twins build a great, bloody GUN for you to use?"

"We're at war, Hermione," noted Luna, who had finished packing away the unused targets. "I think Harry's very wise to make use of whatever resources he has available."

"What d'you mean?" asked Ginny.

Luna favoured the red-haired witch with a blissful smile and answered, "The designs to that weapon were obviously supplied by Father, no doubt stored in his memory by my future self."

Harry nodded in confirmation and said, "Amongst other things."

"What things?" asked Neville.

"Plans for automated drones - like the Doppelganger Unit I left behind to cover my escape from Privet Drive during the summer," he supplied, shrugging as nonchalantly as he could manage. Truth be told almost none of the designs Luna had sent back with Father were as innocent as the example he mentioned.

"This isn't about some 'drone', Harry!" Hermione protested. "We're talking about a gun! You could easily kill someone with that thing!"

"That's the general idea."

"Dammit, Luna, you're not helping!"

"I know," admitted Luna, still smiling at Ginny, "that's my intention."

Trying to head off the inevitable argument, Harry silently requested for the Room of Requirements to supply several chairs for them to sit in. He had a feeling this was going to take a while and he would rather not stand through it all.

Indicating the chairs, which somehow managed to appear as if they had been there from the start, Harry offered, "Let's sit down, this might take a while."

"Why?" asked Ron. "I don't see what the fuss is about."

"Ron!" snapped Hermione. "Harry's running around with a gun that's right out of a Science Fiction movie! That's what the fuss is about!"

"A what? Science Fiction moving?"

"Don't worry too much about it, Ronald," said Luna, the first to seat herself.

"We are at war, Hermione, like Harry's said before," mused Neville, dropping into one of the chairs next to Luna. He shrugged and said, "Personally, I think he's right about this. Even if the idea does make me a little uncomfortable, we're going to need all the help we can get."

"I know that," Hermione admitted, also taking a seat, between Ginny and Ron, "but this is something - something that could backfire on us. Somebody could get hurt if we fool around and I don't want that to happen."

"I think the benefits of having the plasma rifles outweighs any potential risks," said Harry, taking the last remaining seat, which was between Neville and Ron.

"But why on earth do you think we're going to need a gun of all things?" she asked insistently. "We've never needed something like that before."

"We've never been at war with You-Know-Who before," Ron pointed out.

"Most of Voldemort's Death Eaters are pureblood wizards, who've had little to no experience with the Muggle world," explained Harry as he settled into his seat, trying unsuccessfully to find a comfortable position. Giving up, he looked at Hermione and asked, "What better way to surprise them, to catch them off guard, than by using Muggle weaponry?"

Hermione looked at him sceptically. "I've never heard of any Muggles using laser guns, Harry."

"Something based on Muggle weaponry then," he relented.

"I don't think this is a good idea."

"I do."

Hermione huffed and asked, "So you're just going to ignore my concerns out of hand?"

Harry rubbed at his brow, feeling the onset of what promised to be a headache of blinding proportions. He seemed to be having more and more of them since this whole mess had started. "I appreciate your concern, but you don't have to be that concerned."

"Then why aren't you listening?"

"I am listening, Hermione. I always listen to everything you say, even when I don't agree with what you're saying," he insisted, trying not to let his mounting frustration creep into his voice. "This is one of those times."

"Then I'll have to convince you otherwise," Hermione declared with a sharp nod. She sat back in her chair, crossing her arms under her breasts, and stared at him with her typical determination.

"You think I like this anymore than you do?" Harry asked, jumping up from his seat and starting to pace restlessly back and forth in agitation. "I've never held an ordinary Muggle gun in my life, let alone a technomancy based plasma rifle that's the brainchild of three people who's sanity is rather suspect!"

Luna, who had been staring thoughtfully at the toes of her right shoe, looked up at him and asked, "Are you saying you doubt my sanity?"

Harry sighed and admitted, "From the moment I met you, Doc, and you only got worse over the years."

The blonde witch seemed to consider this for several seconds before nodding in acceptance. She grinned happily at him and chirped, "That's good to hear."

"D'you mean Fred and George actually had a hand in designing that gun in the future?" asked Ginny, guessing that it had been her brothers that were the other two designers of the plasma rifle.

"Yes," confirmed Harry. He grimaced at the memory of what had lead the twins down such a path. "After you were killed in next year's attack, they renamed Weasley's Wizard Wheezes as Weasley's Wizard Weapons. They became the Order's principal supplier of weapons against the Death Eaters."

"Bloody hell, you must have been desperate," commented Ron.

"We were."

Hermione, clearly thinking back to the statement he had made when he started pacing, asked, "But if you've never used a gun --and I'd be surprised if you had-- how can you expect to use this plasma rifle of yours effectively?"

Harry smiled grimly and glanced over his shoulder at the black sphere that was trailing after him as he paced. "I have a few ideas."

"I'd like to hear them."

"I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Why not?" she asked, looking offended at the thought that he would not.

"You won't approve of them," he told her.

"And how do you know that?" she demanded unhappily.

Harry sighed, "Because, under normal circumstances, I wouldn't approve of them."

Which was true. Half of the ideas that Harry had come up with during the summer, and since his return to Hogwarts, were the kind that no sane person would contemplate using. Such as those two nuclear bombs. And the other half were not much better. Such as that tank - which was a lot bigger and heavier than he had thought it would be.

"Current circumstances are anything but normal," observed Luna.

"No kidding," agreed Ron.

"Come on, Harry, tell us," urged Ginny, who was sitting on the edge of her seat. "Maybe we can help. You could always use more input, right?"

Harry paced about some more, trying to get his mounting agitation under control. He was trying to think of what to tell them that wouldn't have them decide to commit him to St. Mungo's mental ward. Finally he dropped back into his seat with a hefty sigh.

"Okay, how's this," he began, deciding on what to tell them. Hopefully they would give him time to explain. "After the Sorting Feast, I told Dumbledore that he had until Halloween to remove Fudge from his post as Minister of Magic. If he doesn't, I'll do it myself."

"You mean to say; you're the reason behind the recent assassination attempts?" asked Luna, sitting upright from her usual relaxed slouch and leaning forward with interest.

The Orders' attempts on Fudge's life over the past month were hot news and her Father, who published The Quibbler, had been very interested in reporting on it. Admittedly Mr. Lovegood seemed to think the entire thing was a conspiracy by prominent Muggle conglomerates that knew about wizards and were trying to influence the magical world.

"More or less," Harry confirmed. He had not spoken about the topic with Dumbledore or Remus, who had visited once or twice since the start of term, but he had made the connection. "I'd guess that those are Dumbledore and the Order's attempts at trying to scare Fudge out of office."

"Doesn't seem to be working, I'm afraid," Luna noted.

"Merlin, I don't believe this," groaned Ginny in disbelief.

"Good God, Harry!" exclaimed Hermione, jumping out of her chair. "You're talking about killing the Minister of Magic! How can you sit there so calmly and act as if it's just business as usual?"

"One word, Hermione," he replied. "Necessity."

"How can killing someone be necessary?" she immediately asked, hands on her hips and challenging him to respond. "Especially someone that happens to be on our side!"

"Fudge's isn't on our side," he answered after a pregnant pause.

"What?!"

"Bloody hell, you mean he's a Death Eater?" asked Ron.

"I'd never have believed it," said Neville, shaking his head in disbelief.

"He isn't a Death Eater," Harry assured them, wondering how Ron had come to that conclusion. Then again, Ron was prone to jumping to conclusions.

"But you just said he was!" Ron shouted.

"No, I didn't," he said with a thin smile. "I said that he wasn't on our side."

Ron looked suspiciously at Harry, thinking about that. He gave a shake of his head, obviously discarding whatever line of thought he had been following, and asked, "But if he's not on our side and he's not a Death Eater, then who's side is he on?"

"His own."

Neville puffed out an exasperated breath and said, "Bugger, this is getting convoluted."

"Harry, what are you going on about?" asked Ginny, also looking not too sure of Harry's meaning was. "Perhaps you should explain."

"Do you know what protection, Fudge has?" Harry asked, rising from his chair and resuming his pacing. He simply could not bear sitting still for too long. Particularly when discussing matters like this.

"A fair amount I'd guess," hazarded Ginny, clearly unsure what this had to do with anything.

"Well, he is the Minister of Magic," said Neville.

"Originally, since Voldemort's return, he had four Auror teams keeping watch over his house in Oxford. Twenty four hour surveillance, even when he's not there. He also had one team assigned as his bodyguards, not to mention four other teams while at his office," Harry told them briskly. He scowled as a thought occurred to him. "I don't doubt he's had everything doubled since Dumbledore started his scare tactics."

"Wait up," said Ron, waving a hand to signal a pause in the conversation. He looked incredulously up at Harry and asked, the disbelief rife in his voice, "You're saying Fudge has nearly twenty Aurors keeping him safe?"

"No, those are only a single shift," Harry corrected him. "It's actually closer to sixty. More now."

Ron stared at Harry and sputtered, "That's - that's - that's--"

Neville, seeing that Ron was not likely to find the words to describe the situation, decided to sum it up for all concerned. "It's a bloody outrage, is what it is!"

Not looking too sure of herself, Hermione echoed Neville's earlier statement and said, "Well, he is the Minister of Magic."

"And that's an excuse for wasting resources?" demanded Neville. "It's practically criminal what he's doing."

"And that's just the start," added Harry.

"There's more?" asked Ginny, disbelieving.

"Of course there's more!" insisted Ron, having apparently decided to rally behind Harry's opinion of this matter. The fact that he shared his friend's dislike of the Minister only served to help him make up his mind. "Do you really think Harry would want to kill him just because he's collecting Aurors like other people collect chocolate frog cards?"

"I assume his other activities have some impact on the war?" asked Luna as she stared up at the ceiling. Her apparent interest in the conversation had waned once it was revealed that Muggle conglomerates weren't trying to kill Fudge.

"Yes, a very negative impact."

"We're not going to like this, are we?" asked Hermione.

"You did ask," said Harry with a shrug. He continued pacing for a while, his friends heads following him back and forth like spectators at a Muggle tennis match. Finally he settled near the fireplace and stared into the flames. "Fudge is a bigot."

"I certainly won't argue with that assessment." He was peripherally aware of Hermione nodding her agreement. She looked much calmer now than she had earlier, which gave him hope that this discussion would agreeably.

Harry nodded and added, "He's also a coward."

Ron snorted and commented, "Well, he was a Hufflepuff, I think."

"Ronald! Don't be so rude!" Luna admonished him.

"Why?" the redhead asked, puzzled. He made a show of looking about the otherwise empty Room of Requirements. "It's not like any 'puffs are here now, are they?"

"Do you know how bigoted you sound, saying that?" she asked in return.

That shut Ron up quite effectively. He ducked his head, almost glowing with embarrassment.

Harry ignored the byplay between the two and continued speaking. His eyes narrowed fractionally as he thought back to his fifth-year at Hogwarts. "We saw the start of it last year, with that hag, Umbridge."

"Bigoted..." murmured Hermione, repeating what he had said earlier. She regarded him thoughtfully for a long moment and Harry waited to see what she would deduce from the clues he had given. "He's going to pass some sort of law," she said after a while, "against non-humans, isn't he?"

"Something like that," he acknowledged with a nod of the head. His grimace returned as he delved into his future memories and recalled what might yet happen. "I'm no expert when it comes to politics, but I do know he'll cause enough trouble that most of the so-call 'sub-human' creatures in Britain will flock to Voldemort in response. He may be a sadistic, raving lunatic, but his only prejudice is against Muggles and Muggleborns. When he offers them the freedom the Ministry will try to restrict..."

"Bloody idiot," grumbled Ron.

"Are you talking about Fudge or V-v-vo... You-Know-Who?" asked Neville.

"Fudge," Ron affirmed, speaking the name distastefully. "The man's clearly mentally deficient."

Neville nodded in agreement. He turned to Harry again and asked, "Doesn't he understand that doing that will only bolster You-Know-Who's ranks?"

"If he does, then he doesn't care," Harry muttered. He considered a what to say next and decided to lead the conversation to something that would bring everyone over to his side of the argument. After all, it was always easier to unite against someone you perceived as an enemy. "Though one or two good things did come out of it."

"What good could possibly come from a mess like that?" asked Ginny.

"Wormtail," Harry fairly spat the name out.

"Peter Pettigrew?" asked Luna curiously.

Ron both shivered and glowered at the same time, no doubt remembering how he had once kept the second surviving member of the Marauders as his pet rat, Scabbers. "What does Fudge have to do with that treacherous rat?" he asked.

Harry drew his eyes away from the flickering fires and returned to his seat between Ron and Neville. He began to tell the tale he knew would put Fudge on everyone's bad side. "Hagrid's mother is a giantess. Because of that, he'll be on the receiving end of some of Fudge's propaganda. Similar to what happened after Rita Skeeter's article during the Tri-Wizard tournament."

"He's not going to be sent to Azkaban, is he?" asked Hermione anxiously.

"No, Dumbledore will make sure of that," Harry reassured her, pleased with her reaction.

"Then what?" asked Ginny.

"He'll lose his post as our Care of Magical Creatures professor," revealed Harry unhappily. He could 'remember' how news of Hagrid's dismissal had hit them all hard just before the Easter break. Hopefully, with Fudge out of office, it could be avoided this time round.

"That bastard!" snarled Ron, both hands clenching into fists as he hit the armrests of his chair. He bared his teeth and continued, "I have a good mind to send Fudge a Howler!"

"Naturally, Hagrid was very depressed when that happened," Harry continued, "so we were spending quite a lot of time keeping him company - trying to boost his spirits."

"How does Pettigrew come into it?" asked Neville.

"I'm getting there."

Harry jumped up again and started pacing back and forth for the third time that evening. It was almost a nervous habit, an attempt to burn off his agitation or, at the very least, make him feel as if he were doing something useful.

"One evening, we'll be helping Hagrid feed his... baby."

"His baby?" repeated Hermione askance. "You don't mean..."

"Mister Green Turtle, yes," he confirmed tiredly. His memories of that experience, helping the groundskeeper feed a creature that would have just as readily have eaten the students, did not endear the water wrym to him.

"That's nice of us," observed Luna.

Ron stared at the Ravenclaw witch incredulously and asked, "Have you seen that great big monster?"

Luna shook her head. "No."

"Hagrid's teaching us about Thestrals and other flying horses," supplied Ginny, reminding them that the fifth-years were following the previous year's lesson plan. She looked from one sixth-year to the next and asked, "Is it really that bad in your class?"

"Trust us, it is," lamented Neville.

"At least nobody's been eaten yet," grumbled Ron.

Of course, there had been a rather disturbing accident wherein Justin Finch-Fletchley and Terry Boot had tripped over the chum bucket Hagrid used to summon the beast during classes. The two boys had run for the proverbial hills when Mister Green Turtle had surged out of the lake and begun to pursue them at its usual ponderous pace.

Justin and Terry had escaped the water wyrm's snapping jaws, only to be caught by Mr Filch. The caretaker had almost had a stroke at the sight of the two young wizards, who were dripping blood and guts all over the floor. He had given them both a month's detention which, to their dismay, was to be with Hagrid - feeding Mister Green Turtle his evening meal.

"Well, one evening, we'll be helping Hagrid feed Mister Green Turtle, when the damn thing gets wind of something it doesn't like," Harry told them. A slight quirk came to his lips as he thought of a way to describe what happened. "You might say, he smelt a rat."

"What?" asked Ron, sounding confused.

"I'll explain later," Ginny told him.

"I got the bloody pun, Ginny!" he snapped in return, glaring at her for the insinuation that he was not smart enough to follow what was being said. After she rapidly apologised for the misunderstanding, he turned back to Harry and said, "What I want to know is what happened!"

"Voldemort is going to send Wormtail into the school later this year, as a rat, sometime around Christmas - we never really found out exactly when," Harry answered, propping his elbows on the chair's armrests and steepling his fingers in front of him.

"His mission was mostly one of espionage - gathering information. Seeing who did what with whom. Who would be susceptible to subversion or indoctrination. Discover anything that might be useful to Voldemort when he makes his attack."

"Mister Green Turtle must have smelt Wormtail in his animagus form and chased after him," said Hermione, having deduced what would have happened.

"Pretty much," Harry acknowledged. He could 'remember' the incident quite clearly and, from an outside point of view, it was almost funny. "He almost managed to eat the little bastard, but Wormtail changed back and started yelling for help. It was close, but we managed to save his worthless skin.

Ron was sitting on the edge of his seat and grinning eagerly, "So, we're going to finally catch that rat? Excellent."

"No, we're not."

This simple statement caused a stunned silence to fall over the group.

Ginny looked unsurely at him and asked, "Harry?"

"We're not going to catch Wormtail this time," he told them firmly. "Not anymore."

"But - but why not?" sputtered Ron.

"Because catching him will ultimately make no difference to what happens. It will change absolutely nothing. Wormtail's freedom or imprisonment is a minor consideration in the grand scheme of things."

"What do you mean, Harry?" asked Hermione.

"I have something... different... in mind this time," he answered, his thoughts drifting to what was one of the crazier plans he and Father had cooked up over the summer.

"What are you talking about, mate?" asked Ron.

"We made some mistakes first time round, old friend," Harry said, his eyes narrowing as memories of what had yet to happen surfaced. "This time round I intend to exploit those mistakes and their consequences to the fullest."

"How?" asked Luna, cocking her head to one side in curiosity.

Harry scowled, thinking of Wormtail and the events following his capture. The end of his future-self's sixth-year had been both hopeful and bitter sweet. "When we caught the bastard, Dumbledore interrogated him with Veritaserum. It didn't take very long to find out the location of Voldemort's current base of operations."

Ron jerked upright from the slouch he had drooped into and stared excitedly at Harry. "You mean you already know where You-Know-Who's hiding?!"

Nodding in confirmation, Harry began to wonder if this was a good idea. He had a feeling that reactions to this little gem of information were not going to be favourable.

"Harry, you have to tell Dumbledore," urged Hermione.

"No."

Everyone stared at him, obviously wondering at the curt flatness of his reply.

"Harry, I know you don't exactly trust him right now, but this is important!" Hermione insisted. "You can't let something he hasn't even done yet cloud your judgement!"

"I don't intend to tell the old man because I already know what he'll do," Harry told her. "It won't make any difference."

"What do you mean, Harry?" asked Neville.

"He means that Dumbledore will not act on the information. Am I right, Harry?" said Luna, answering before Harry could. She focused intently on him, a somewhat unnerving experience, and continued, "He will not make an attack against Voldemort and his forces, probably preferring to use the knowledge as an opportunity to gather information. He's too cautious to risk a confrontation so soon, especially without comprehensive intelligence on the target area."

"Exactly," Harry confirmed. He was slightly surprised that Luna had deduced so quickly what would happen. He knew that she was incredibly intelligent, as did his future self. He had not, however, thought her to be so good at reading people.

Pushing thoughts of Luna, present or future, out of mind, he went on, "By the time he decides to act, it will be too late. There's a very small window of opportunity in which Voldemort will be vulnerable. Once he has time to secure and fortify his position... Dumbledore will wait until the last possible second before attacking. It'll be a disaster."

Hermione shook her head at that and said softly, "You don't know that Harry."

"I'm not doing this out of spite or distrust, Nee!" he snapped, "I'm trying to save his life as well!"

"What... what d'you mean by that?" asked Ginny.

"The Order will wait. And plan. And wait some more. And plan some more. When they finally decide to attack, it'll be near the end of next year," Harry explained. Unable to remain still any longer, he pushed out of his chair and resumed his pacing. "As I said; it will be a disaster."

"Dumbledore will be killed in the assault?" asked Luna curiously.

"Pretty much," he admitted with a gusty sigh. He shook his head, recalling what his future self knew about the Order's catastrophic attack against Voldemort's hideout during the middle of his seventh-year. "He'll hang on for nearly a month, but his wounds will eventually kill him."

As he paced, Harry was aware of Luna nodding her head.

"Without Dumbledore as a leader," she said, "I gather the Order of the Phoenix will no longer be effective in trying to fight the Death Eaters."

"They're not all that effective even with him still alive, but yes," he grumbled, passing by the fireplace and turning on a heel to make his way back. His troubled features grew sombre and grim as another memory of the future surfaced. He scowled unhappily and announced, "Less than twenty-four hours after the old man dies, Voldemort will hit this school with everything he has. Suffice to say, the Order will be completely unable to stop him from killing most of those he considers a threat."

"Who?" asked Ron, uncharacteristically sombre.

"Some of the staff. Some of the students. Us," Harry counted off, not bothering to list any names. He did, however, turn to give a solemn look to the youngest Weasley. His lips curled down as he muttered, "Ginny."

The reactions to this were varied, but about what Harry had been expecting. They had all known that Ginny was going to be killed during a fight towards the end of the next school year. They had not, however, known much in the way of details - something Harry was reluctant to share.

The girl in question, Ginny, blanched so pale that her freckles stood out in stark contrast to the rest of her face. Ron bit of a curse and looked as if he desperately wanted to hit something. Or someone. Neville grimaced and regarded Ginny with concern, doubtless worried about her reaction. Hermione winced and ducked her head.

Only Luna did not have much of an outward reaction. There was perhaps the faintest tightening of her expression, around her eyes and mouth, but otherwise she seemed carved out of stone. She regarded Harry calmly and asked, "What can we do to prevent it?"

Harry tiredly ran a hand through his hair. Perhaps, after reminding them of the consequences of Dumbledore's actions in the original timeline, they would be more open to his plan.

"I intend to do what Dumbledore should have done."

There was a moment of puzzled silence as the five of them took in his words and deciphered them. Several more moments passed as they stared at him with wide eyes, now understanding what he intended to do.

"Please tell me you're not planning to attack Voldemort right now, by yourself no less," pleaded Hermione, looking at Harry with the same anxious expression she always used whenever he risked life and limb.

"Not right now, no," he reassured her. Before she had a chance to relax, he continued, "As soon as my preparations are finished, however, I'm going after him with everything I have."

"Harry, that's insane!" she yelled, jumping to her feet.

"Yeah!" agreed Ron, also rising up to face him. He waved a hand at Harry and the small black sphere which was trailing behind him as he paced. "Even with that fancy ball thingy and that prism gun the twins made - you're outnumbered dozens to one! Hell, even with help from us it would be suicide!"

"If you go to Dumbledore he could arrange with the Ministry - organise to have the Aurors make the attack. There's enough of them to overwhelm the Death Eaters, even if Voldemort is there with them," added Ginny, who had recovered some of her colour, only to lose it again after Harry's pronouncement.

Hermione nodded, clearly happy that the others were backing her up, and pressed on. "You can't run off half-cocked like that Harry. Remember what happened last year--"

With a sharp chopping motion of one hand, Harry cut her off before she could finish. "I remember perfectly well what happened last year, Hermione!"

His eyes were blazing angrily as he regarded her, actually causing her to take an involuntary step backward, almost falling over her chair in the process.

"Believe me, I remember last year," he continued in a calmer tone. His expression, however, did not lighten, but actually grew even darker. "I also happen to remember what's going to happen for the next twenty years!"

"Harry, I--"

"Don't you understand? We don't have the time to argue and debate this! Every day that goes by changes things and makes what I know less and less accurate, because more and more of what happens is happening differently!" he insisted, stepping forward and grabbing her by the shoulders. If it had been anyone other than Hermione, he would have started shaking some sense into her. "The time to strike is now, while the enemy is still unprepared and least expecting an all out assault! Especially one which they can't possibly hope to survive."

"You can't see the future, Harry," she answered, trying to wriggle her way out of his grip. "Yes, the knowledge you now possess is useful and with some cautious planning--"

"DAMN CAUTIOUS PLANNING TO THE BOTTOM-MOST PIT OF THE DARKEST HELL!!" Harry bellowed. His voice was raised even higher than it had been during his visit to Dumbledore's office at the end of his fifth-year.

His temper exploded outwards, any hope of containing it cast to the winds in an instant. Harry was not even aware that he had shoved Hermione away from him, only focused on the red haze that seemed to occlude his vision. His head was pounding from the rapidness with which he had shifted from mildly annoyed to full blown fury.

"Why can't you understand?!" he demanded, utterly frustrated. He glared at where she had collapsed into her seat. "I can see the future! I see it with such terrible clarity that it's all I can do not to claw my own eyes out in the hope that I won't have to see any more of it!"

Hermione stared up at him, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Harry was vaguely aware that the others were staring at him in much the same manner, a mixture of shock, worry and horror, but his growing anger made it seem unimportant. He did not know why he had grown so frustrated so quick, why his angry had boiled over like this, but at the moment the reasoning behind it was as unimportant as everything else.

He roughly shoved his way between Hermione and Ron's chairs, and stormed out of the Room of Requirements. He was barely aware of his surroundings, his rage building to epic proportions and blinding him to everything around him. He turned down a random hallway and disappeared into the maze of Hogwarts' corridors.

-oOo-

"Dammit, how the hell can he move so fast without running?" asked Ron as he and the other four members of the Ministry Crew raced through the corridors of Hogwarts.

"Practice," answered Luna from behind him.

They were currently belting it out after Harry, trying to catch up and speak with him. The problem lay in the fact that there had been a slight delay between the time Harry left and the time they started to give chase. His reaction to Hermione's insistence had surprised them all and had taken a while for them to shake off.

Ron, by virtue of his long legs, was leading the pack, followed by Luna, then Ginny, Hermione and Neville. It was luck, more than anything, that they had managed to find Harry. They had only caught a glimpse or two of him, usually just before he rounded a corner, but hopefully it would not be long before they caught up.

"Where the hell is he going?" panted Neville, already slightly out of breath. He had lost some of the baby fat and general roundness that had plagued his earlier years at Hogwarts, but he still had more bulk to move than the others.

"We're heading to the Great Hall," observed Ginny as they began a frantic run down one of the moving staircases. Unfortunately it was not the same staircase Harry had already descended, seeing as that one had shifted to a new position seconds before they reached it. They were now taking the long way down, which involved two staircases instead of just the one.

"Why go there?" puffed Hermione, stumbling as they reached a landing.

"He wants to get out of the school."

"WHAT?" chorused everyone, glancing at Luna as they ran.

Luna seemed completely unfazed by their exclamations and unbothered by the trying pace that they were running at. Her willowy frame was moving with surprising grace, skipping down three, sometimes four, steps at a time. She waited until they reached the next, and last, landing before explaining.

"He's not going to the Great Hall, he's going to the Entrance Hall."

"Going outside? But why?" asked Hermione, who was clutching at her side. The injury she received from Dolohov at the Department of Mysteries seldom bothered her, Ron knew, but she still lost her breath rather quickly.

"He promised Professor McGonagall that he would not test or use the plasma rifle inside the school or its surrounds," Luna answered as they swung into the corridor leading away from the staircase.

"What? Why would he want to test the gun now?"

"Shit, Hermione, when did you become so damned stupid?!" Ron bellowed, his temper getting away from his momentarily. "He's pissed off and wants to let off some stress by blowing things up!"

"Sound's right," gasped Neville, who's face was now a fetching shade of red.

Hermione's breath hitched in her throat and Ron could see, out the corner of his eyes, that her face paled slightly as the meaning of his words sunk in. He was slightly surprised when she redoubled her pace and not only caught up, but actually managed to pass by him.

"We have to go faster," she muttered as she streaked ahead.

"That's what I keep saying, but you don't listen!" he shouted after her, now practically sprinting down the corridor.

"We have to stop him!" Hermione yelled back. "It's not safe outside the castle at night!"

"Since when has that ever stopped any of you?" asked Neville, who was visibly struggling to keep up.

"But he could be walking into a trap!" insisted Hermione, not looking back. She was clutching at her side, her face contorted in a grimace of pain, but she did not slow down.

"If he is, then he probably already knows about it!" snapped Ginny.

"Then why would he run headlong into it?" asked Ron, who was beginning to feel the effects of such an intense chase. "You're overanalysing."

"We're almost there," noted Luna.

"There he is!" Hermione shouted as they rounded the last corner and came in sight of the Entrance Hall. She pointed at the figure they could see standing there and cried out, "HARRY!"

Harry, however, did not react. In fact, he seemed completely oblivious to their calamitous approach - not hearing any of the calls for his attention. They had just burst into the hall, when he angrily shook his head and snarled, "Father. Get me the hell out of here." There was a brief pause and then he continued, "I don't care! Anywhere on this place as long as it's not here!"

There was a muted flash and Harry was enveloped in a shiny bubble of energy which disappeared almost instantly, a soft pop heralding its departure. Even though he had only seen the effect once before, at the Sorting Feast, Ron recognised that it was a Gate, no doubt taking Harry away from Hogwarts.

"No! No! Harry!" Hermione screamed, skidding to a halt and falling to her knees on the spot where Harry had been standing. She reached out a hand and placed it on the bare stone, mumbling in shock, "He's... gone?"

Nobody said anything, although that was partially because they were all currently gasping for breath, bent over double and clutching their knees in an attempt to prevent their legs from folding underneath them.

A harsh voice broke the silence and startled Neville enough that he fell back onto his rear.

"What's going on here?"

The school's caretaker, Argus Filch, and his cat, Mrs. Norris, had arrived just in time to catch them all. He lifted the lantern he holding up high, illuminating their flushed faces, and smiled wickedly at the five students.

Ginny groaned and leaned against the nearby wall. "Well, this is a right balls up."

"Don't be so optimistic," said Luna, who had been holding her upright until then.

"Where d'you think he went?" asked Neville, who had recovered from his fright. He was still red in the face and puffing from the exertion of running all the way from the Room of Requirements to the Entrance Hall.

"You heard what he said," Ron answered, "Anywhere but here."

"You lot are coming with me," declared Filch, practically crowing with delight. "There'll be detentions handed out this night to be sure."

Ron ignored him, as did Ginny, Luna and Neville, focusing instead on Hermione. She was sitting on the floor, staring blankly at the empty space where Harry had disappeared.

"This is all my fault," she whispered, barely loud enough to be heard.

"Hermione..." Ron began, but trailed off. He did not know what to say.

"I shouldn't have pushed him like that," she said, slightly louder and with more conviction. She looked up at him from her place on the floor, her eyes swimming with the onset of tears.

"He'll be back, Hermione, don't worry," Ron reassured her, kneeling down beside her and slinging an arm around her trembling shoulders in an attempt to comfort her.

Hermione shook her head, inadvertently slapping Ron in the face with her wild tangles. "I should have known better."

Neville came up to stand next to Ron, beginning to recover his colour and his breath. He reached down and patted Hermione on the shoulder, softly saying, "You couldn't have known he'd react like that.

"This is all my fault!"

"I don't care who's fault it is, but mark my words," Filch held up a hand, right below his chin, "you brats are all up to here in it."

Ron glared up at the man from his place next to Hermione. Filch's lack of sympathy for a girl that was obvious distraught was not endearing the caretaker to him. His distraction, however, allowed Hermione to take him by surprise when she pushed his arm off her shoulders and scrabbled to her feet, sprinting out of the Entrance Hall before anyone could react.

Filch too a few steps after her, shouting. "Here now! Come back here!"

"Oh, crap," Ron muttered, "Not her as well."

"I'll go after her," announced Ginny, starting down the corridor Hermione had run down. She glanced back at her brother and ordered, "You go get Dumbledore, tell him what happened."

"I'm coming with you," declared Luna, following on Ginny's heels.

Neville looked after them and tried to protest, "But--"

Filch cut him off, waving a fist after the two young witches as they took off after Hermione, Mrs. Norris trailing behind them. "Don't think you can run away like this!"

"Terribly sorry," Luna called back, "but Hermione's much more important than you are."

"Ginny!" shouted Ron, pushing himself up.

"Don't worry! We'll look after her."

"Stop!" bellowed Filch, looking positively livid at being ignored. "Don't think you'll get away with this! I know who you are!" he cried to their backs. Stomping a foot, he turned to face Ron and Neville, who had not moved. He glowered at them both and grumbled, "As for you lads..."

Ron had one thought that summed up this situation.

"Shit."

-oOo-

Moaning Myrtle's bathroom was perhaps the least frequented bathroom in all of Hogwarts. This was in no small part due to the rather eccentric ghost who resided there, hence the name. Of course, most ghosts were eccentric in some way or another, but Myrtle was strange even by ghostly standards.

Despite this, however, most young witches that were currently crying their eyes out, seemed to gravitate towards the place. It is said that misery loves company and Moaning Myrtle was as miserable as you could get.

Seeking refuge from the disastrous events that had just transpired, Hermione was currently ensconced in one of the toilet stall, crying her eyes out. She had not felt so horribly wretched since Halloween in her first year, before the incident with the troll in the girls' bathroom.

"Are you sure she's in here?"

Hermione's head perked up at the sound of Ginny's voice. She sucking in a breath, as quietly as she could, and tried not to make a sound. Company, even friendly company, was not something she wanted right now.

"What better place to go, if you want privacy?" asked a voice she recognised as Luna. Apparently both of her witch friends had come looking for her.

"Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?"

This was definitely the wrong thing to say, as it promptly succeeded in angering the ghost in question. Myrtle was, Hermione knew, very sensitive about such things. The ghost's voice was sharp and biting as she demanded, "Is there something wrong with my bathroom?"

"Myrtle!" exclaimed Ginny, sounding surprised by Myrtle's abrupt appearance. "Ah, no, no! There's nothing wrong with your bathroom."

"Then why does nobody ever use it?" Myrtle wailed.

"Have you seen Hermione?" asked Luna, implacably calm as always.

"The bushy haired one?"

Hermione scowled at the description. She knew her hair was somewhat untameable - rather like Harry's in fact. It was something that had plagued her for most of her life, rather like her somewhat overlarge front teeth. While Madam Pomfrey had corrected that last problem, during fourth year, nothing seemed to work with her hair - rather like Harry.

It was a struggle not to resume crying, or at least not cry out loud - seeing as the tears were still dripping down her face, but Hermione clamped down on her jaw and stifled a sob. For some reason Harry was very much on her mind, even more so than he usually was. Probably because she had just had a terrible row with him.

"That's Hermione, all right," agreed Ginny.

Hermione hoped the ghost would keep her ethereal mouth shut, but it was not to be.

"She's over there," Myrtle announced. There was a slight pause and something that sounded a bit like a disdainful sniff. "Looked a real fright when she came in."

"She's having a bad day," supplied Ginny.

"It's night," countered Myrtle with a surprising amount of sarcasm.

"Excuse us, but we need to speak with her," announced Luna.

"That's all right," Myrtle exclaimed dramatically. "Come in and use Myrtle's bathroom and ignore her entirely! Everyone does!"

"Ah, yeah, can't imagine why," muttered Ginny, just barely loud enough to hear.

Hermione could hear their footsteps coming closer, echoing slightly off the bathroom walls. She waited, hoping that they were approach the wrong stall, until there was a gentle knock on the stall door.

Ginny's voice asked softly, "Hermione? You in there?"

She didn't really want to answer, having decided at some point that she would much rather be alone. Still, she reasoned, Ginny and Luna would likely keep on asking until they got some kind of answer. She was contemplating what to say when a squeak from Ginny alerted her to the fact that something was about to happen. A moment later Myrtle passed through the door, having apparently gone through Ginny before that.

"Well?" the ghost demanded, hands on her hips. "Aren't you going to answer?"

"I'm here," Hermione called in resignation. She stood up and wiped at her teary eyes and cheeks with the back of her robe's sleeves. She released the latch locking the stall door and pulled it open, stepping out to join her friends.

With a huff of what might have been satisfaction, but was probably indignation, Myrtle leapt into the air and dived into the toilet Hermione had just vacated, no doubt planning to sulk in her favourite U-bend.

Hermione stood in place, sniffling quietly, as Ginny and Luna looked her over. A hand on her arm caused her to glance up at Ginny, whose eyes were filled with concern. "Myrtle was right," the redhead said, injecting a small amount of humour into her voice. "You do look a fright."

"If you are trying to cheer me up," she replied, "that's a terrible way to start."

"You shouldn't be crying like this, Hermione," said Luna, taking hold of Hermione's other arm and, together with Ginny, pulling her away from the toilets and towards the sinks.

"Why not?"

"Because nothing that bad has happened."

"Nothing bad? Nothing bad?!" Hermione repeated, voiced raised. She pulled free from Luna's grasp and turned to face the younger witch, glaring furiously at her. "Are you daft?!"

Luna bobbed her head from side to side and admitted, "A little."

Hermione resisted the urge to drop her head in her hands. Instead she waved her arms for emphasis and exclaimed, "I just made Harry run away from Hogwarts!"

"We all make mistakes," Luna countered evenly.

"This isn't a mistake, it's a fuck up of royal proportions!!" Hermione screamed.

As she sank to the floor, a fresh wave of tears spilling from her eyes, Hermione saw that Ginny was staring at her with raised eyebrows. No doubt she was surprised to hear Hermione swearing like a drunken sailor. Luna, naturally, seemed totally unfazed by the outburst.

Pulling her knees to her chest, Hermione buried her face against them and sobbed. She heard the rustle of robes and soon felt what had to be Ginny cradling her to her chest in a comforting hug. From the corner of her eyes, through the thick tangles of her hair, she could see Luna sitting slightly apart, watching with visible concern.

"It's be okay, Hermione, don't worry," Ginny assured her soothingly.

"But how?" she asked plaintively, rocking slightly back and forth.

"It just will be, you'll see."

Lifting her head up to look at her friend, Hermione mumbled, "I've really made a mess of things this time, Ginny."

"Relax, Hermione. Try breathing deeply."

"Dammit, Luna," she glared at the blonde Ravenclaw. "I'm trying to think of a way to fix this screw up of mine, not give birth!"

"You don't have to worry," Luna said, again ignoring the outburst. She levelled a confident stare at Hermione and said, with utter conviction. "Harry will be back."

"How do you know?"

"Because he's Harry."

"That makes perfect sense!" she snapped sarcastically.

"Harry hasn't run away, Hermione," Luna insisted quietly.

"Then what the devil was that in the Entrance Hall, huh?"

"He's upset," Luna explained patiently. "Harry doesn't like having people around when he's like that."

Hermione dropped her head, resting her chin on her knees, and stared off into space. She thought about that for a moment and then wailed in protest, "But I'm - we're his friends!"

Luna gave her a wry look and observed, "You're also the one that upset him in the first place."

"Do you have to rub it in? I know that!"

She was startled when Luna, rather than replying, shuffled closer and joined Ginny in hugging her.

"Hermione, let it go. Leave Harry to himself for the time being. He's a very private person and always will be. If you bother him about something, he'll only pull away from you - rather than be forced to talk about it," Luna murmured softly, her voice just about a whisper and her breath tickling Hermione's neck. "You should know that."

"Are you sure?"

"No," Luna replied lightly, drawing back slightly but not breaking the embrace. She bobbed her head back and forth in her usual manner and added, "It sounds right though."

"Luna's right about this, Hermione," said Ginny, who had been quiet until now. She also drew back and released one arm from around Hermione so that she could lift the older witch's head up to look in her eyes. "Remember, this is Harry we're talking about. You're going to need patience for this. Let him come to you instead of chasing after him."

Considering this for a moment, Hermione gave herself a mental kick to the rear. She prided herself on knowing what made Harry tick, most of the time anyway, so why had she been so insistent? She should have known better than to try pressing Harry into doing what she wanted from him. Unfortunately her common sense had seemingly taken a ride on the back seat during their talk after the DA meeting.

She winced upon recalling how she had thoughtlessly brought up memories of Sirius and his death. Despite the Harry seemed to have accepted the loss, she knew it was still a raw and painful wound. Reasoning with Harry when he was upset harder than accomplishing the impossible - and nothing was guaranteed to upset Harry faster than bringing up the topic of his godfather.

As the realization of how badly she had handled things set in, she dropped her head again and groaned, "This mess is even worse than I thought."

"Why do you say that?" asked Ginny, rubbing her back in comforting circles.

"Luna," Hermione muttered, lifting her head enough to give her friends a wan smile. "She's actually making sense."

"I always make sense," Luna immediately answered, grinning dottily. "It's just that you're finally in the right state of mind to understand it."

Hermione shared a wry look with Ginny and said, "Now I'm worried."

Ginny grinned, not crazily like Luna, but with the friendly mischief that tempered her fiery temper. She gave Hermione a gentle shake and asked, "So, are you feeling any better now?"

"I suppose so," Hermione admitted, surprised to acknowledge that she actually was feeling better. She looked at both witches that were holding her and reached out to return the embrace they were still holding her in. "Thanks."

"Good," chirped Ginny. "Can we stand up now? My bum's going numb."

"I can rub some feeling back into it, if you'd like."

"Luna!!" gasped Ginny, looking at the blonde in mock horror.

The three witches laughed and giggled lightly, breaking the emotionally draining tension. With grins on their faces, a slight smile in Hermione's case, they separated from the hug and pushed themselves up. Luna helped both of them rise, surprising Hermione with the ease with which she did so.

Before anything else could be said, aside from one or two glances, the bathroom door swung open. Much to Hermione's displeasure it was none other than Cho Chang, this year's head girl, that came striding in.

The Asian girl stopped just inside the bathroom and glowered unhappily at them. She had obviously been roused from bed, rather than having been on a nightly patrol, since her school robes had been thrown over her pyjamas and she was wearing a pair of fluffy, powder blue slippers.

"So here's where you lot are hiding," she grumbled.

"Cho, fancy meeting you here," said Luna dreamily.

"Don't be coy about this, Luna," Cho snapped, resting her hands on her hips. She leaned forward accusingly and said, "The three of you are in a lot of trouble."

"What d'you mean?" asked Ginny, who had subtly moved forward so that she was standing partially between the head girl and Hermione.

"Professor Flitwick sent me to get you," said Cho.

"Why does he want to see us?" Hermione asked, putting a hand on Ginny's shoulder and shifting the younger witch back. She appreciated the gesture, but the Sorting Hat had put her in Gryffindor for a reason and hiding behind her friends was not something she would tolerate.

"He doesn't," Cho explained with a smile that held a nasty edge to it. It was with an almost gloating tone that she delivered her next words. "Professor Dumbledore, on the other hand, does."

"I don't think this is a very good time," Luna observed.

"This isn't a request, Lovegood," Cho told her fellow Ravenclaw. She turned to leave, but paused to give them a quick looking over. She sniffed and looked pointedly at Hermione. "I'll give you five minutes to clean up. You need it. After that, we're going to the headmaster's office. Don't make me come in after you."

Without another word, Cho pulled open the door and stormed out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind her as she left. The three witches left behind exchanged looks that were a mix of amusement and annoyance.

Ginny was the first to voice what they were thinking. "Charming, isn't she?"

"She's just jealous," said Luna.

"Jealous? Of what?" asked Hermione.

"You, of course."

"Me?" Hermione looked at Luna in confusion and asked the first question that sprung to mind, "Why would she possibly be jealous of me?"

Luna returned Hermione's look with one of frustration. Breaking her gaze, she shook her head and said, "If you have to ask, I can't answer."

Hermione tentatively asked, "Harry?"

"Come on, 'Nee'," said Ginny, using Harry's pet name for her. She grabbed Hermione by the arm and pulled her in the direction of the wash basins. "Let's get you freshened up."

"Yes," agreed Luna, trailing behind them as they approached the mirror. "Heavens forbid you appear in front of the headmaster without having powdered your nose beforehand."

Standing in front of one of the cleaner basins, Moaning Myrtle had a habit of causing a mess in her bathroom, Hermione steeled herself to look in the mirror. Peripherally she was aware of Ginny giving a slight shiver, no doubt remembering that one of these basins, Hermione wasn't sure which one, was in fact the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

Luna had also noticed the subtle action and responded by putting an arm around Ginny's shoulders. This small contact was enough that she quickly shrugged off whatever discomfort she must have been feeling. Hermione smiled and then turned her gaze to the mirror.

"You're right. I do look a fright," she finally said.

Fortunately the mirrors in the school's bathrooms were incapable of speech, otherwise it might have been tempted to make a snide remark. Hermione did look a fright. Her hair was bushier than ever, frazzled was the best way to describe it, and gave the impression that she had stuck a finger into a Muggle electrical socket. Her eyes were red and puffy, the source of the dried tear tracks that streaked her cheeks.

Luna nodded in agreement and said, "Told you."

"Come on, we don't have a lot of time," urged Ginny, reaching out and twisting the cold water tap.

Hermione quickly washed her face and, with the efficiency of someone who had spent six years with Lavender and Parvati as her roommates, applied a few charms to reduce the redness and swelling around her eyes. She had never really bothered much with learning Makeup or Glamour Charms, or even the actual physical makeup, so by the time she was finished, she looked next to normal.

Turning away from the mirror and taking her friends by their elbows, she lead them outside to where Cho was waiting impatiently for them.

"All right then, Toto, let's go and see the Wizard."

They actually made it out of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and halfway to Dumbledore's office before Luna asked the question Hermione had been expecting.

"Who's 'Toto'?"

-oOo-

With Father's ability to open Gates to anywhere on the planet, those people at Hogwarts who knew of Harry's departure would naturally assume that he had travelled a considerable distance. Maybe even having gone back to Hawaii.

It would have surprised to them learn how close to home he stayed.

In fact, if you asked most people, Harry was just down the street from his "home".

Harry was currently sitting on a swing, in a park in Little Whinging, Surrey, a few minutes walk from number four Privet Drive. While he had told Father to take them anywhere other than Hogwarts, the Gatekeeper had brought Harry here, knowing it was a quiet spot that Harry preferred to come to when he needed to think.

Right now, after his explosive outburst in the Room of Requirement, Harry needed to think.

It was late, just past midnight, and the inhabitants of Little Whinging had long since turned in. The only sounds to be heard in the park was a rustle of leaves in the wind and the gentle squeaking of the swing as Harry rocked back and forth.

"I'll never understand women," Harry muttered, mostly to himself but directing the words to the small black sphere that was drifting to one side. "Death Eaters and Dark Lords, I can understand all too well. Women on the other hand..."

Father, not blind to Harry's dark mood, remained silent.

To an outsider, Harry would have appeared as simply depressed, but the truth of the matter was that this was considerably more complicated (not to mention alarming) than that. If Harry had, at any point, been depressed, he was now several stages beyond that. Perhaps more than several - most likely on an entirely new level of emotion that would give even Malfoy, who seemed to never know when to quit, pause.

The source of Harry's current troubles was his recent altercation with Hermione. He could not, for the life of him, understand why she was arguing against his actions.

She knew what was at stake. They all did. He had, despite his initial reluctance, given them all an up close and personal view of what was to come.

Hermione's abduction, rape and eventual suicide. Ginny's death, later that same year. Neville being tortured to death. Luna being tortured to insanity. The bloody murder of Ron's family and his subsequent death wish.

And yet, despite all this, she refused to let him do what needed to be done.

He could understand her apprehension about his decision not to go to Dumbledore and bring the old wizard into the proverbial fold. Hell, he had thought about doing just that at least once a day since Father had popped into his head.

As for killing the Minister of Magic, well, Harry had to convince Dumbledore to get the man out of office and what better way than to threaten his life? He didn't really want to kill Fudge, but he'd made his bluff and couldn't afford to have it called.

If it came to that, he knew how to let his future self's memories and opinions come to the fore. In that mindset, it would be easy for him to order the deployment of a remote drone programmed to kill Fudge. Heavens only knew he had cobbled together enough of the damned things over the summer, most of which were sitting in subspace, waiting to be used.

Perhaps dropping this in his friend's laps, with all the subtly of a brick to the face, was not the best way to break the news. Still, they, especially Hermione, could have been more supportive of the idea. After all, it wasn't as if Harry was doing it for fun - he was trying to save lives!

Fudge's anti-human bias was going to cause trouble and sooner, rather than later.

When word came from Bulgaria, over Christmas, that Durmstrang had been attacked by a clan of giants, fortunately fended off without any deaths, the Minister would begin a propaganda campaign against anyone of giant descent.

Harry had told his friends how this had affected Hagrid. It was only thanks to Dumbledore's influence that Hagrid was only sacked and not tossed out of Hogwarts completely. After the headmaster's death, however, things did not go well for their friend.

Shortly after Hermione's kidnapping, in the middle of the summer, the Minister would pass a registration act that would severely restrict the movements and freedom of non-humans. Hagrid and Remus, being a members of the Order, had some protection at first, but again, after Dumbledore's death, things quickly went from bad to worse.

Hagrid was died several years later in what was euphemistically called a "Giant Resettlement Camp" on the Isle of Mann. Remus was killed, a year or two later, trying to escape one of the many "Lycanthropic Reservations" in northern Ireland.

By the time Fudge was finally driven out of office, assassinated by a vengeful Tonks of all people, most of Britain's so-call "Dark Creature" population was sided firmly against the Ministry. In this case, that was with Voldemort. The man, if you could call him that, might have been a homicidal maniac, but he treated them with more respect than the Ministry.

Harry was trying to think of a way to explain all this to Hermione, preferably without having another outburst, but the girl was just so damned stubborn! Admittedly that was one of the things he loved about her, but at the moment he could not appreciate that particular trait of her.

A sudden comment from Father, pulled Harry from his thoughts. He stuck his feet out to stop the swing's motion and skidded to a halt. He turned to the onyx sphere hovering nearby.

"What?"

According to Father's intelligence, Harry's friends were being taken to Dumbledore's office. Or, at least, Hermione, Ginny and Luna were being taken. Ron and Neville were already there.

Considering this news, Harry realized that the headmaster was using his absence to question his friends. While he doubted Dumbledore would use any truth potions, he thought it likely that he try using Legilimency, no doubt hoping to find out whatever details he could of anything Harry might have told them.

Fortunately, Harry had already considered this possibility and had arranged, with Father's help, a way to prevent anyone from stealing into his friend's minds.

"Are the drones generating the null magic fields?" he asked.

Father confirmed that the surveillance drones, which Harry had assigned to each of his friends the evening after the Sorting Feast, were in place next to their targets and producing the required effect.

Harry smirked at this and commented, "I wish I could see his face when he realizes he can't get anything from them."

A return comment from Father, removed the smile as quickly as it had formed.

"No, I doubt they would," Harry told the Gatekeeper, staunchly. "Despite any disagreement, they are my friends. They won't say anything."

Harry missed Father's reply when a noise drew his attention to the far side of the park, almost directly opposite where he was sitting on the swing. It was a group of four, no, five, Muggle boys that were apparently on their way home from a night at the pub, or wherever normal teenagers spent their evenings.

Considering the amount of noise they were making, Harry had obviously been considerably distracted by his thoughts and Father's subsequent report on his friends' activities back at Hogwarts. They were close enough that, if he listened carefully, he could make out what they were saying - that is, when they spoke at a more normal volume, rather than the raucous bellows that had alerted him to their arrival.

Thinking that one voice sounded rather familiar, Harry frowned in concentration and then cursed under his breath as recognition sank in. This bunch would not be conducive to the peace and quiet he desired.

He ground his teeth together when one of the boys looked in Harry's direction and pointed him out to the others. He considered leaving, but was in far too foul a mood to let a group infantile delinquents move him. If they wanted to cause trouble, he decided, he was only too happy to oblige.

"Well, well, well," announced the leader of the group, the one boy Harry recognised. The others were vaguely familiar, but Piers Polkiss was an old friend of Harry's cousin, Dudley, and had been one of Harry's primary tormentors during his pre-Hogwarts days. "Have a look there, lads, if it isn't Big D's bastard cousin."

This mad Harry angry. Though he had never seen his parents' marriage certificate, if they even had such things in the wizarding world, he was fairly damned certain that he had not been born out of wedlock. If he had been, there was no way that Malfoy, or the tabloids, would not have brought it up before now.

"Isn't he supposed to be in the nick?" asked one boy

"Yeah," agreed another. The boy, the tallest of the lot, looked at the others in a conspiratorial fashion and said, "Big D said he went to St. Augustus or something like that."

It was actually supposed to be St. Brutus, but Harry did not bother correcting him.

"They must've kicked him out," said one.

"Or maybe he ran away," suggested another.

By now the group had gotten quite close to where Harry was sitting. He could clearly see that it was indeed Piers and some other of Dudley's friends. While he had not had much contact with them since beginning his education at Hogwarts, Harry recognised Piers' sharp, narrow face.

"So, Potter, what was it?" Piers asked, swaggering to the front of the small group. "Did they kick you out on yer arse, or did you run home to mommy?"

"Don't you remember, Piers? He don't have a mommy!"

This, Harry decided, was more than he was willing to put up with. Enough was enough. He had been suffering the taunts of these boys for as long as he could remember. It was time to show them that little Harry Potter, their favourite victim, had grown up and was no longer somebody they could prey on. Indeed, the prey had become a predator. A dangerous one.

He calmly got off the swing, which swayed back and forth once free from his weight. A glance and silent command to Father sent the GateKeeper retreating into subspace. Fortunately the black sphere was too small and unobtrusive in the dark to be noticed by the five Muggle boys.

Harry faced his childhood tormentors. The unspoken promise of great pain, if his words were ignored, gave even Piers, the brashest of the group, pause. His voice was sharp, clipped and as cold as when had addressed Dumbledore during the Sorting Feast. This time, however, it was not feedback that brought about this change. This was entirely the Harry of the here and now.

"Shut up."

The five boys hesitated, clearly unsure what to think of this command. The fact that they were capable of thinking at all was somewhat debatable, but Harry supposed that if Crabbe and Goyle could manage it, barely, then so could this lot.

"Or what, Potter?" asked Piers, recovering his nerves first. He smirked and glanced at his companions, who spread out to flank him on both sides, forming a semi-circle around the waiting Boy-Who-Lived. "It's five of us against just one of you - or don't they teach you how to count at St. Augustus?"

"You lot just don't get it, do you?" remarked Harry, utterly unconcerned.

"Get what?" asked one boy, shorter than the rest and somewhat similar to Millicent Bulstrode in appearance. "That you're nothing but some mental orphan troublemaker?"

"No."

"What then? What don't we get?"

"That world doesn't revolve around you," Harry told them, the prophecy Dumbledore had shown him briefly coming to mind. He silently commanded Father to bring its GM fields online. He smiled wickedly as the air pulsed around him and began to feel heavier than it should. "It revolves around me."

The five Muggle boys knew something bad was going to happen. Of course, just because they knew something was going to happen, didn't mean they had any hope of stopping it.

Father had employed one of its GM fields, centred around itself and, by association, Harry. Piers and his friends were now mired down under three times the Earth's normal gravity. Another GM field, this one negatively phased, was wrapped tightly around Harry's body and neutralised the effects of the first field.

This allowed Harry to move as quickly and unrestrictedly as he always did, the extra gravity field affecting everything within ten metres of where he stood, himself being in the proverbial eye of the storm. The other boys, lacking Harry's protection from the excessive gravity, felt as though they were trying to move underwater.

Piers was the closest, standing in front of the others, and was thus found himself to be the first to fall to Harry's unbridled fury. He tried to raise an arm to shield himself, but Harry batted it aside, employing another concentrated GM field to momentarily increase the apparent mass behind his strike. Piers' wrist and forearm shattered under the blow.

Before Piers could scream or react in any way to the pain, Harry stepped close, inside his defences. He landed an uppercut to the jaw with his other arm. Had they been fighting under normal gravity, the blow would have lifted Piers off the ground and sent him flying back several metres. As it was, it snapping his head back and lifting him up to his toes, before falling heavily to the ground in a crumbled heap.

The other four boys were barely even beginning to react, their movements sluggish in the higher gravity. Harry turned on them as Piers collapses and fell upon them like a wild animal. He caught the short boy, who reminded him of Millicent Bulstrode, with an elbow strike to the temple. The boy probably never saw what hit him and dropped like a stone.

Harry almost literally waded into the next two boys. Both were taller than him, though the one was rather skinny and the other rather stocky (probably an aspiring boxer like Dudley). Neither managed to land more than one or two punches as Harry swung wildly at them. Those blows that did connect had lost most of their power to the higher gravity and glanced off his wiry frame with little to no effect.

A quick one-two to the skinnier boy's stomach doubled him over. His breath was expelled in a loud huff as he dropped to his knees, unable to support himself as he clutched his midriff. Harry smacked the stockier boy away with a backhand before linking his fists together. The skinny boy managed to lift his head, just in time to catch the double handed blow to the jaw, knocking him back and unconscious in much the same manner as Piers.

He turned to find the stocky boy being helped to his feet by the fifth member of the group, a boy whose scraggy blond hair was showing its original brown roots. Both stared at him in open terror as his attention focused on them. Harry smirked as he had Father power up its GM fields to the fullest, causing the air to ripple like water around him - scaring both boys to their wit's ends.

The slack-jawed and terrified expressions on their faces registered in Harry's mind just before the wave of concentrated gravity slammed into them. By the time he realized what he was doing, attacking Muggles with something that might as well have been magic, it was too late. The gravity wave slammed into them both with all the force of a speeding lorry.

"Oh, God," he whispered in horror, "what have I done?"

Both boys had been blown a dozen or more metres through the air, passing outside the range of Father's GM fields. He could do nothing to arrest their fall as they crashed into the ground with enough force to bounce a metre back up into the air. He could hear the bones breaking from where he stood.

Harry looked around at the groaning and bleeding bodies lying scattered around him. Horrified realization began to sink in as he took in Piers and the others. He had not meant for it to go this far. For that matter, he could not remember when he had decided to challenge the boys like this.

He ran from one boy to the next, checking their pulses and praying that they were all still alive. Much to his relief, he found that none were in any apparent danger, though all of them would be spending time in a hospital bed.

"Father, open a Gate," he ordered, "get them to the nearest Emergency Room! Now!"

A shining, reflective ball of energy sprung into existence, a remote Gate that which was used for transporting bulk materials rather than a single person. Harry watched silently as Father carefully hoisted the three nearest fallen boys into the air. Piers was the first to pass through the Gate, followed by the other two that had fallen near him.

After sending those three through, Harry walk to the last two, the remote Gate trailing after him. They had been knocked outside the range of Father's GM fields and he had to walk to them before the Gatekeeper was able to move them. Father lifted their limp bodies up with the utmost care and transferred them through the Gate. Once done, the Gate collapsed in upon itself with a wet slurp.

Harry, who had been valiantly been keeping his stomach under control, ran to the nearest bush and threw up violently. The revulsion at what he had just done was enough to make his physically ill. He did not stop until he had entirely voided the contents of his stomach and was dry heaving.

"I... I need to be alone," he finally said, wiping his mouth and chin with the back of his hand.

The bitter taste of bile in his mouth was not half as bitter as the taste left from his earlier actions. Already his mind was drawing comparisons and parallels between himself and Malfoy, or worse, between himself and Tom Riddle. It was almost enough to make him start throwing up again, but he managed to fight down the urge to do so.

Could Hermione have been right? Had he really gotten this bad?

He needed time to think about this, about his actions and reactions tonight. He had intended to return to Hogwarts later that night, perhaps sometime the next morning, but now he felt that his return would have to be put off indefinitely.

If something like this could happen here, with some relatively harmless Muggles, could he risk being around people who were far more likely to set him off?

Yes, he definitely need time to think, time that he would not be able to find at Hogwarts.

He glanced at Father, who's black sphere had emerged from subspace and was bobbing up and down not far away. The GateKeeper had willingly and eagerly helped him in his attack. Its moods often mirrored Harry's, partially because it linked directly to Harry's conscious mind. Now, having seen, felt and experienced Harry's reaction, it was silent. What thoughts were going through its artificial mind, nobody could say.

"Let's go to the flat," he said.

Without comment Father obligingly opened another Gate, this time around Harry, and they disappeared from Little Whinging as quickly and quietly as they had arrived. The only signs of their having been there that evening were a few splatters of blood, staining the grass, and a large puddle of vomit in the bushes.

-oOo-

Dumbledore was not having a good day. Truth be told, he had experienced painfully few good days since Voldemort's resurrection during the Third Task of the Tri-Wizard tournament, two years ago. What few good days he had managed were growing even fewer, now that Harry had began to actively oppose him.

Today, however, was proving worse than usual.

First and foremost on Dumbledore mind was the fact that time was rapidly running out and he had only two weeks left to oust Minister Fudge from office before Harry did something drastic. Of course, that had been first and foremost on his mind when he had woken up this morning. Since then, the problem of removing Fudge from office had been put on the proverbial backburner.

Shortly after breakfast, which he had taken in his private chambers, Dumbledore learned that Harry had somehow convinced the Weasley twins, Fred and George, to build him a weapon. This weapon was unlike anything anyone had ever seen and had come within scarce inches of killing his potions master, Professor Snape. This had happened when the twins came to Hogwarts to deliver the final product to Harry and had accidentally set the 'phased plasma rifle' off.

As a consequence of this turn of events, Dumbledore found himself having to deal with an irate professor that was convinced the entire thing had been a conscious attempt on his life, two wizards that had shown remarkable innovative skills that should have been made use of sooner and an outraged mother that seemed to think the entire thing was the twins' fault.

If that hadn't been problematic enough, the twins had then declared their intention to quit the Order of the Phoenix and devote themselves entirely to whatever tasks Harry might find for them.

Just when he had thought nothing else could go wrong, at least today, a frantic Ron Weasley and only slightly less panicked Neville Longbottom had barged into his office and informed him of the fact that Harry had departed for parts unknown. Apparently he and his friends had a disagreement of some sort earlier, though the details were somewhat unclear.

Sitting back in his chair, Dumbledore regarded the five students standing in front of his desk.

Ron and Ginny Weasley were acting as he expected - staring around in awed fascination. This was, after all, their first visit to the headmaster's office. Dumbledore could remember experiencing much the same feelings the first time he had been called into this room.

Standing next to the Weasley siblings was Neville Longbottom, whose examination of the room was tinged with a small amount of worry and apprehensiveness. About what he expected from the lad, considering his background.

When his gaze fell upon Luna Lovegood, Dumbledore paused for several moments. The young lady had apparently taken it upon herself to engage in a staring contest with Fawkes. She seemed to be winning, if the phoenix's nervous twitching was anything to go by.

The one that worried Dumbledore the most, however, was Hermione Granger. She was obviously distraught over Harry's departure, though she was hiding that fact fairly well. She was standing between Ginny and Luna, who had arrived with her, and was clearly ready to inflict all manner of hexes and curses on the next person to ask if she was all right.

"Please," Dumbledore waved a hand to indicate the chairs that he had conjured earlier. He motioned for his students to sit down in the plush seats. "Make yourselves comfortable."

"Thank you, sir," said Hermione, answering for the group. She spoke with a remarkable amount of composure, despite the fact that she looked as if she had just had a nervous breakdown and was only now recovering from it.

Dumbledore waited patiently as everyone found a seat. He glanced to the right, where Professor Snape and Professor Smythe-White were sitting. He had asked Rhys to attend, hoping that his Healer training would be of use in drawing information from the students. Severus, on the other hand, was present for a more sinister purpose.

Though he was ashamed to be doing this, as it went against many of the principles he lived by, Dumbledore had asked the potions master to attend because of his skills in Legilimency. It was his hope that subtle use of this would allow them to glean any information Harry had confided to his friends.

"Now, perhaps we should start with what has happened to Harry," he began, once the five young wizards had settled down opposite him.

"Well..." replied Ron, trailing off as he shared an uncertain look with his friends.

"Please, Ron, I only have Harry's best interests at heart," Dumbledore assured him.

"We had a fight," answered Hermione in a quiet voice. She dropped her head in what seemed like shame and regarded her hands, which she had folded in her lap.

"Over?"

Hermione cringed and said, "Harry... told us about Minister Fudge."

"And the fact that if you don't get him out of office, Harry will kill him," added Ginny, who had reached out and laid a reassuring hand on Hermione's forearm.

"Ah."

"We... I disagreed about the need for such a drastic act," Hermione all but whispered, visibly on the verge bursting into tears at the admission.

Dumbledore was prepared to lend her some words of comfort, but Fawkes acted before he could speak. The phoenix hopped of his perch and glided across the room, landing softly on Hermione's shoulder.

She lifted her head up and stared at the magnificent bird in surprise. Fawkes trilled a few notes, which brought a faint smile to her lips.

"I see," Dumbledore murmured. Whether he was referring to the explanation of why Harry had departed, or the fact that Fawkes had deemed Hermione worthy of his help, he was unsure of. Clearing his throat and sitting up straighter, he began to ask, "And because of this disagreement, Harry--"

"He needed a breath of fresh air," Luna interrupted, "so he took a step outside."

"Idiot girl! He ran away!" snapped Snape.

"Severus," Dumbledore chided, giving Snape a stern look from over the rims of his glasses. He was approaching the end of his rope with the potions master. The man's attitude had been deteriorating steadily and would have to be dealt with before much longer. "Kindly refrain from insulting our students. It's unbecoming a Hogwarts professor."

"It's okay, sir, he does it all the time," dismissed Luna, who had continued to stare at Fawkes, despite the phoenix having moved to Hermione's shoulder. The poor bird was obviously, but without much success, trying to ignore her attentions.

"Yes, so I'm being made aware of."

"Perhaps, Severus," suggested Smythe-White, "you should spend some time in counselling. I could recommend--"

Snape cut the man off with a glare. "Don't you dare, White!"

The Defence professor held both hands up in a supplicating gesture. "Come now, Severus, would it really be that bad to try and get along with the students, particularly Harry and his friends?"

A disdainful sneer was the only answer he received from Snape, who let that single action speak for him. The potions master sank back against his chair and enveloped himself in his black robes.

Deciding it was time to get back to the topic at hand, Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Regarding Harry's unexpected departure," he said, "I'd like to speak to you all about his recent behaviour."

"What about it?" asked Ron cautiously.

"I fear Harry has been somewhat displeased with myself and our acquaintances," Dumbledore admitted obliquely.

"You mean the Order of the Phoenix," said Ginny.

Snape was about to speak, no doubt to berate the girl for mentioning something that should have been a secret while in the presence of Luna and Neville, but Dumbledore was able to head him off.

"So, you've informed Luna and Neville of it's existence?" he asked, receiving firm nods from Hermione and the Weasleys. He nodded and said, "I expected as much."

"They deserve to know. Especially Neville," Hermione told him.

"Quite," he readily agreed, "they are, as you say, in the thick of it."

"We're Harry's friends. Of course we are," noted Luna, who had finally shifted her attention away from Fawkes and was now staring, unblinkingly, at the portrait of Dwight Dwyer - an Australian wizard that had been Phineus Black's predecessor as headmaster. The painting was already shifting about as nervously as Fawkes had.

"I can appreciate such loyalty."

"Thanks," Neville graciously accepted.

Dumbledore tried to lead the conversation to where he wanted it to go. "I hope, however, that loyalty won't prevent you from helping me find a way to help Harry in this difficult time."

Hermione, who was stroking Fawke's scarlet plumage, gave the headmaster a hooded look and stated, "That depends on how you plan to 'help' him."

"If that git is involved," interjected Ron, jerking a thumb at Professor Snape, "you can forget it."

Dumbledore ignored the insult to the professor, but noticed that Snape was visible and audibly grinding his teeth. He decided that Ron was lucky to no longer be taking Potions, otherwise the professor would doubtless have made his classes a very unpleasant experience.

He shook his head, trying to pass on the impression that Snape had no part in this, and said, "Harry refuses to speak with me about what happened over the summer."

"He needed time alone," Hermione said, "away from his prison at the Dursleys."

"I never intended for him to feel that he was a prisoner there," Dumbledore replied, restraining a wince at the mention of Harry's relatives. The headmaster had found himself under a considerable amount of fire, mostly from Remus Lupin and Molly Weasley, with regards his decision to leave Harry with the Dursleys after James and Lily's deaths.

"Well, he did!" Ron exclaimed vehemently. He pounded a fist on his armrest and continued, "Merlin's beard, sir, they put ruddy bars on his window!"

"Bars?" repeated Dumbledore, scarcely able to believe it. The idea that Harry had been forced to live in a cupboard for ten years was enough of a burden for him to bear. To hear that it had not improved since Harry's return to the wizarding world, was incredibly disheartening. "Remus did not mention that."

"Fred, George and I broke him out, using our dad's car."

Dumbledore nodded in recognition. "Ah, yes. The infamous Ford Anglia."

Ron, however, was not done and continued scathingly, "And no matter how horrible those Muggles are to him, you keep sending him back."

"It was necessary; to ensure his safety," Dumbledore answered, wishing that he had something else to offer beside the same rote answer he had always been telling Harry.

"Ensure his safety? That's a laugh," exclaimed Ginny. "He'd have probably been safer spending the summers at Malfoy Manor."

"So I have been informed," Dumbledore ruefully admitted with a sigh. He shook his head and cleared his throat, deciding to return to the subject of Harry's disappearance. "You say he needed to be away. Do you, by any chance, know where he went? Any details at all, about his summer, that might help us find him now?"

"He doesn't want to be found right now," Hermione quietly informed him.

"I understand that, Hermione," he replied, "but it's not safe for Harry to be alone right now. We have to find him and bring him back to Hogwarts."

"Why?" asked Luna, turning away from Dwight Dwyer and directing her unnerving blue eyes at the headmaster.

"Haven't you been listening?" asked Snape angrily.

"I have," Luna answered, not bothering to acknowledge the professor beyond that. Her gaze remained firmly on Dumbledore as she asked, "Why do you believe Harry would be in danger away from the school? He spent the entire summer away from Hogwarts and returned none the worse for wear."

"Hell, he's never looked better," agreed Ginny wholeheartedly. "If spending his summer away from the Dursleys does that to him, then I vote he never steps foot in their house ever again."

"I second that idea," voted Neville.

"Thirded," agreed Luna.

"Thirded?" asked Ron incredulously.

Dumbledore was beginning to feel the tiniest bit set upon. None of the five were cooperating, which was more or less as he had expected. They were, however, considerably more adversarial than he had thought they would be.

Clearing his throat again, something he had been doing a lot of lately, he asked, "Then you don't have any details about Harry's summer?"

"Nothing pertinent to your questions, headmaster," answered Hermione with a tone of finality in her voice that brooked no argument.

Looking at her Dumbledore came to a realization that worried him almost as much as Harry's drastic change in character over the summer. Hermione Granger was many things. Brilliant. Innovative. Dedicated. Passionate. A genius really, which her O.W.L. results proved beyond any doubt. But he had never before thought that, under certain circumstances, Hermione could be... dangerous.

Sensing that he would be getting nothing else from her, or the others, Dumbledore settled back in his plush seat. He was sure nobody noticed the subtle eye-contact he made with Smythe-White, signalling for the Defence professor to take over the questioning. Hopefully he would have more success.

"What about this... Father... that follows Harry about?" the professor began, for some reason being as subtle as the proverbial bull in the china shop. "Has he told you anything about it?"

Hermione did not move, but Dumbledore saw her eyes slide across to rest upon the professor. Her smile, faint as it was, had a hard edge to it as she answered, "Nothing pertinent to your questions, professor."

"Nothing at all?" asked Smythe-White, looking surprised.

"Nothing."

Dumbledore, seeing that her attention was now focused on the professor, decided to take advantage of Hermione's distraction and unobtrusively probe her mind. He had planned to have Snape try, but had the feeling that his potions master was currently too agitated to be subtle enough not to draw attention to the act.

It was a good thing he was sitting down, otherwise Dumbledore's surprise would have been obvious for all to see. He had expected Hermione's mind to be the most difficult of the five to enter, but had been certain that he would not have too much trouble slipping past her natural defences.

Thus it came as quite a shock when he found himself unable to even reach those natural defences. It was the most disconcerting sensation he had ever experienced since learning Legilimency. Whenever he tried to approach Hermione's mind, he was... diverted? If he were to make an analogy, it would be like trying to grab hold of an exceptionally slippery bar of soap, that continually slipped out of your grasp.

He had only encountered such a reaction once before, in this very office. Hermione's thoughts were protected in an identical fashion to Harry's, which Dumbledore had tried to probe after the Sorting Feast at the start of term.

"Ron? Ginny?" he heard Smythe-White ask as he carefully backed away from Hermione's mind. The Defence professor, not getting anything from the bushy-haired witch, had turned his questions to her friends. "Perhaps he mentioned something to you?"

"Nothing pertinent to your questions, professor," replied Ginny with a smirk that would have done any Slytherin proud. It seemed to have been modelled on Fred and George, but with a hint of maliciousness to it.

"Just that he thinks it has a terrible sense of humour," added Ron with a matching grin.

While Ron and Ginny were speaking, Dumbledore seized the opportunity and tried his Legilimency on Luna and Neville, who were watching the proceedings with obvious amusement.

This time he did not even bother trying to make a proper incursion into their minds, but rather tried to skim their superficial thoughts. This was the easiest layer of another person's mind that a Legimens could access.

"That's a pity," said Smythe-White, visibly puzzled by Ron's comment about Father's sense of humour. He shrugged theatrically and sighed, "I had hoped to learn more about it. A fascinating device."

"But very bad at telling jokes," added Luna.

"Yes..."

Dumbledore had to force himself not to frown. He was having no more success approaching Luna and Neville's minds than he had with Hermione. Each time he tried to enter, something caused him to slip pass them.

He quickly turned his attention to Ron and Ginny, while they were still focused on Smythe-White and thus distracted and open to probing. Now he did everything except draw his wand and point it at them, launching himself at their thoughts with all his considerable skill and power.

He was diverted around their minds just as easily as before.

"Ahem," Smythe-White cleared his throat, prompting Dumbledore to return to the outside world. He looked up just in time to hear the professor asked, "Well then, perhaps we could discuss Harry himself?"

"Without him being here? I don't think so, that would be rude," countered Neville, sounding mildly offended at the mere mention of such an idea.

"Neville--"

Ron cut Smythe-White off before he could continue. "We wouldn't be very good friends if we talked about Harry behind his back."

Smythe-White raised his hands in appeasement. "I assure you, Ron, I don't--"

"You don't know Harry and Harry doesn't know you," countered Ron, interrupting.

"I will vouch for Professor Smythe-White, Ron," Dumbledore announced, hoping that perhaps giving his seal of approval would engender some measure of trust for the professor in the students.

"And we know how much that's worth," Ron snorted, crossing his arms.

"Now see here!" exclaimed Snape.

The potions master made to rise from his chair, but Dumbledore waved for him to remain seated. The headmaster matched gazes with Ron, who glared defiantly back at him, and asked, "What do you mean?"

Dumbledore had a feeling he knew what Ron was going to say, but there was a chance he was wrong. He would be very relieved if he were wrong, but somehow doubted he would be that lucky.

"First year; Professor Quirrel," declared Ron, uncrossing his arms and leaning forward in his chair. "Remember him? He was the one with You-Know-Who stuck in the back of his head!"

"Yes..."

"Second year; that nancy git Lockhart," Ron continued, not letting Dumbledore defend his past decisions. "I'm sure you remember him, unless he Obliviated you - like he tried to Obliviate Harry and me!"

"Not my finest choice for a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor," Dumbledore had to admit, thinking back to Lockhart's idiotic preening.

"No kidding!" Ron exclaimed. He settled back against his chair and carried on listing the various Defence Against the Dark Arts professors that had come and gone over the years. "The only one that was any good was Lupin and he had to resign after that slimy git," Ron pointed at Snape, "let everyone know he was a werewolf."

"Weasley!"

"Please, Severus, not now."

"Now, in fourth year, Mad-Eye Moody would've probably been pretty good," Ron admitted, although sounding a bit grudging about it. He recovered, however, to glare at Dumbledore and shout, "Too bad you couldn't tell him apart from a lunatic Death Eater impostor!"

Dumbledore noticed that Ron was really getting into his tirade, apparently taking after his mother in that respect. His cheeks were flushed, he had risen to his feet and was gesticulating wildly. He was so excited, so agitated, that Fawkes, still on Hermione's shoulder, was disturbed and flew out the nearest window.

Ron was waving a finger at Dumbledore and continued, "And don't even get me started on that bitch from last year--"

"Ron, I think you should calm down," advised Luna calmly.

"I AM CALM!!" Ron bellowed.

"No, you're not, mate," said Neville, who was looking at the Weasley boy with alarm. "You better take some deep breaths before your faint again."

"I DO NOT FAINT!"

"Ron, calm down!" snapped Ginny.

Ron rounded on his sister, no doubt to give her a piece of his mind. Whatever he was going to say, however, was lost as he swayed in place for a moment before toppling over. "Oooogh..."

Ginny, who was sitting closest to Ron, managed to catch him before he could hit his head on the floor. She gently lowered him back into his chair, aided by Luna, who had hurried over to help.

"We did warn him," Luna observed as they adjusted Ron's posture.

"I hope he gets over this soon," Ginny muttered, trying to keep Ron's head from flopping about to much. "We can't have him fainting every time he gets excited."

"Forgive my denseness, but why are you so calm about this?" asked Dumbledore, who found their reactions rather peculiar. Not one of them seemed even remotely concerned about Ron's welfare, acting instead as if this were a regular occurrence that they had resigned themselves to. If that were true, then why hadn't he heard about it sooner?

"He's just fainted," Hermione explained, waving his concern aside, "it's a side-effect of his injuries from the Department of Mysteries."

"Ah, I see," Dumbledore nodded. He recalled reading the report detailing Ron's encounter. "I should have expected as much, given the nature of his injuries."

"You knew this would happen?" asked Ginny, her eyes narrowing.

Dumbledore realized that he probably should have not said that last sentence out loud. While the five students before him were not half as antagonistic as Harry was, it was clear that they too had lost some measure of their trust in him. He tried to sound apologetic and said, "It was mentioned as a possibility."

Ginny rose from where she had been kneeling next to Ron's chair and demanded, "Then why didn't anyone bother telling us about it?"

"I'm sure it was simply an oversight, Ginny," offered Smythe-White in an attempt to calm the girl.

"An oversight?!" repeated Ginny, turning to glare at the professor. "This is my brother we're talking about! How dare you--"

The youngest Weasley's tirade was interrupted by a groan from Ron, who was beginning to come round. He shifted languidly in his seat and pressed a hand to his forehead. "Oh, my head."

"Welcome back, Ronald," greeted Luna happily.

"I fainted again, didn't I?" asked Ron plaintively.

"You didn't faint. You passed out," said Neville.

"Oh yeah."

"Now that these theatrics are over," sneered Snape, looking at Ron as if he were something foul smelling that was clinging to his boots, "can we continue with this interrogation?"

Dumbledore dearly wanted to hex his potions master right then. In a single sentence the man had managed to put all five students on their guard.

Hermione slowly turned to him, her expression closed off. She did not look pleased and, if the set of her eyes was anything to go by, she was about to let everyone know it. "An interrogation?" she softly asked, like velvet.

"A poor choice of words on Professor Snape's part, Hermione," Dumbledore tried to reassure her, "please believe me when I say, this is a purely informal meeting."

"I doubt that, professor," she immediately rejoined. She jerked her head in Snape's direction and said, "We're Harry's friends, which means that Professor Snape would like nothing better than to humiliate us. The more trouble he could get us into, the better."

Dumbledore gave Snape a narrow glance that contained a warning for the potions master to keep quiet. "I wish I could disagree with you."

"Albus, you can't honestly believe what this foolish girl is saying!" Snape protested.

"Miss Granger is hardly foolish, Severus," Dumbledore replied, "and I have not known her to be prone to exaggeration. You could learn a lot from her."

Snape sneered contemptuously and spat out, "I don't think that sharing Potter's bed is a skill I will ever have need of."

If Dumbledore had wanted to hex the potions master earlier, he was now thinking of adding several very nasty curses to the process. Snape's words were, though most likely not thought out before hand, calculated to outrage everyone present.

Ron, Ginny, Luna and Neville were on their feet, their wands drawn and levelled at Snape's chest. The two Weasleys were so incensed that their faces seemed to blend into their hair. Even Luna, who normally had a somewhat vacant expression, had a healthy flush to her cheeks.

Dumbledore was almost willing to let them go through with whatever they had planned, regardless of how painful it would be for the professor.

"Very subtle, Severus," muttered Smythe-White, slowly rising from his chair and cautiously moving away from where his fellow professor was still sitting.

Dumbledore was about to speak up, hoping to head off the barrage of curses and hexes that were about to start flying, when Hermione rose from her seat and stalked over to Snape. She levelled a fiery stare at potions master that, if looks could kill, would probably have vaporised the bookcase behind him as well.

There was an expectant silence as all eyes turned to Hermione. She lifted up her right arm and, to Dumbledore's disbelief, swung it round to land a resounding slap to Snape's face. The impact was so forceful that the potions master was knocked out of his seat and into a heap on the floor.

The expectant silence grew into a dumbfounded one. Ron, Ginny and Neville were staring at Hermione with eyes so wide it seemed likely they might pop out of their sockets.

Luna was leaning over to one side, apparently curious of to see the results of the slap and wanting to get a closer look at Hermione's handiwork.

Smythe-White was looking back and forth between the fallen wizard and the young witch standing over him. His expression was one of appreciation, no doubt at the strength Hermione had displayed. Even from across the office, Dumbledore could see the red imprint of her hand against Snape's normally sallow skin.

Snape, who had managed to roll over onto his back, stared up at his assailant with an expression of the outmost disbelief. He was too shocked, at the fact that she had actually slapped him, to be angry, but Dumbledore knew that he would soon recover and be demanding retribution of some sort.

Dumbledore's attention was drawn away from the other occupants of his office and back to Hermione when she broke the stunned silence by speaking.

"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said. She turned her back to Snape and walked back to her chair, but did not sit down. The neutral set of her face made Dumbledore inexplicably nervous. This was not something he felt very often.

She crossed her arms and continued, speaking so softly and calmly that it was impossible to believe that she had just knocked one of her professors to the floor. "I wish to lodge a formal complaint with both you, as headmaster, and with the Hogwarts board of governors, against your Potions professor, Severus Snape."

"I quite agree, Miss Granger," Dumbledore responded immediately. He briefly glanced away to glare at the fallen Snape, who was only now climbing to his feet. Recalling what the man had said, he admitted, "In fact, I would insist on it, even if you did not."

"Albus, she struck me!" Snape shouted, holding one hand to his doubtless throbbing jaw. He pointed at Hermione with his free hand and continued, "I demand you suspend her immediately! At the very least, revoke her prefect status!"

"Consider yourself lucky that she only slapped you, Professor Snape," Dumbledore replied, subtly expressing some of his displeasure by not using the potions master's given name. His voice had also dropped a register and held much the same soft calm that Hermione had just used. "Were it me you had insulted in such a grievous manner, I would have hexed you into a stupor that would take even Madam Pomfrey's ministrations a month to bring you out of."

Snape blinked in surprise and tried to speak, "Sir--"

Dumbledore, who's purportedly infinite patience had long since run out, leapt to his feet and slammed his hands against the top of his desk. "Get the hell out of my office! Now!"

"Sir..." realising that he was in trouble, Snape trailed off uncertainly.

"I'm afraid you've crossed the line this time, Professor Snape," Dumbledore informed him. Thinking about it for a second, he came to decision, one he would rather have avoided, but could not. He straightened and spoke in his official headmaster tone of voice, "As of tonight, you are suspended without pay until your actions have been deliberated upon by the school governors. Goodnight."

"But, my classes--"

"I shall teach Potions class during your absence. I am an accomplished alchemist, after all," he interrupted, wanting to get this over with before the tight control he held on his magic began to waver. It would not do for the school's headmaster to start unleashing accidental magic. "Now, get out."

"I... but..." Snape trailed off and looked about him. Unable to face Dumbledore's cold, stern visage, he looked to Smythe-White for support. He found a blank and almost stony expression that offered none. Realizing that he was on his own, he dipped his head and said, "Yes, sir."

He hurried to leave the room, skirting away from the five students as he made his way to the door. Their wands had been put away, but the glares were still out in the open and trained on him. Ron and Ginny were visibly angry, whereas Neville had a frosty expression that could almost cause the room temperature to drop.

Reaching the door, Snape pulled it open to leave, but paused on the threshold. He reluctantly glanced back at Dumbledore and offered, "Headmaster, I... I'm... sorry."

"So am I, Professor," Dumbledore answered tiredly. "For not curtailing your excesses before it came to this. Goodnight."

Snape nodded sorrowfully and stepped outside, looking, Dumbledore felt, appropriately cowed. The door swung closed behind him, softly clicking shut.

Ron, whose hands were clenched into fists, growled, "Bastard."

"That's Professor Bastard," corrected Luna, but not disagreeing.

Dumbledore noted that Hermione, who was normally the first to point out when the rules of propriety were being either strained or broken, did not protest Ron's description of the potions master.

Ron continued to grumble, "I should've hexed him."

"We should've hexed him," said Neville, which was another surprise.

"It wouldn't make any difference," Hermione told them, sounding just as tired and resign as Dumbledore felt. She shook her head and ran a hand through her mussed hair. "He'd only hate us more than he already does."

"While I will agree that Severus is beyond stubborn and hopelessly stuck in his ways," admitted Dumbledore, "I don't think he truly hates any of you."

Hermione met his tired gaze with her own and said, "Maybe not us, but he does hate Harry."

Dumbledore nodded sadly and could not disagree. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid he will never be able to make any distinction between Harry and his father, James."

"Maybe we'll be lucky and the governors will sack him," speculated Ron.

"We'll never be that lucky," objected Neville, who was the only one of the five students that had returned to his seat.

"Yeah, Harry's the one with all the luck."

"Good and bad," added Ginny.

"It does seem to be his lot in life," agreed Dumbledore.

Hermione politely cleared her throat and said, "I trust you'll forgive us if we'd rather not continue this discussion."

Dumbledore waved his acquiescence and nodded, "Yes, perfectly understandable."

The five students immediately made their way to the door, Hermione in the lead, flanked by Ron and Ginny, with Luna and then Neville holding up the rear. Hermione had just opened the door to leave, when Dumbledore stopped them for a moment by calling her name.

"Sir?"

"I apologise for Severus' words," he said, sinking into his chair. "I should have spoken to him about his attitude before now."

"Yes, you should have."

Dumbledore grimaced, realizing that none of them were going to cut him any slack regarding this matter. Somehow, he could not bring himself to blame them. "I knew he was needlessly antagonistic towards Harry, but I had not dreamed that he would extend it towards you."

Hermione did not reply and neither did any of the others.

"Goodnight, Hermione," Dumbledore offered, "I hope you sleep well."

"So do I, though I doubt it," she answered. She backed out the door and gave a polite nod while saying, "Goodnight, Professor Dumbledore. Professor Smythe-White."

The other members of the aptly named Ministry Crew bid Dumbledore and Smythe-White goodnight and followed on Hermione's heels, leaving the two professors sitting in silence. Several long minutes passed before anything was said.

Smythe-White shifted in his seat and said, "That went well."

"I'm not in the mood for levity, Rhys."

"Come on, Albus," Smythe-White insisted with a playful grin. "Without a sense of humour, where would you be?"

"Exactly where I am now," Dumbledore sighed, slumping in his seat, "only without a smile on my face."

His companion contemplated this response for a minute before deciding on a course of action. Finally he rose up and walked over to the cabinet where the various drinks Dumbledore would offer to his guests were kept

He glanced over his shoulder at the headmaster and asked, "Tea?"

"Brandy," replied Dumbledore. "A large one."

"It didn't go that badly," Smythe-White said, clearly surprised by the headmaster's choice of drink. He did not argue, though, and started looking for the appropriate bottle and glasses.

"You honestly believe that?" Dumbledore asked incredulously. "I've been forced to suspend my potions master, mostly because I have been too lenient over the years in regards to his actions against the students, and we didn't even learn anything."

"We learned that Harry's friends are almost fanatically loyal to him."

"I already knew that," he grumbled unhappily, accepting the tumbler of brandy Smythe-White offered. He swirled the amber liquid around and took a deep gulp, draining half the contents.

"What of your Legilimency?" asked Smythe-White, settling into the nearest chair. Dumbledore noticed that he poured himself some brandy as well, though a considerably smaller amount. "Did you get anything from that?"

Dumbledore propped an elbow on his desk and rested his chin in his hand. With his other hand he swirled the brandy in contemplation before answering. His frustration was evident in his voice. "I might as well have been trying to read one of Sybil's crystal balls."

Smythe-White's eyebrows almost crested past his receding hairline. He stared at Dumbledore in disbelief, unable to comprehend that the old wizard had failed. "What?"

"Their minds were a void to me, all five of them," Dumbledore elaborated, sipping his brandy. "I could not find even the usual residual images."

"They couldn't be practicing Occlumency, could they?"

"No," Dumbledore shook his head, discounting that possibility. "And even if they were, they have not had the time to learn it well enough to be so proficient."

"What is it then?"

Dumbledore sighed and took another sip. "I don't know."

Smythe-White ruefully said, "That seems to be the phrase of the day."

"Unfortunately," confirmed Dumbledore.

"If this keeps up," said Smythe-White, contemplating the door through which Snape and the five students had departed, "all Hell's going to break loose."

Dumbledore sipped his brandy and asked, "What makes you think it hasn't already?"

TBC...  

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• Coming Back Home A Disquieting Reunion Return to Hogwarts Disembarking An Overdue Hello Opening Statements Nonessentials Future's History Mixed Reactions Introductory Classes Business as Usual Growing Complications Return Encounters Brewing Storm Knife's Edge In Battle's Wake Reactions to Action A Day in the Life
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